The room was tense, everyone waiting for Nyra to speak. She could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on her—Saris's life hanging in the balance, but so were the lives of everyone in the room. If they failed, if they walked into another ambush, the rebellion could be finished.
She thought of Braxton's words, the ones he had spoken to her after the sabotage mission: Leadership comes with a cost. Every decision weighs heavier than the last.
Nyra's throat tightened as she met Myk's gaze, then Revin's. Her pulse raced. She had no idea what the right choice was. There wasn't one. Either way, people were going to die.
But Saris… Nyra couldn't let Saris die.
"We'll go," Nyra said quietly, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "But we'll do it smart. No rushing in, no full-blown assault. A small team—just enough to get her out."
Revin frowned. "You realize this could be exactly what Idris wants. If we go in and it's a trap—"
"We're not giving him a full fight," Nyra interrupted, her voice firm. "This isn't a battle. It's a rescue. We get in, we get out, and we don't stay long enough for Idris to catch us."
Myk grinned, clapping a hand on Nyra's shoulder. "Now that's what I like to hear. Let's get ready."
But as the room shifted into action, rebels gathering their weapons and supplies, Nyra's stomach twisted with uncertainty. She had made the decision. She had chosen to act.
Now she had to live with the consequences.
The night air was cold and still as Nyra led the small group of rebels through the streets of Halthor. The execution was set to take place in the main square at dawn, and they had only a few hours to plan and execute their rescue.
The team was small—Nyra, Myk, Tyrn, and a handful of others who had proven themselves capable in stealth. This wasn't a mission for hotheads or glory seekers. They needed precision, discipline.
Their target wasn't the execution platform. Saris was being held in a small prison near the center of the city, waiting to be transferred to the square for her public execution. They had to get to her before she was moved—before it was too late.
Nyra crouched behind a corner, her heart racing as she surveyed the entrance to the prison. A few guards stood watch, their armor glinting in the faint light of the torches. The door to the holding cell was heavy, iron-bound. They would need to move fast—once inside, there would be no time to linger.
"We need to take out the guards quietly," Nyra whispered, her voice low. "No noise. If we alert anyone, it's over."
Tyrn nodded, his bow already in hand. "I'll take the ones near the entrance."
Nyra gave a curt nod and signaled for the others to spread out. They moved silently through the shadows, their movements practiced, efficient. Tyrn's arrows flew through the air, striking the guards with deadly precision. Myk moved in next, his heavy frame surprisingly quiet as he dispatched another guard with a quick slice of his blade.
The entrance was clear. Now came the hard part.
Nyra led the way to the door, her hands trembling slightly as she worked the lock. It clicked open with a soft creak, and they slipped inside, the air thick with tension.
They found Saris in the far cell, her hands bound and her face pale with exhaustion. Her dark hair hung in loose strands around her face, her eyes heavy with defeat. But the moment she saw Nyra, a flicker of recognition sparked in her gaze.
"Nyra..." Saris's voice was barely a whisper, but it was filled with both relief and disbelief.
Nyra hurried to her side, cutting the ropes that bound her hands. "We're getting you out of here," Nyra whispered, her voice firm.
But just as they were about to leave, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.
"Guards!" Tyrn hissed, his eyes sharp. "We've got company."
Nyra's heart pounded as she turned to the others. "Get Saris out. Now."
The rebels moved quickly, dragging Saris out of the cell and back toward the entrance. But as they reached the door, a group of Imperial soldiers appeared at the end of the hall, their swords gleaming in the torchlight.
"Go!" Nyra shouted, drawing her sword. "I'll hold them off!"
Myk hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, pulling Saris along with him as the others retreated into the night. Nyra turned to face the soldiers, her pulse racing. This wasn't part of the plan. But there was no time to think—only to fight.
The soldiers charged at her, and Nyra met them head-on. Her sword clashed with theirs, the sound of steel ringing through the narrow hall. Her body moved on instinct, every strike and parry guided by the training Braxton had drilled into her. She dodged a blade aimed at her side, spinning to deliver a sharp counterattack that left one of the soldiers crumpled at her feet.
But there were too many of them.
Just as Nyra deflected another strike, a sharp pain shot through her arm—a blade cutting through her defenses. She gasped, stumbling back, but she didn't fall. Not yet.
"Nyra!" Myk's voice rang out, and she turned to see him standing at the door, Saris leaning heavily on his shoulder. His face was pale with effort, and his left arm was slick with blood, a deep gash running across his bicep.
Nyra's breath caught in her throat as she saw the blood staining Myk's hands and arms. For a split second, she feared the worst.
"We need to go, now!" Myk grunted, shifting Saris's weight as they moved quickly toward the alley. "I'll be fine."
Nyra gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stand despite the burning pain in her arm. She swung her sword one last time, knocking the final soldier to the ground, before turning to follow Myk and the others into the night.
They fled through the alleys, the sound of shouting guards fading behind them. Nyra's arm throbbed with every step, but she pushed through, her focus solely on getting Saris to safety.
***
By the time they reached the hidden entrance to the rebel base, Nyra was barely standing. She collapsed against the wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the others helped Saris inside.
"We did it," Myk said, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and exhaustion. "We got her out."
But Nyra didn't feel victorious. As she pressed her hand to the wound on her arm, she couldn't help but think of the soldiers she had killed, the ones they had left behind. This was what leadership felt like. Winning a battle, but losing a piece of yourself in the process.
Saris was safe. But Nyra knew this was only the beginning.