Kael stumbled through the dense forest, his steps uneven and heavy. Blood dripped from a gash on his shoulder, staining his torn uniform and mixing with the dirt smeared across his face. The explosion still echoed in his ears, the heat of it lingering on his skin.
He gritted his teeth, clutching the wound with one hand while the other gripped his sword. The fortress was gone, reduced to rubble by the rebellion's reckless assault. The bodies of soldiers—his comrades—had been scattered like broken dolls.
And yet, Kael couldn't bring himself to feel anger. Not at the rebels. Not at Elyra.
No, the fury that churned in his chest was reserved for the king.
Kael had seen the truth in the flames. The king had sent those soldiers to die. He had fortified the fortress not to protect it, but to trap the rebellion into a costly, bloody battle. Every death, on both sides, had been part of the king's strategy—a sacrifice to maintain his grip on power.
Kael's vision blurred as he pushed forward, the trees blurring into a dark smear. He couldn't stop now. The capital was days away on foot, and he didn't know how much longer he could keep moving.
But he had to.
He needed answers.
The sound of rushing water pulled him out of his haze. Kael stumbled toward the riverbank, collapsing to his knees. He cupped the cold water in his hands, letting it wash away the blood and grime on his face.
The reflection in the water was barely recognizable. His gray eyes were hollow, his face drawn and lined with exhaustion.
Kael clenched his fists, his thoughts spiraling. He had always known that the king was ruthless, but this… this was different. The soldiers who had died under his command, the innocents caught in the crossfire—they had trusted him. And he had led them straight to their deaths.
"Damn it," Kael muttered, slamming his fist into the ground. The pain was a welcome distraction, grounding him in the present.
He couldn't go back to the king—not like this. Not when doubt gnawed at his every thought.
But if not the king, then where?
A face flashed in his mind—sharp green eyes, fiery determination, and a strength that refused to yield.
Elyra.
Kael cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. She was the enemy. The rebellion was the enemy. And yet…
He couldn't shake the memory of her voice, steady and defiant even in the face of death. He couldn't forget the way she had looked at him—not with hatred, but with something deeper.
Kael shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts. She was a rebel, and he was the king's blade. There was no future in that path, only ruin.
And yet, the idea of returning to the capital, of kneeling before the king and pretending loyalty—it made his stomach churn.
A sudden rustle of leaves snapped Kael out of his thoughts. He froze, his hand instinctively going to his sword.
"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice sharp.
The forest fell silent, but Kael's instincts screamed that he wasn't alone. Slowly, he rose to his feet, scanning the shadows between the trees.
Then he saw it—a flicker of movement, too fast to be natural.
"Come out," Kael said, his voice cold.
A figure stepped into view, cloaked in dark leather and moving with the quiet grace of a predator. A scout.
Kael's grip tightened on his sword. He didn't recognize the insignia on the scout's armor, but their posture told him all he needed to know. They were a tracker, and they weren't alone.
"They'll find you soon enough," the scout said, their voice low and mocking. "You should save yourself the trouble and surrender now."
Kael smirked, though his heart pounded in his chest. "Do I look like the surrendering type?"
The scout chuckled, but before they could respond, Kael lunged.
The fight was brutal and short. The scout was skilled, but Kael was desperate. He fought like a man with nothing to lose, his movements driven by instinct and raw determination.
When it was over, Kael stood over the scout's body, his breathing ragged.
But the victory was short-lived. In the distance, he heard the faint sound of voices—more scouts, and they were closing in fast.
Kael cursed, wiping his blade on the scout's cloak before taking off into the forest.
He needed to think, to plan, but the only thought that kept echoing in his mind was that he was being hunted.
Not just by the rebels, but by the weight of his own choices.
And somewhere in the chaos, Elyra was waiting.