The caravan came to a halt at the edge of a dense forest. The soldiers were restless, their tempers frayed from the constant delays caused by the prisoners' quiet sabotage. The prisoners, however, were anything but restless. Beneath the surface, they were a coiled spring, ready to unleash the storm they had been carefully planning.
Althaea crouched near the edge of the prisoner's enclosure, her sharp eyes scanning the camp. The soldiers had set up their tents in a loose formation, their firelight casting flickering shadows on the trees. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat and unwashed bodies.
The boy, who now called himself Erwin, leaned close. "They're distracted," he whispered. "It's the perfect time."
Althaea nodded. "But we must be precise. One mistake, and this ends before it begins."
At midnight, as the soldiers grew sluggish from drink and fatigue, Althaea gave the signal. It was subtle—a low whistle, like the call of a night bird. The prisoners, scattered throughout the camp, tensed in unison. Tools fashioned from discarded metal scraps glinted in the moonlight.
The older blacksmith crept to the edge of the wagon and began working at the lock with a makeshift pick. His hands were steady, his movements deliberate. Beside him, Althaea waited, her muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike.
Click!!!
The lock fell away, and Althaea stepped out into the cool night air, her chains dragging faintly behind her. She looked to the other wagons, where prisoners were also slipping free. Her heart pounded, but she kept her expression calm. This was it. The moment she had been waiting for.
The prisoners struck quickly and without mercy. Althaea led the charge, her makeshift blade flashing as she took down the first guard. He barely had time to cry out before collapsing to the ground. The others followed her lead, overwhelming the soldiers with sheer numbers and the ferocity of their attack.
Chaos erupted in the camp. Soldiers stumbled from their tents, half-dressed and disoriented. Althaea moved like a shadow, her movements precise and lethal. Every strike was a calculated blow, every step a testament to her training as a warrior princess.
The forest came alive with the sounds of battle shouts, screams, the clash of metal against metal. But above it all was the unmistakable sound of freedom: the collective roar of a people rising against their oppressors.
By the time the sun rose, the camp was in ruins. The prisoners had won, but at a cost. Several of their own lay dead or dying, their sacrifice a stark reminder of the price of freedom. Althaea stood amidst the wreckage, her body bruised and bloodied but unbroken.
Erwin approached her, his face streaked with dirt and tears. "We did it," he said, his voice trembling with a mix of relief and grief.
Althaea placed a hand on his shoulder. "We've won this battle," she said, her voice firm. "But the war is far from over."
In the days that followed, the freed prisoners made their way through the forest, avoiding patrols and scavenging for food. Althaea became their leader, her strength and determination earning their unwavering loyalty. She taught them how to fight, how to survive, and most importantly, how to hope.
One night, as they gathered around a small fire, the older blacksmith presented her with a gift: a crescent-shaped pendant forged from the scraps of their chains.
"It's a symbol," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "Of what we've lost… and what we'll fight to regain."
Althaea took the pendant, her fingers brushing over the smooth metal. She held it up to the firelight, the crescent gleaming like a shard of the moon. "Then let it be known," she said, her voice carrying over the crackling flames, "that we are the Crescent Rebellion. And we will not rest until our people are free."
The chapter transitions back to the present, where Althaea now free and a key player in Luthadel stands on the balcony of the palace, gazing out at the city below. The crescent pendant rests against her chest, a constant reminder of her journey.
Alden approaches, his footsteps soft against the stone floor. "You're awake," he says, his voice breaking the silence.
Althaea turns to him, her expression unreadable. "I don't sleep much," she replies.
There's a moment of quiet between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Alden speaks. "Do you ever think about… what's next? After all this?"
Althaea's gaze shifts back to the city. "Always," she says. "But first, we must finish what we've started."
The chapter ends with Althaea clutching the crescent pendant, her mind filled with memories of the past and the weight of the battles still to come.