The sun didn't rise in the Darkzone — it seeped in.
Pale light filtered through the skeletal canopy like smoke through old glass, casting gray across stone and steel. The ruined tower was colder now, the fire long dead. But no one complained.
They were used to discomfort.
They were used to worse.
The six knights gathered in a loose circle near the cold ashes of last night's fight. No armor had been removed, save for gauntlets and helmets during sleep — and even then, not all. Phoenix had his helmet back on, the crimson metal dulled with dried blood, gold trim catching faint light as he adjusted it.
No one mentioned it.
Ryliegh crouched near the firepit, methodically checking his blade for chips. Vale stood behind him, inspecting a salvaged map from his satchel, eyes scanning the faded ink with quiet intensity.
The younger green knight — Soren, the one who'd asked too many questions the night before — sat across from Phoenix, watching him, but not with suspicion anymore. Just curiosity.
"Still hurts?" Soren asked, gesturing toward Phoenix's side.
"Like a bastard," Phoenix replied, voice echoing behind the helm.
The other wounded knight — Bram, his arm still in a rough sling — grunted. "Then you'll fit right in."
Soren smirked. "Yeah. We're all held together by bad stitching and worse ideas."
Ryliegh spoke without looking up. "You're alive. That makes your stitching better than most."
Phoenix turned slightly. "Ray, was that encouragement?"
"No."
"Sure sounded like encouragement."
"I misspoke."
The group chuckled — low, tired, but real.
Vale folded the map. "East takes us to the river. If we can cross it, we're out of the worst part of the Darkzone. With luck, there's still a checkpoint beyond the basin."
Phoenix looked at the others. "You all came here looking for the reds?"
Vale nodded. "Orders. After the company went dark, command sent scouts. We were backup for the backup."
"Guess we're all that's left," said Bram.
"No," Ryliegh said simply. "We're what made it out."
The silence that followed was not heavy — it was grounding.
No one had died.
Not last night.
Not yet.
Phoenix tilted his helmet toward Vale. "You still don't trust me."
Vale didn't deny it. "I trust what I've seen. Not what I've heard."
Phoenix nodded. "That's fair."
"But you fought for us," Vale added. "You bled for others. You stood when you didn't have to."
Ryliegh stood now, sheathing his sword. "And that's more than most."
Vale extended a hand toward Phoenix.
"Then we go together."
Phoenix looked at the hand, then took it in a firm clasp. "Six still standing."
They broke camp together.
No one spoke of what would happen next. No one needed to. For now, they moved as one — black, red, and green.