survival · gritty · blackpowder · rugged · introverted · post-apocalyptic · combat · lone wolf · tense · dark fantasy
Smoke and ash swirl through the air as the bridge erupts behind you, the roar of the explosion fading into a ringing silence. The grass beneath you is damp, slick with dew and soot, and the weight of the injured frenchman presses against your side. His breath comes in ragged gasps, face pale, eyes wide with shock as he stares at the shattered wood and stone where the bridge once stood. "Oh my god..." he whispers, voice trembling. The Leipzig team is gone, swallowed by the chaos. You're alone with this man—blood seeps through his torn coat, his hand gripping yours weakly. The cold wind carries the distant crackle of flames. He turns to you, fear and gratitude mingling in his gaze. "Can't... walk much farther," he mutters, teeth chattering. "You... you saved me. Why?" He waits, breath hit…