The morning sun was barely a sliver on the horizon when Ashar stood outside the gates of the stronghold, staring out into the dense forest that surrounded them. His breath formed a mist in the cold morning air. The sounds of the camp behind him—the murmurs of men and women preparing for the day—were strangely distant. His thoughts were consumed by the mission ahead.
Rylah had returned with vital information, and they couldn't afford to waste any more time. The Orcs were divided, but not so weak that they could be easily toppled. If Ashar was going to strike, he needed a plan—one that would hit them where it hurt the most, in the very heart of their power struggle.
"What are we waiting for?" Torin's voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.
Ashar turned to see the older man standing a few feet away, his weathered face as stern as ever. Torin wasn't the kind to wait for orders. He had always been the kind to act.
"We wait for the right moment," Ashar replied, though the words felt empty as they left his mouth. He didn't feel like waiting. He wanted to act now, to take the fight to the Orcs before they could mobilize. But that was the old Ashar—the one who thought everything could be solved with brute force. The leader he had to become was patient, calculating. He had learned that much over the past few months.
Torin didn't look convinced. "The right moment? Ashar, they're out there. Watching. We can't sit idly by while the Orcs regroup."
"I know," Ashar muttered. "But we can't just charge in without preparation. If we're going to use their divisions against them, we need more information. We need leverage."
Torin grunted but said nothing more. He knew better than to argue with Ashar when his mind was set. But Ashar could see the doubt in his eyes. Torin wanted to strike. The survivors wanted to strike. They were tired of being hunted, tired of being pushed around by the Orcs. But Ashar wasn't so sure. Every move had to be precise. One misstep, and they would lose everything.
***
Later that day, Ashar gathered his closest advisors, including Rylah, Torin, and a few others who had been instrumental in the escape. They sat around a makeshift table inside the stronghold, the flickering light from a nearby fire casting shadows on their faces. The map was spread out before them, the route to the nearest Orc stronghold drawn in faint ink.
Ashar's finger traced the lines of the map, moving over the rough terrain where the Orcs had their largest garrison. "This is where we hit them first," he said, his voice low but resolute. "We don't have the strength to fight them head-on, but if we can disrupt their supplies, if we can cripple their reinforcements before they even leave their strongholds…"
Rylah nodded, her eyes sharp as she studied the map. "It's risky, but it's our best shot. Gorthak is consolidating his power in the east, while Vargoth's forces are more spread out. We can target Gorthak's supply lines—cut them off before they realize what's happening."
"But how do we get in?" Torin asked. "The Orcs have their scouts everywhere. It's not like they'll let us just stroll in."
Ashar's lips twisted into a grim smile. "We won't stroll in. We'll strike at night, hit them hard and fast. We'll be ghosts. In and out before they know it."
Torin's brow furrowed, but he didn't object. "And what about Vargoth's forces? They're not to be ignored."
Ashar's eyes darkened. "We'll use the chaos. If Gorthak's supplies are cut off, it'll stir up unrest among the Orcs. If Vargoth is smart, he'll try to take advantage of the weakness, and that's when we can strike."
Rylah raised an eyebrow. "And if Vargoth doesn't bite?"
Ashar's gaze hardened. "Then we'll make him. We'll make them all see that we're not just a group of escaped slaves. We're an army."
There was a brief silence as the others processed Ashar's words. It was bold—almost reckless—but it was also their only chance. If they sat back and waited, they would lose the initiative. They had to strike first. They had to be the ones dictating the terms of this war.
"Alright," Torin said finally, standing up. "Let's do it. But we need every hand we can get. If we're going to move against Gorthak, we'll need fighters, scouts, and—"
"We have a bigger problem," Rylah interrupted. "I've heard rumors. Whispers from some of the other villages. Some of them are... talking about turning us in to the Orcs."
Ashar stiffened. He had suspected this might happen. "Who?"
Rylah hesitated. "I don't know. I don't have the names, but I've heard enough to know that there's fear spreading. The Orcs might not have broken them yet, but they're close. If we don't do something soon, we could lose their support."
The thought gnawed at Ashar. He had expected resistance from some villages—fear was a powerful thing, and after years of enslavement, it wasn't surprising that some would prefer the safety of submission over the risk of war. But the betrayal was another matter entirely.
"I won't let them turn us in," Ashar said firmly. "But we can't wait for them to decide. We'll go to them, make our offer. We'll show them what we've done, what we're capable of. We'll bring them into our fight—or we'll make sure they regret it."
***
That night, Ashar stood at the edge of the camp once again, his eyes scanning the horizon. The moon was high, casting a cold light over the world. He had never felt the weight of leadership more than in these moments. Every decision he made could mean the difference between life and death for the people who depended on him.
Torin had gathered the fighters, preparing them for the mission ahead. The others, the survivors who had helped build the stronghold, were starting to understand what Ashar had known all along—that there would be no going back. They would either win this war, or they would fall trying.
And now, the time had come to strike.
The stronghold was ready for its first test. Ashar had to trust that the walls, the traps, the hidden passageways—everything they had worked so hard to build—would hold. But even if it didn't, he had made a promise to them. A promise he wouldn't break.
He turned back to the fire, his thoughts turning inward once more. His mind was filled with memories of the past—of days spent in chains, of the faces of those who had not made it out. But those faces didn't haunt him anymore. Now, they fueled him. They reminded him of why he couldn't stop. Why he had to keep moving forward, no matter the cost.
"Let them come," he whispered to the wind. "We'll make them regret ever enslaving us."
***
The next few days would test Ashar's leadership in ways he hadn't anticipated. The early successes of their first strike against Gorthak's forces would ignite the fire of rebellion, but it would also bring the Orcs' full wrath down upon them. And as the shadows of the past continued to haunt him, Ashar would learn that the fight for freedom was never as simple as he hoped. The cost would be high—higher than any of them could have imagined.
But there was no turning back. Not anymore.