The celebration in the aftermath of the ambush was short-lived. Though the rebels had triumphed over the elite hunters, Kael remained uneasy. Victory had come at a cost. Some rebels lay injured or dead, and the weight of their sacrifice pressed heavily on him.
As dawn crept over the horizon, the rebels began to bury their fallen. The ritual was somber but defiant, as if each mound of earth was a promise that their struggle would not be in vain. Kael, standing apart from the others, kept his gaze on the horizon. The hunters were only a prelude to what was coming.
Rhea approached quietly, her steps soft on the uneven ground. "You did well," she said, her tone measured.
Kael glanced at her, his expression grim. "We survived. That's not the same as winning."
Rhea tilted her head, studying him. "Your instincts were right about the ambush. And they'll be right again when the time comes. Don't doubt yourself now."
Kael didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned to the fragment at his side, feeling its pulse resonate with his heartbeat. "The elites won't stop. They'll keep coming, stronger each time. We can't keep fighting like this."
"What do you suggest?" Rhea asked.
Kael turned to her, his eyes hard. "We go on the offensive. Find their outposts, disrupt their supply lines, and force them onto unstable ground."
Before Rhea could respond, a commotion erupted near the edge of the camp. Kael spun around, spear at the ready, as Darik came running toward them.
"We found something—or someone," Darik said, his face pale. "You need to see this."
Kael followed Darik to the perimeter, where a small group of rebels had gathered around a figure slumped against a tree. It was a man, barely conscious, his body riddled with injuries. His clothes were torn, but the remnants of a distinctive insignia on his sleeve caught Kael's eye.
"One of theirs," Rhea muttered, stepping closer to inspect the symbol.
The man stirred weakly, his eyes fluttering open. When he saw the rebels, he tensed, his breathing shallow.
"Wait," Kael said, holding up a hand to stop the rebels from moving closer. He crouched down, meeting the man's gaze. "Who are you?"
The man's voice was hoarse, barely audible. "I... defected. They'll kill me if they find me."
Kael narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on his spear. "Why should we believe you?"
The man coughed, blood flecking his lips. "Because... I know their plans. And if you don't stop them, none of you will survive."
Rhea knelt beside Kael, her expression skeptical. "Convenient. Why should we trust you're not here to spy on us?"
The man's eyes flicked to Rhea, then back to Kael. "I have nothing left. They... destroyed my family, used me like a tool. Please, I can help you. I know where they're keeping the next fragment."
Kael's pulse quickened at the mention of the fragment, but he kept his expression unreadable. "What's your name?"
"Adrin," the man whispered.
Kael exchanged a glance with Rhea. Her doubt was evident, but there was also a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
"Bind his wounds," Kael said finally, standing up. "We'll decide what to do with him once he's strong enough to talk."
That night, as the camp settled into an uneasy calm, Kael sat by the fire, his thoughts racing. Adrin's appearance was either a stroke of luck or a dangerous trap, and he couldn't afford to assume the former.
Rhea joined him, her gaze fixed on the flames. "You think he's telling the truth?"
"I don't know," Kael admitted. "But if there's even a chance he knows where the fragment is, we can't ignore it."
Rhea nodded slowly. "Just be careful. Desperation can make people do strange things."
Kael's grip on his spear tightened. Desperation was something he knew all too well.
As the fire crackled, Kael stared into the darkness beyond the camp, his senses on high alert. The wilds were never silent, but tonight, the sounds felt different—heavier, as if the land itself was warning him of what lay ahead.
The storm was far from over, and Kael could feel it brewing.