Elyra woke to the first light of dawn filtering through the trees, her body sore and her mind restless. The weight of leadership pressed heavily on her, more so than ever before. Every decision from this point forward had to count—every move had to bring them closer to toppling the crown that had oppressed them for so long.
As she sat on the edge of the camp, sharpening her sword with slow, deliberate strokes, Mara approached. Her expression was calmer than the night before, but her tone still carried the edge of frustration.
"We need to talk," Mara said, her arms crossed.
Elyra set the sword down and met her gaze. "Go ahead."
Mara knelt beside her, lowering her voice. "The others are looking to you for answers. What's the plan, Elyra? Are we regrouping, retaliating, or running?"
Elyra let out a slow breath. She had spent the sleepless hours of the night running through every possibility. The fortress attack had been a devastating blow to their forces, and they couldn't afford another failure.
"We can't run," Elyra said firmly. "If we scatter, the rebellion dies. The king will hunt us down one by one, and the people who believe in us will lose hope."
"And retaliating?" Mara pressed.
Elyra hesitated. "Not yet. The fortress is weakened, but we are, too. If we strike now, we'll lose what little strength we have left."
Mara frowned. "So what, then? We sit here and wait for them to come for us?"
"No," Elyra said. Her voice hardened as the spark of an idea began to take shape. "We regroup, but not here. We'll find an allied village, somewhere safe to recover and rebuild. Then we hit them where it hurts."
Mara arched an eyebrow. "And where would that be?"
Elyra's jaw tightened. "The king's supply lines. His resources are what keep his army moving. If we cut those off, we'll weaken him enough to stand a chance in open conflict."
Mara was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. "It's risky."
"It's the only way," Elyra said. "We can't win this war by fighting like soldiers. We fight like shadows. We strike fast, disappear, and let his empire crumble from the inside."
Mara's lips twitched into a faint smile. "That sounds like the Elyra I remember."
Elyra returned the smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Spread the word. We break camp in an hour."
As Mara left to relay the orders, Elyra turned her attention back to her sword. The blade gleamed in the morning light, a cold, unyielding reminder of the battles to come.
But even as she prepared for the future, her mind kept circling back to the past. To Kael.
Why had he saved her? What had driven him to defy his king, even for a moment? And where was he now?
She shook her head, frustrated by her inability to banish him from her thoughts. He was the enemy. Whatever connection they had forged in the heat of battle, it couldn't change that.
Still, a part of her couldn't forget the look in his eyes when he told her to trust him. The raw, unguarded honesty that had made her believe, even if only for a moment, that there was more to him than loyalty to the crown.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. She looked up to see a young scout approaching, his face pale and his breathing uneven.
"Commander," he said, his voice trembling.
"What is it?" Elyra asked, rising to her feet.
"It's the fortress," the scout said. "There was an explosion last night. The whole east wing collapsed."
Elyra's stomach tightened. "And the soldiers?"
"Most of them are dead," the scout said. "But there's more. We found tracks leading away from the wreckage. Someone survived."
Elyra's heart skipped a beat. "Kael?"
The scout hesitated, then nodded. "It's possible. The tracks were heading north."
North. Toward the capital.
Elyra's mind raced. If Kael was alive, and if he was returning to the king, it could mean disaster for the rebellion. He knew too much—about their plans, their strengths, their weaknesses.
But another possibility lingered, one she didn't dare to voice: that Kael wasn't going to the capital to report back. That he was running for reasons of his own.
Either way, she couldn't afford to leave it to chance.
"Mara!" Elyra called, her voice carrying through the camp.
Mara appeared within moments, her expression alert. "What is it?"
"We have a problem," Elyra said. "Kael might still be alive."
Mara's eyes narrowed. "If he's heading for the capital—"
"We can't let him get there," Elyra said, her voice cold. "If he's alive, he's a threat. We track him, intercept him, and end this before it gets out of hand."
Mara studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll gather the scouts."
As Mara turned to leave, Elyra felt a strange weight settle over her. She had given the order without hesitation, but the thought of confronting Kael again left her uneasy.
Could she really do it? Could she kill the man who had saved her life, who had looked at her not as an enemy but as something more?
Elyra gritted her teeth, shoving the doubts aside. She didn't have the luxury of second-guessing herself. The rebellion came first.
"Kael," she murmured under her breath, her gaze hardening. "Wherever you're running, I'll find you.