The morning after the raid broke, and the camp buzzed with the aftermath. The victorious shouts of the men and women who had survived the battle reverberated through the stronghold. Yet, amidst the noise, Ashar could feel a deep stillness in his chest. His mind was clouded with questions that would not let him rest. The attack had been swift, brutal, and successful—but it felt too easy. There had to be more to the Orcs' movements than just reactionary defense. He couldn't shake the feeling that something—something darker—was lurking beneath the surface.
He stood at the edge of the camp, watching the smoke from the fires rise into the gray sky. The air was thick with the remnants of battle, a mix of blood, sweat, and the acrid scent of burned wood. His men and women moved about, tending to the wounded, securing the captured supplies, and making sure there were no signs of reinforcements. But Ashar's thoughts remained elsewhere.
"What's eating at you?" Torin's voice broke through his reverie. The older man had been watching Ashar for a while, his sharp gaze never missing a detail.
Ashar turned to him, offering a tight smile. "Just thinking. We got the upper hand, but I don't trust it."
Torin raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "What's there to distrust? You led them well, Ashar. We hit them hard. They won't be back anytime soon."
"It's not that," Ashar muttered, glancing back at the rising smoke. "The Orcs… they're too organized. These scouts—this isn't the first time they've anticipated our moves. And then there's the prophecy. It's as if they've known we would strike."
Torin grunted, his face hardening. "You're not wrong. The Orcs are cunning. They've been fighting wars for generations; they know how to protect themselves."
Ashar's eyes narrowed. "It's more than that. They knew we would fight. They knew we would escape. But how? What made them so sure?"
Torin stood beside him, his arms crossed. "You're thinking too hard, Ashar. We'll deal with it when it comes. The prophecy, the Orcs—whatever they're planning, it won't stop us. You've already beaten them once."
Ashar clenched his jaw. "Once isn't enough."
Before Torin could respond, Rylah approached, her expression as grim as ever. Her hair, usually tied back in a tight braid, was disheveled, and the exhaustion in her eyes was evident. But there was something else there, too—a sharpness. She'd been on edge ever since their raid, and Ashar knew that look. It wasn't just the Orcs she was worried about.
"Reports from the scouts," she said, handing him a folded piece of parchment. "The tracks we found? They were part of a larger force. Gorthak's men are closing in. They're about two days out."
Ashar's chest tightened. The Orcs were regrouping faster than he had anticipated. Gorthak, their leader, was no fool. He would strike back with everything he had.
"We need to get ready," Ashar said, his voice low. "Prepare the defenses. We can't afford to wait. This will be their counterstrike."
Rylah nodded, but her gaze lingered on Ashar, as though she had something more to say. After a long pause, she spoke again.
"There's something else," she began carefully. "I don't trust some of the new recruits. There's a sense of hesitation among them. A few of the men… I've caught them whispering at night."
Ashar's stomach twisted. He had been expecting this. He had feared it. The fragile unity they had built was already beginning to fray at the edges. His people were still too traumatized from their lives in slavery to trust completely, to let go of their fear. He couldn't afford any cracks in their loyalty.
"I'll take care of it," Ashar said, his voice hardening with resolve. "I'll speak with them."
Rylah's eyes softened with concern, but she didn't argue. Instead, she gave a quick nod and turned to leave, her footsteps echoing in the quiet camp.
Ashar stood alone again, feeling the weight of leadership press down on him. There was so much to manage—so much to keep under control. But it was more than just organizing raids and building defenses. It was about protecting the lives of those who had chosen to follow him, who had placed their trust in him.
And if there was a traitor in their midst, he would find them. He couldn't afford to let that seed of doubt fester.
***
That night, after most of the camp had settled into a restless sleep, Ashar made his way to the makeshift barracks where the new recruits were stationed. His footsteps were silent on the dirt path, the only sound the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. He had to do this carefully. If there was a traitor among them, any confrontation would need to be swift. The last thing he needed was chaos when they were already facing the Orcs' retaliation.
As he approached the barracks, he heard the low murmur of voices. It was late—too late for casual conversation. Ashar's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade. He stepped closer, moving silently through the shadows, and found a small group of men huddled near the back of the tent.
They were speaking in hushed tones, but Ashar's ears caught a few words. The sound of betrayal in their words sent a chill through him.
"...no one's really going to stand a chance against Gorthak, right? I mean, Ashar's good, but... we don't know what we're really up against."
"Don't make it sound like we're giving up," another voice murmured. "But maybe it's time to think about another way. I don't want to die for a cause I'm not sure will even work."
A third voice, sharp and defensive, cut through. "You're crazy. If you're thinking about leaving, you better not make that choice now. We're all in this together."
Ashar's heart raced as the words sank in. These men—new recruits, ones he'd personally welcomed into their ranks—were questioning their purpose, doubting his leadership. They hadn't been through the horrors of their past to be given this chance only to squander it now.
He couldn't let them do this.
Ashar stepped out of the shadows, his voice low and commanding. "Enough."
The men froze, their faces paling as they turned to face him. Ashar stood tall, his eyes hard as stone. He had no time for hesitation, no patience for this kind of weakness.
"I've heard enough," he continued, his voice cold and cutting. "If you have doubts about this cause, if you can't stomach fighting for your freedom, then leave now. But if you stay, you fight with everything you have. No half-measures. No second thoughts."
The men exchanged nervous glances, their resolve faltering under his gaze. One of them—a lanky man with dark circles under his eyes—took a step forward.
"We were just talking," he said, his voice trembling. "We didn't mean anything by it, Ashar. We're with you. We just…"
"You're with me?" Ashar interrupted, his tone razor-sharp. "Prove it. Stop talking and start acting. I need loyalty. I don't need hesitation."
For a long, tense moment, the men were silent. Then, finally, the first man nodded, though his eyes were still wide with fear. "We understand. We won't doubt you again."
Ashar studied their faces for another beat, making sure they understood the gravity of their words.
"Good," he said, his voice hardening. "Because if you betray this cause, there will be no mercy."
He turned on his heel, his heart heavy with the weight of the decision. But he had no choice. He couldn't afford to let anyone weaken their resolve. There were too many lives on the line.
***
The next morning, as the camp prepared for the Orcs' retaliation, Ashar stood on the edge of the stronghold, looking out across the plains. The horizon was wide and empty, but beneath that empty surface, there was a growing storm. The Orcs were coming. And he knew, deep down, that this time, it wouldn't be just another raid.
This was war.
And they were ready for it.