The morning sky was a slate-gray canvas, foretelling the storm that loomed not only above but within the camp. Ashar stood at the edge of the stronghold's unfinished wall, the wind whipping through his hair as he surveyed the horizon. His eyes scanned for any sign of movement. The Orcs were out there, somewhere, watching, waiting. He could feel it in his bones.
"Reckon we've got two days, maybe less," Torin's voice broke through the silence as he approached. His face was lined with worry, his eyes scanning the same horizon.
Ashar nodded, his jaw clenched. "They won't wait much longer. They want us to panic, to make a mistake."
Torin shifted, glancing back toward the camp. "We've strengthened the eastern wall, but the north side... it won't hold if they bring siege weapons."
"We'll deal with it," Ashar said firmly. "We have to."
Torin hesitated, then lowered his voice. "There's something else. Supplies went missing last night—enough to raise concern. Someone's been in the stores."
Ashar's eyes narrowed. "Could it have been a mistake?"
"No," Torin shook his head. "Whoever did it knew exactly what they were looking for."
A cold dread settled in Ashar's stomach. "A traitor."
"It's looking that way."
***
Training Grounds
The makeshift training grounds were alive with the sounds of clashing weapons and shouted orders. Rylah stood in the center, watching the recruits as they practiced. Her sharp eyes caught every flaw, every hesitation. She called out corrections, her voice cutting through the chaos.
"Your stance is weak! If you can't hold your ground here, you won't stand a chance out there!" Her words were harsh, but there was a fierce pride in them.
Ashar approached, his gaze sweeping over the recruits. They were improving, but too slowly. Time was running out.
"How are they?" he asked.
Rylah sighed, wiping sweat from her brow. "Better than they were. But they're not ready. Most of them have never held a weapon before."
"They'll learn," Ashar said. "They have to."
She turned to him, her eyes searching his face. "Torin told me about the supplies. Do you really think it's one of us?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I can't ignore it."
Rylah's expression hardened. "If there's a traitor, we need to find them. Fast."
***
The moon hung high in the sky, casting pale light over the camp, its silvery rays cutting through the thin mist that clung to the ground. Ashar stood on the edge of the watchtower, the weight of the world pressing down on him. The wind was biting tonight, sending shivers through his coat, but it was the coldness of the situation that truly chilled him. A traitor in their midst. Someone who had been part of their struggle, their escape, was now working against them.
Loran's voice echoed in his memory. "I saw someone near the supply tent. I think they were taking something." The raw fear in Loran's eyes had shaken Ashar. He could tell the young man wasn't lying. He trusted Loran, and right now, that trust was all he had.
Ashar couldn't afford to be wrong about this. Not now. Not when everything was on the brink of collapse.
His mind raced. Who could it be? The question gnawed at him, each possibility darker than the last. He trusted most of them—at least, he thought he did. The people he had led to freedom, the survivors who had looked to him as their leader, their king—could one of them really betray them all?
His thoughts were interrupted by the crunch of footsteps behind him. He turned to see Torin approaching, his expression grim. The man's broad shoulders seemed to carry an invisible weight, and his eyes, always so steady, flickered with something darker tonight.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" Ashar asked, not needing to elaborate further. Torin's presence alone told him everything he needed to know.
"I did," Torin replied, his voice low. "Someone's been stealing from the supplies. And I don't think it's just food."
Ashar's heart skipped a beat. Not just food? "Weapons," he muttered, half to himself. The implication hit like a blow to the gut.
"If we're right, they're planning something. I don't know who, but it's one of us." Torin's voice dropped to a whisper. "We need to find out who before it's too late."
Ashar nodded. His hand clenched around the railing of the watchtower, his knuckles turning white. Before it's too late. The words echoed in his mind like a warning. If they were too slow, if they made the wrong move, the whole camp could be torn apart.
He turned away from the tower's edge, his mind already calculating their next move. "We'll start by questioning those nearest the supply tent. If anyone's hiding something, we'll find it."
Torin's gaze darkened. "I'm with you. But we need to be careful. Whoever this is, they know the camp better than we do. They might have allies."
Ashar's chest tightened. "I know. That's what scares me the most."
***
The next morning, the camp was alive with activity, the usual tension in the air heavier than ever. The men and women were hard at work—shoring up walls, training with makeshift weapons, securing what little food and water they had left. But even as they worked, there was a noticeable unease among them. Ashar could see it in the way they glanced over their shoulders, the way their voices dropped to whispers when they thought no one was listening.
He couldn't shake the feeling that the shadow of betrayal was closing in on them.
He walked through the camp, his eyes scanning each face, each movement. Rylah was leading a group of recruits, her sharp commands echoing in the air as she drilled them in the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Ashar paused, watching her for a moment. She was as tough as they came, but even she was showing signs of strain. Her eyes, usually bright with determination, were now shadowed by doubt. The pressure was getting to everyone.
Rylah noticed him and gave him a nod, but her expression remained serious. "The recruits are improving," she said, though her voice was tight, as if every word were a struggle.
"Improving isn't good enough," Ashar said, his voice low. "We need them ready, and we need them ready fast."
Rylah's gaze flickered toward the horizon. "I don't think we have much time. The Orcs will come. And when they do, we need to be able to stand our ground."
Ashar's stomach tightened. We need to be ready. We have to be ready. He could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. It was up to him to lead them through this, to make sure they weren't just surviving, but thriving. But with the specter of betrayal looming over him, he wasn't sure he could trust anyone. Not anymore.
***
That evening, Ashar and Torin made their move. They had narrowed down the suspects—people who had been seen near the supply tents late at night, people whose behavior had become increasingly erratic. Ashar couldn't afford to waste time. They had to act now.
The night air was thick with tension as they moved through the camp, shadows among shadows. Ashar's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the weight of it reassuring but not enough to calm his nerves.
They arrived at the supply tent, which was now guarded by two of the more reliable recruits. The guards gave them a brief nod as they approached, their eyes scanning the surroundings with a practiced caution.
"You two stand watch," Ashar ordered. "No one enters unless we say so."
They nodded again, and Ashar and Torin slipped inside.
The tent was cluttered with crates and barrels, the dim light from a nearby fire casting long shadows over the scattered supplies. As Ashar moved deeper into the tent, his heart began to race. He could feel the presence of something—or someone—lurking just out of sight.
A rustle caught his attention. His gaze snapped toward a stack of crates at the far end of the tent. Someone was there.
Ashar's hand moved to his sword, but Torin stopped him with a touch on his arm. "Let me handle this."
Torin moved silently, his footsteps barely a whisper against the dirt floor. Ashar watched, his breath held. The air in the tent felt thick with anticipation.
Then, in one fluid motion, Torin sprang forward, knocking the crate aside and revealing a figure crouched behind it.
"Caught you," Torin growled.
The figure's eyes widened in shock. For a brief moment, there was silence. Then, the man—Jarek, one of the survivors Ashar had trusted—looked up with a mixture of fear and defiance. His hand was halfway to the dagger hidden at his side.
"You…" Ashar's voice was low, barely more than a whisper. "You're the one."
Jarek's eyes flickered toward the exit. "It's not what you think," he said quickly, his voice trembling. "I wasn't—"
"Shut up," Torin snapped. "You've been taking from the supplies, and now we know why."
Jarek's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. "I wasn't taking it for myself. I was—"
Ashar stepped forward, his eyes hardening. "Spare me your excuses. Who are you working with?"
Jarek swallowed hard, his eyes flickering toward the shadows of the tent. He knew he was trapped. "No one. I—I was just trying to survive."
"Survive?" Torin's voice was cold. "We all are. But you chose betrayal."
Jarek's head hung low. "Please... I didn't mean for it to go this far."
Ashar felt a pang of disappointment and anger, but he couldn't afford to let it show. Not now. Not when their survival was at stake.
"Take him to the holding cells," Ashar ordered. "We'll deal with him later."
As Torin dragged Jarek away, Ashar stood alone in the tent, staring at the crates. The betrayal stung deeper than he cared to admit, but it was nothing compared to what the Orcs would do if they found out. They couldn't afford to be weak. Not now.