Orryn's POV:
Nadya had made her sentiments excruciatingly clear. My heart was weighed down by a sense of loss for the future I'd imagined us sharing. Yet, I found no time to wallow in self-pity. It's been a week since I last laid eyes on her. After she'd bolted from my tent, I sent word to her that our training would cease indefinitely. I didn't wish to cause her any further discomfort. I'd received my answer, and it was time to accept that.
"How much longer until we strike?" Malcolm asked, his arms crossed over his chest in a show of impatience. The flickering torchlight hung in the tent casting long, dancing shadows. "It's been a year since we rescued the prisoners. Why must we wait any longer?"
I could feel his irritation radiating towards me. We were alike in our thirst for a good fight, but unlike him, I despised senseless bloodshed. I looked at him, his stern features illuminated by the glow of the torchlight, his eyes filled with a burning urgency.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but we took two hundred of our people to storm the prison, didn't we?" He responded with an affirmative hum, his eyes never leaving mine. "Out of those two hundred, thirty of them were killed, and twenty were badly injured."
His jaw clenched at the mention of his fallen comrades, the light in his eyes flickering with restrained anger. "They were anything but mediocre warriors, yet the guards stationed at these prisons are the best in their field."
His simmering anger towards me began to ebb as my words sank in, replaced by an understanding of the harsh reality of our situation.
"Becoming a prison guard is not something just anyone can do, you out of everyone here should know that. Only the elite are even considered for a post there." I leaned forward on the round table we were huddled around, the ancient wood creaking under my weight. The other members of our strategy panel nodded in silent agreement. "The prison we infiltrated was minuscule compared to the others. They're bigger, which means more guards."
"We cannot afford to rush in with the men we currently have. Sending the prisoners into battle without proper training would equate to a death sentence." My eyes bore into his, the weight of my responsibility hanging heavy between us. "I will not have their blood on my hands."
At my final declaration, a tense silence fell over the table. I held Malcolm's gaze steadily, but I could feel the eyes of the other members on me as well.
"You are right, my Lord. I apologise," Malcolm sighed after a moment, the corners of his black eyes crinkling in defeat. He ran a hand through his dark hair, his forehead creased in frustration. "It's just... being there, having to witness the brutality against our people day in and day out, and being unable to do anything to stop it... it's..."
"I understand, brother," I interrupted gently, feeling a surge of empathy for his frustrations. My eyes softened as I regarded him, the flickering torchlight casting a warm glow over his tense features. "You wish to save them all. We all do. But you mustn't lose sight of the bigger picture. We have to strategize to help the many, not just the few. We must ensure that our efforts aren't in vain."
"I couldn't even save my own siblings, the least I could do is save others who suffered the same torment they did," Malcolm confessed, his voice falling to a raw, vulnerable whisper. His eyes, shadowed with past regrets and torment, stared blankly at the tent floor, as if he were speaking more to himself than to us.
It was a painful admission, the guilt and regret in his voice tangible. Each word was heavy, burdened with a sense of loss and failure that had been his constant companion since the fateful day he lost his siblings. His admission hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the personal stakes each of us held in this fight.
"Maybe they're still alive, we might still find them," Kyra's gentle voice offered, disrupting the oppressive silence. Her forest green eyes, softened with empathy. Despite her gentle demeanour, Kyra was a formidable warrior, her rise through the ranks testament to her strategic mind and lethal skills. Rescued from the harsh streets of Zamania by Malcolm himself, she had transformed from a starving, desperate child into one of our most trusted fighters.
"That's highly unlikely," Malcolm dismissed, his voice hard but shaky. His hands, so often steady and sure, clenched into fists on the table, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. His entire body trembled with suppressed rage, each tremor a testament to his self-directed anger. "They were just children when they were taken. It was my duty to protect them." His admission was steeped in regret, a tangible testament to the guilt he harboured for a past he couldn't change.
Kyra's eyes, usually so bright and fierce, shimmered with shared sorrow. Her lips, usually upturned in a fierce grin, now frowned in a grimace of empathy. Her words were meant as comfort, but they rang hollow in the face of such despair. Yet, she bravely bore the burden of hope for Malcolm, standing firm in the belief that good fortune might yet smile upon him.
The interior of the tent was filled with the hum of uneasy silence, disrupted only by the distant sounds of the camp coming alive outside. The morning light that streamed in through the entrance of the tent cast a soft glow on the maps, weapons, and assorted military paraphernalia that adorned the table and the surrounding area, imbuing our austere environment with a gentle warmth that starkly contrasted with the cold dread that filled our hearts.
"We cannot change the past, my son," Eldon, our most seasoned member and a veritable sage among warriors, interjected in a voice gruff with age but rich with experience. He remained unmoving, a stalwart fixture of wisdom and resilience amidst our group. His weathered face was a rugged tapestry of wrinkles and battle scars, his eyes radiating an inextinguishable flame of wisdom wrought from countless battles and challenges surmounted. "But we can always write our own future."
His words echoed with an immutable truth, casting a revitalising energy across the sombre gathering. A murmur of agreement rippled among us, like the first whispers of a growing wind. It was a testament to Eldon's influential presence, his words holding the power to kindle hope even in the bleakest moments. We drew strength from his conviction, each of us resolved to turn the tides of our daunting struggle and carve a brighter path forward.