Claude crouched low in the undergrowth, the damp scent of moss and earth filling his lungs as he gestured for the rebels to stop. The faint glow of torchlight flickered against the limestone walls of the fortress, casting long, shifting shadows over the terrain ahead. The night was silent save for the occasional clink of a guard's armor or the distant howl of a wolf.
He turned to the group behind him—four rebels, their faces a mix of determination and tension. Each one clutched weapons or tools suited for the task ahead. Ezra, the most experienced among them, gave a firm nod, signaling readiness. Serah, a wiry woman with quick hands and sharper reflexes, gripped her dagger tightly, her eyes scanning the scene. The others—Milo and Rian—were less seasoned but eager, their expressions betraying a mix of fear and excitement.
Claude's voice was a low whisper, carrying just enough authority to focus their attention.
"We have to move quickly. There's a small window between the guards' patrol shifts and when the tower lights sweep the area," he explained, his finger tracing an invisible path in the dirt. "The sewer entrance is right there—" he pointed to the barely visible grate obscured by weeds and shadow—"but we need to get past the towers unseen. When their torches sweep the other way, we'll run. Stay low, stay silent, and follow my lead. Got it?"
The rebels nodded in unison, their breaths shallow with anticipation.
Claude peeked out from the underbrush, his eyes narrowing as he studied the pattern of the guards' movements. The sentries in the eastern tower were methodical, their torches sweeping the path every fifteen seconds before returning to scan the opposite direction. On the walls, two guards walked a slow loop, their boots echoing faintly against the stone.
Claude's mind worked quickly, calculating the timing. The next opening was coming soon. He turned back to the group.
"Wait for my signal," he whispered, his voice calm but firm.
The rebels huddled closer, tension radiating off them like static. Claude could feel their nerves, their breaths hitching as the torchlight crept closer. He held up a hand, his fingers splayed as he silently counted down.
Five.
The light swung toward the path, illuminating the area where they would soon dash.
Four.
The guards' steps above grew fainter as they rounded the far end of the wall.
Three.
The light shifted, beginning its sweep in the opposite direction.
Two.
Claude's muscles tensed, his instincts honed for the moment to move.
One.
"Now," he hissed.
Moving Through the Shadows
Claude darted forward, his movements fluid and precise. He stayed low, his body a shadow among shadows as he led the group across the exposed path. The rebels followed close behind, their steps almost soundless against the soft earth.
The torchlight shifted again, creeping back toward their position. Claude raised a hand, signaling the group to drop flat against the ground. The light passed over them, its beam scattering faintly against the undergrowth but missing the rebels entirely.
They waited, barely breathing, as the light moved on. When it was safe, Claude rose smoothly to his feet and continued, his pace controlled but swift.
Ezra was right behind him, his movements just as deliberate. Serah followed, her agility keeping her steps light and precise. Milo and Rian struggled slightly, their nerves making them clumsier, but Claude shot them a sharp glare that silenced their stumbles.
As they neared the sewer grate, the path narrowed, forcing them to squeeze through a gap between the outer wall and a cluster of bushes. Claude pressed himself against the cool stone, listening intently for any signs of detection.
Above, a guard's voice called out, casual but loud enough to send a jolt through the group.
"See anything?"
"Nothing. Just trees and shadows," came the reply.
Claude motioned for the rebels to stay put, his hand tightening into a fist to signal absolute silence. The tension was suffocating, every second dragging out as they waited for the voices to fade. Finally, the guards moved on, their footsteps receding into the night.
Reaching the Sewer
The sewer grate loomed ahead, its rusted surface hidden among the weeds. Claude knelt beside it, pulling a small crowbar from his belt. He worked quickly but carefully, prying the grate loose without making a sound. The iron groaned faintly in protest, but with a final, deliberate pull, it came free.
He turned to the rebels, gesturing toward the opening. "In. Quickly."
Ezra slid in first, his frame vanishing into the darkness below. Serah followed, her lithe form disappearing just as smoothly. Milo hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing nervously at the fortress walls before Claude nudged him forward.
"Go," Claude urged, his voice firm but quiet.
Milo swallowed hard and obeyed, followed closely by Rian. Claude was the last to enter, replacing the grate behind him with practiced ease.
The sewer was dark and damp, the air thick with the stench of stagnant water and decay. A narrow trickle of foul liquid ran along the center of the tunnel, and the rebels moved cautiously along the edges to avoid stepping in it. Claude led the way, his torch dimmed to a faint glow to avoid detection.
"The tunnel leads straight under the fortress," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the faint trickle of water. "We'll come up near the storage rooms. From there, we split up. Ezra, you'll handle the guards near the armory. Serah, disable the alarm bells. Milo and Rian, stay with me to secure the weapons."
The rebels nodded, their earlier nerves replaced by a grim determination.
Claude's mind raced ahead, already planning his next moves. The sewer had been a gamble, but the blindspot had worked in their favor.
The damp air of the sewer clung to Claude's skin as he carefully guided the rebels through the narrow tunnel. They moved in silence, each step calculated to minimize sound. The faint murmurs of the guards above echoed down the stone walls, a constant reminder of the precarious position they were in.
As they reached the end of the tunnel, the faint glow of torchlight spilled through a rusted iron grate that led into the fortress's lower levels. Claude motioned for the rebels to stay back, his hand raised in a silent command. Peering through the grate, he could see the flicker of shadows dancing on the walls, marking the presence of a guard nearby.
His mind raced. They were too close to risk discovery now. The guard's pacing was unpredictable, his footsteps alternating between soft echoes and muffled pauses. Claude studied the pattern for a moment, then picked up a small pebble from the damp ground.
Holding the pebble between his fingers, Claude weighed it for just a moment before hurling it with precision toward a cluster of barrels stacked in a dimly lit corner of the room. The pebble struck one of the barrels with a faint clink, the sound just loud enough to catch the guard's attention without raising an alarm.
"Did you hear that?" the guard muttered to himself, his voice low but audible. The sound of his armor shifting filled the room as he moved cautiously toward the source of the noise.
Claude pressed himself flat against the wall near the grate, holding his breath as the guard's shadow passed dangerously close. Through the small gaps in the rusted bars, he could see the man step into the corner, his torch raised high.
The guard hesitated, his head tilting as he scanned the barrels. "Hmph. Must have been my imagination," he mumbled, lowering his torch and turning back toward his post.
The moment the guard's back was turned, Claude sprang into action. He signaled to the rebels behind him, then gripped the rusted grate and carefully pried it open. The iron groaned faintly, but Claude stilled it with a firm hand, waiting for the noise to fade before sliding through the narrow opening.
His boots hit the ground with barely a sound, and he immediately flattened himself against the nearest wall, his shadow blending with the darkness. Behind him, Ezra followed, his movements equally silent. One by one, the rebels slipped through the grate, each taking a position along the walls to remain out of sight.
Claude's gaze darted toward the guard, who had resumed his pacing. Timing would be critical. He motioned for the rebels to wait as he watched the guard walk to the far end of the room.
When the guard turned his back once more, Claude gestured sharply. "Now," he mouthed, his voice barely a whisper.
The group moved as one, their footsteps light and deliberate as they crossed the room. Claude led them toward a narrow staircase that spiraled upward, its shadowed recesses offering a brief reprieve from the open space of the lower chamber.
As the rebels ascended the staircase, Claude's thoughts were already ahead. The armory was just a level above, its doors likely guarded by a pair of sentries. He had accounted for that, planning for Ezra to take point when the time came. Serah's role would come soon as well—her task to disable the alarm bells was critical if they wanted to avoid a full-scale confrontation.
At the top of the stairs, Claude paused, his hand raised once again to halt the group. He peeked around the corner, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor. It was empty, but he could hear faint voices further down, likely the guards stationed near the armory.
He turned back to the group, his expression calm but commanding. "Stay sharp," he whispered. "We're inside, but the hard part is just beginning."
The rebels nodded, their confidence bolstered by how smoothly they had made it this far. But Claude's mind was already calculating the next move. The distraction with the pebble had worked flawlessly, but the risks would only escalate from here.
Claude moved deeper into the fortress with the rebels close behind him, his senses razor-sharp. The stone walls loomed around them, cold and imposing, but Claude felt nothing but the electric thrill of control. Every step, every breath, every whispered command was another thread in the web he was weaving, another piece of the puzzle falling into place.
Ahead of them, the faint echoes of voices and footsteps bounced off the limestone corridors. The guards were scattered but alert, their presence a constant threat. Claude's plan relied on precision—and the distractions the team was about to create.
Ezra slipped away from the group, his movements smooth and deliberate as he approached the corridor leading to the barracks. He carried a pouch of small explosives, nothing too destructive but enough to create a cacophony that would draw guards away from the armory.
The sound of the explosion shattered the quiet of the fortress, reverberating through the halls like a thunderclap. Shouts erupted from the direction of the barracks as guards scrambled to investigate.
Claude seized the moment. "Move!" he hissed, waving the rest of the rebels forward.
They darted through the now-deserted corridor, their steps quick but cautious. Claude led the way, his memory of the fortress's layout guiding them with unerring accuracy.
The armory loomed ahead, its thick wooden doors bound with iron. Two guards remained stationed outside despite the distraction, their hands on their weapons and their eyes darting nervously toward the distant commotion.
Claude signaled to Serah, who crept toward the guards like a shadow. In a flash, she struck, her dagger moving with lethal precision. The first guard crumpled silently, his body slumping against the wall. The second guard turned, his mouth opening to shout, but Serah was faster. She silenced him with a quick strike, her blade glinting faintly in the torchlight.
Claude nodded in approval as Serah stepped back, wiping her blade clean. "Well done," he murmured before stepping forward to inspect the door.
Milo and Rian joined him, their eyes wide as they took in the imposing entrance. "How do we get in?" Milo whispered, his voice tight with nerves.
Claude smirked, pulling a set of lockpicking tools from his belt. "Watch and learn."
Within moments, the lock clicked open, and the door creaked inward to reveal the treasure trove within. Racks of swords, spears, and axes lined the walls, while stacks of armor gleamed in the dim light. Barrels of arrows and crates of supplies filled the room, a stockpile meant to arm the royal guard for any conflict.
"Spread out," Claude ordered, his voice low but firm. "Take as much as you can carry. Focus on weapons and armor first—those are the priority."
The rebels moved quickly, their earlier nervousness replaced by the adrenaline of the heist. Ezra returned, his face flushed from his successful distraction, and joined the effort, hoisting a bundle of swords over his shoulder. Serah moved with practiced efficiency, selecting lighter weapons and daggers she knew would be invaluable in skirmishes.
Milo and Rian struggled with the bulkier items, but Claude kept them focused, his sharp commands cutting through their clumsiness. "No hesitation," he snapped as Rian fumbled with a crate of arrows. "We don't have time for second-guessing. Move."
As the rebels loaded up, Claude's mind raced ahead to the next phase of the plan. The escape would be just as dangerous as the infiltration, and every second they spent in the armory increased the risk of discovery.
A distant clang echoed through the fortress—the sound of Serah disabling the alarm bells as planned. Claude allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. The team was working like a well-oiled machine, executing each step of the plan with precision.
But the reprieve was short-lived. Voices echoed from the hallway outside, the sound of guards returning from the barracks. The explosion had bought them time, but not enough.
Claude turned to Ezra. "Block the door. We need a few more minutes."
Ezra nodded, shoving a heavy rack of armor against the entrance. The metal screeched against the stone floor, the noise setting the rebels on edge.
"We're almost done," Claude said, his tone calm but urgent. "Grab what you can and get ready to move."
The rebels finished loading their loot, each one carrying as much as they could manage. Claude was the last to leave the armory, his sharp eyes scanning the room one final time to ensure nothing of value was left behind.
As they slipped back into the corridor, the sounds of pursuit grew louder. Guards were closing in, their shouts and hurried footsteps echoing through the fortress.
Claude led the group back toward the sewer entrance, his mind calculating every turn and intersection. He stopped at a junction, listening intently before signaling the group to move left. The rebels followed without question, their trust in Claude's leadership absolute.
They reached the sewer grate just as the first guards came into view at the far end of the hall. Serah and Ezra worked together to hold the line, their weapons flashing as they fended off the advancing guards.
"Go!" Claude barked, motioning for Milo and Rian to descend into the sewer.
One by one, the rebels disappeared into the darkness, their stolen weapons and armor safely in tow. Claude was the last to climb through, pausing only to ensure the grate was secured behind them.
Victory in the Shadows
The group moved swiftly through the sewers, their breaths ragged but triumphant. When they emerged into the safety of the night, the weight of their success settled over them like a warm cloak.
Claude turned to the rebels, his expression calm but proud. "Well done," he said simply. "This will change the tide of our fight."
The rebels nodded, their faces glowing with a mix of exhaustion and pride. They had pulled off the impossible, and they owed it to Claude's leadership.
As they made their way back to the hidden chamber, Claude allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The rebellion's arsenal was now significantly bolstered, and the crown's defenses had been dealt a severe blow.
[Author note]
Hey guys i had a little time now to make two chapters so i did. I hope i have soon more time to make more chapters. I don't know if you guys watched arcanse season 2 but it's amazing. After i have done this fanfic i want to make one about Ekko and how it could have been. The idea was that he goes back in time a month before the heist in Jayce's appartement but when going back in time he hears a voice entering his mind.
"My hand grasps the sun and moon and plucks the stars from the sky; this world has no one else like me. I can't believe a fragment of my consciousness managed to survive."
Do you like this idea. Comment 1 one Yes and 1 on No?
[Yes]
[No]