Last Bastion: Reincarnated Prince of Stormwatch

"You can only choose three things in war: what to sacrifice, when to do it… and how much of yourself you're willing to kill to win."

—Jag, on the sixth day of the Dusk March

Location: Western Thorn Vale – 2km from Stormwatch's Perimeter

The wind shifted with the scent of wet moss and blood.

Ashra crouched behind a thorned stone bloom, one hand gripping her glaive, the other smearing scented clay over her armor seams.

"They're already inside," she whispered.

Her squad of ten—each a veteran of forest warfare—tensed as the forest darkened unnaturally.

The trees had grown overnight. Not naturally. Not even magically.

But willfully.

Their bark pulsed faintly. Vines coiled like snakes. Leaves bled sap like veins cut open.

"Blackthorn," said Sergeant Elien behind her. "The trees are listening."

Scene: The Blackthorn Offensive Begins

The Blackthorn Rangers were not typical elves.

These were exiles of the Sunspire Groves, trained in silent death and grown inside sentient trees. They moved like whispers, never stepping on leaves, never making sound beyond breath.

Their bows were curved bone-wood, firing thorn-tip arrows laced with paralytic spores.

They used symbiotic cloaks—living plants that bent light and sound around them.

Their strategy was to unmake defenses before battles began—remove scouts, sabotage supplies, silence leaders.

And now, they stalked Stormwatch's west.

Combat: Ambush at the Tower Root Path

A guard patrol moved through a narrow path between sigil pylons.

Too late.

Thwip! Thwip!

Two thorn-arrows struck a scout's throat and heart—dead before his cry left his mouth.

Another guard lunged toward the shadows—only for roots to twist up from beneath and snap his knee backward.

One by one, the patrol fell.

No screams.

No alarms.

Only the forest reclaiming space.

POV Shift – Ashra, Counter-Tactic in Motion

Ashra's squad spotted the ambush—but didn't intervene.

Because Jag had predicted it.

She activated a Choir-pulse trap—hidden beneath the vines.

ZAP—KRSHHH!

A surge of radiant energy exploded upward, incinerating a 10-meter radius with white-hot static. The air shimmered, and five previously invisible elves flickered into view—dead or stunned.

"Pincer formation! They'll scatter left!"

Her glaive swung low—CLANG!—catching a ranger's curved blade mid-slash. She twisted, drove her pommel into the elf's throat, then slashed upward in a red arc.

Another elf leapt from the trees, blades drawn—dagger in each hand.

Ashra spun back, stepped inward, and trapped the twin strikes between the haft of her weapon. With a grunt, she kicked out, shattering ribs.

CRACK!

The body dropped.

Ashra's Voice, Calm and Steeled

"We can't win the forest. So we bait it."

"We'll light the canopy and force them into corridors they didn't grow."

The squad nodded.

One lit an alchemic torch and tossed it into the western thickets.

The fire caught quickly—too quickly. The forest howled.

Not the elves. The trees themselves screamed, a wailing timber-howl that made men flinch.

But Ashra gritted her teeth.

"We're not fighting trees. We're fighting fear."

Cut to: Jag – Choir Command Bunker, Same Moment

Jag sat before a spread of maps, casualty reports, and intercepted enemy symbols. His eyes were bloodshot.

"Seven dead in the western crawl. Twelve missing in the valley. That's... better than expected," Rain muttered.

He didn't answer.

His fingers tapped a rhythm on the desk—1-2-3. Pause. 1-2-3.

It was the bell rhythm used to signal reinforcements, but he wasn't doing it consciously.

Rain watched.

"You haven't slept, Jag."

He finally looked up.

"Stormwatch won't rest. Why should I?"

Insight – Jag's Tactical Philosophy

Every success came with blood math.

Every trap? Bought with a soldier's life.

Every detour? Left a supply route exposed.

Every false weakness shown to bait the enemy? Required real sacrifice.

He had begun to memorize names of the dead. Not to honor them.

But because he wanted to remember what they cost.

And now, he was planning something even worse.

"Next wave will be the goblins," Jag murmured. "They'll infect systems, bribe outposts."

Rain frowned. "We don't even know where they are."

Jag stood and circled a zone on the far north map. "They're already inside."

Rain's breath caught. "We've lost the internal relays?"

"No," Jag said.

"We let them think they've taken it."

He placed a Choir Disruption Beacon in the center.

"Let them walk into our real encryption loop. Let them believe they've hijacked control."

"And then we burn the entire relay with anti-tonal feedback."

Rain whispered, "That will kill anyone inside."

"That's the point."

POV Return – Ashra's Squad, Aftermath

The Blackthorn Rangers had retreated. The forest burned behind them.

Stormwatch's west wall held.

Ashra leaned on her glaive. "They'll be back."

Sergeant Elien nodded. "We lost four."

She exhaled. "We saved the pylon."

She looked toward the wall and saw Jag standing there, watching from the highest balcony.

He didn't wave. Didn't smile.

He only nodded—once—and disappeared behind the choirstone door.

Final Scene – Blackthorn Retreat

A group of Blackthorn Rangers knelt before a figure wrapped in petal-shadows and bark armor.

His eyes glowed green beneath a crown of withered vines.

"They set fire to the songwood," one ranger growled. "They desecrated us."

The figure spoke softly.

"No. They did what humans do."

"Now we show them what we do."

He opened a scroll made from the skin of a dryad.

It revealed Stormwatch's full root map.

"We grow inside their graves."