The tension that filled the Council chamber hung in the air long after the nobles agreed to lend their forces. As the group stepped out of the chamber, Lumumba couldn't shake the uneasy feeling crawling up his spine. They had won the council's support, but there was something cold and calculated in Lord Dorian's agreement. He didn't trust them—and Lumumba knew that Dorian's help came with strings attached.
"That went better than expected," Jon muttered as they exited into the open courtyard, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stuffy chamber. He glanced at Solann, who had remained silent since addressing the council. Her eyes were distant, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Amara gave a nod, but her expression was tight. "Better, but not easy. Dorian is no fool. He's given us forces, but he'll be watching for any sign of failure. He'll turn the council against us if things don't go as planned."
Lumumba smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement despite the gravity of the situation. "That's the problem with politicians. They're like snakes—slippery, always waiting for a moment to strike. But hey, we're good at dealing with snakes, right?"
Amara smiled faintly, but her eyes darted toward Solann, who was walking just ahead of them, her shoulders hunched slightly. There was a heaviness around her, an aura of guilt that seemed to drag her down with every step. Amara's heart twisted with sympathy, but there was also a sharp edge of caution. Solann was no longer under the Sovereign's control, but the trauma of her past still hung over her like a shadow.
"She's struggling," Amara whispered, her eyes softening. "We need to be careful. The fissures… they feed off pain. And she's still connected to that pain."
Jon's eyes darkened as he looked at Solann. He had seen the flashes of grief in her eyes, the moments where her composure cracked. But he also saw strength in her—a desire to atone for her past. He refused to believe that she was beyond redemption.
"She'll pull through," Jon said firmly, his voice steady. "We're not leaving her to face this alone."
Lumumba watched the exchange silently, feeling the weight of the growing tension between Amara and Jon. He could see where this was heading. Solann was walking a fine line between redemption and destruction, and if she fell to one side, the consequences would ripple through their group.
"We need to focus," Lumumba said, his tone unusually serious. "The fissures are spreading faster than we thought. The Sovereign's plan is accelerating, and if we don't stop him soon, this whole kingdom's going to fall apart."
Amara nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. "We need to find the source of the fissures. There's something deeper going on—something we haven't uncovered yet. Solann knows more than she's telling us, but we can't push her too hard."
Jon's jaw tightened, and Lumumba saw the flicker of protectiveness in his eyes. "I'll talk to her. She'll tell us when she's ready."
Amara hesitated but nodded, her eyes lingering on Solann's distant form. "Be careful, Jon. This isn't just about her. The Sovereign's power is tied to the fissures, and if he can manipulate her emotions, he could use her against us."
Jon didn't reply, but the determination in his gaze was clear. He wasn't going to let Solann fall.
The Cracks Begin to Show
The next few days were filled with preparations. The council had agreed to lend their forces, and the first detachments of soldiers began arriving at the edges of the capital. Lumumba, Amara, and Jon spent hours meeting with commanders, mapping out strategies for the coming battle. The fissures were spreading faster, and their influence was growing stronger with each passing day. Reports from the outskirts of the kingdom were dire—villages consumed by dark magic, twisted creatures born from the fissures' corruption.
But while the group was focused on the impending war, the cracks within their own ranks were beginning to show.
Solann had grown quieter, more withdrawn, her interactions with the others limited to curt nods and brief responses. She spent long hours alone, often wandering the outskirts of the camp, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Jon stayed close to her, but even he was struggling to reach her. The guilt and pain of her past still weighed heavily on her, and it was clear that something was building inside her—a storm waiting to break.
One evening, as the sun set over the capital, Jon found Solann sitting alone by a stream, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself as though trying to hold herself together.
He approached her cautiously, sitting down beside her without saying anything at first. For a long time, they sat in silence, the only sound the gentle flow of the water and the distant hum of the city.
Finally, Solann spoke, her voice quiet but raw. "I keep seeing them. The faces of the people I failed. The people I hurt."
Jon looked at her, his brow furrowing with concern. "You weren't in control. The Sovereign twisted you, used you. That's not your fault."
Solann shook her head, her eyes filled with grief. "But it was me. I did those things. I made those choices. Even if he influenced me, I still let it happen."
Jon reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're not that person anymore, Solann. You've changed. You're fighting to make things right."
Solann's lips trembled, and for a moment, it looked like she might break down. But instead, she took a deep breath and pulled away from his touch, her expression hardening. "But what if it's too late? What if I've done too much to ever be redeemed?"
Jon's heart clenched at her words, but before he could respond, Amara appeared at the edge of the clearing, her face tight with worry.
"Jon, we need to talk," she said, her voice urgent.
Jon frowned, glancing back at Solann. "Can it wait? We were—"
"No, it can't," Amara cut him off, her eyes flicking nervously toward Solann. "The fissures… they're spreading faster than we anticipated. We need to act now."
Jon stood reluctantly, casting one last glance at Solann before following Amara out of the clearing. But as they walked back toward the camp, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
Inside the Fissure
That night, the group gathered around the war table, discussing their next move. The fissures had reached critical mass, and the Sovereign's forces were beginning to mobilize in earnest. They had little time left to stop him.
"We need to take the fight to him," Amara said, her voice firm. "The longer we wait, the stronger he becomes. The fissures are spreading because of the pain and suffering he's caused. We need to sever his connection to them."
Lumumba leaned back in his chair, his usual grin absent. "And how exactly do we do that? The Sovereign's hiding somewhere, probably watching us right now, waiting for us to make a mistake."
Amara frowned, her fingers tapping the table thoughtfully. "The fissures are linked to key locations across the kingdom. If we can destroy the sources, we can weaken his control. But we need to find the central fissure—the one that's feeding the rest."
Jon, who had been silent for most of the meeting, suddenly spoke up. "Solann might know where it is. She was connected to the fissures for a long time. Maybe she can lead us to it."
Amara hesitated, glancing at Lumumba. "That's a risk. Solann's still fragile. If we push her too hard, she might—"
"She'll be fine," Jon interrupted, his voice sharp. "We don't have time to second-guess this. Solann is stronger than you think."
The tension between Jon and Amara was palpable, and Lumumba could feel the room closing in. This wasn't just about the fissures anymore—this was about Solann, and the cracks that were forming within their group.