Michael's eyelids fluttered open, his vision blurred, and his body ached with every shallow breath. The vibrant hues of the fairies were gone, replaced by the dim, earthy light of the cave. The blooming flowers and shimmering mana particles still lingered, though their activity had quieted. Testing his limits, Michael flexed his fingers. Everything hurt—but at least he was alive.
The faint whisper of the wind reached his ears again, persistent and soothing. It reminded him of the soft rustle of leaves back in Dawnfield, where life had been simple, and his family's laughter had filled the air. For a fleeting moment, he thought of his mother. Was it her voice he'd heard during his darkest moments? A phantom of comfort and strength?
But the moment passed, and reality set in. He had a duty to fulfill, a betrayal to expose.
Count Varrik. The name burned like poison in his mind. Zelya's final words echoed clearly. This wasn't just treason—it was a rot threatening the kingdom's foundation. Michael clenched his fists. He needed to act, but he couldn't afford mistakes. Varrik's reach could extend deep into the chain of command, and one misstep would doom them all.
Sitting up, he leaned against the damp rock and began to strategize. Who could he trust?
Captain Garren came to mind. The man was honorable and steadfast. But even he answered to superiors, and if those superiors were compromised, it could all unravel. Michael's squad—Seren, Velara, Gregor, Kara and Torval—were loyal and skilled, but involving them would paint a target on their backs.
"First things first," he muttered hoarsely. "Get back to camp alive."
Closing his eyes, he reached out with his Verdant Sensory ability. The cave pulsed with life, but beyond it, he sensed movement—Zeranthian patrols, systematic and precise. Slipping past them would take cunning and precision.
Before leaving, Michael knelt and pressed a hand to the ground. "Thank you," he whispered to the cave, unsure if the fairies or the place itself could hear him. "You saved my life."
Gripping his Verdant Blade for support, he stepped into the forest.
The forest was alive with danger. Every rustling leaf and distant footfall set Michael's nerves on edge. His wood element talents proved invaluable—branches and underbrush obscured his trail, while subtle whispers of the wind guided him away from enemy patrols.
As he moved, his thoughts returned to Count Varrik. How long had this betrayal been festering? What had he promised the Zeranthians in exchange for their alliance? The possibilities chilled him.
Michael clenched his jaw. This wasn't just a fight for survival but a race against time. The longer he delayed, the more damage Varrik could inflict. Yet rushing blindly into camp without a plan would be just as disastrous.
When he finally reached the camp's outskirts, dawn was breaking. The faint golden glow revealed soldiers preparing for the day ahead. Michael took a deep breath to steady himself. He'd need to tread carefully—Varrik's influence might extend further than he suspected.
Inside the bustling camp, Michael moved purposefully, his hood drawn low to avoid attention. He slipped into the command tent where Captain Garren studied maps.
"Michael?" Garren's voice was sharp with disbelief, his expression shifting to concern. "I thought you were dead. What happened?"
Michael closed the tent flap, ensuring privacy. "Captain, we don't have much time. I uncovered something that changes everything." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Count Varrik is working with the Zeranthians. He's betrayed the kingdom."
Garren's face hardened. "That's a serious accusation. Are you certain?"
Michael recounted Zelya's words, the ambush, and the evidence he'd pieced together. The captain listened intently, his jaw tightening with every word.
"This is treason," Garren said finally, his voice low and grim. "A threat to the entire kingdom."
"That's why we can't go through normal channels," Michael urged. "Varrik's influence could compromise the chain of command. We need to take this directly to the War Council."
Garren rose, pacing as he weighed the risks. "Skipping hierarchy could cost us our lives if we're wrong—or if someone intercepts us."
"But if we're right and do nothing, the kingdom falls," Michael countered. "This isn't about us—it's about protecting everyone who depends on us."
Garren stopped, meeting Michael's determined gaze. "You're right. This is bigger than protocol. We'll leave under cover of night. Until then, keep this to yourself—not even your squad."
Later, Michael crossed paths with his squad. Seren spotted him first, her face lighting up with relief. "Michael! You're alive!"
The others crowded around, bombarding him with questions. Michael raised a hand. "I'll explain everything soon. Right now, I just need some rest."
Alric's sharp eyes narrowed. "You're hiding something."
Before Michael could respond, Torval clapped Alric's shoulder. "Let the man breathe. He's been through hell."
Michael offered a faint smile, his gaze lingering on each of them. Their loyalty gave him strength.
As night fell, Michael met Garren at the camp's edge. The captain had secured two horses, their saddlebags packed with supplies.
"Ready?" Garren asked.
Michael nodded. "Let's go."
Under the cover of darkness, they slipped away, unseen by watchful eyes. The stars guided their path, but the road ahead was fraught with danger.
As they went, Michael thought of his family, his squad, and the countless lives depending on their mission. The whisper of the wind through the trees reminded him he wasn't alone.