Alexander drifted between darkness and fleeting moments of consciousness. The pain was distant, dulled by exhaustion and whatever herbal remedy Clara had forced down his throat. Voices came and went, blurred and unrecognizable.
He felt movement around him, the weight of bandages wrapped tightly around his wounds, but his body refused to respond.
Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, the fog lifted.
His eyes cracked open to a dimly lit shelter. The faint scent of herbs and blood lingered in the air. His body ached—his side burned where Darius had struck him—but he was alive.
A voice stirred nearby. "He's awake."
Tyrell appeared over him first, followed by Elias, Marcus, and Gareth. Their expressions were a mix of relief and exhaustion.
Alexander swallowed, his throat dry. "How long?"
"Two days," Elias answered. "We thought you wouldn't wake up."
Alexander forced himself upright, hissing in pain as his wounds protested. "What happened?"
Tyrell exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "You want the good news or the bad news first?"
Alexander shot him a tired look. "Just give me the report."
The Cost of Victory
Marcus took a breath. "We won, but it was close. Damn close."
Elias leaned against the wall. "Darius's death broke them, but it came at a price."
Gareth's voice was grim. "We lost twenty-three of our own."
Alexander's stomach twisted. Twenty-three. They had all fought, bled, and died for Emberhold. For him.
"Seventeen more are wounded," Tyrell added. "Some won't fight again. Others… might not make it."
Alexander closed his eyes, feeling the weight settle on his shoulders.
Gareth shifted. "We killed around fifty of the Baron's men, wounded at least sixty more. His army's still standing, but he's lost over half of what he came with."
Elias sighed. "And that's where things get complicated."
The Baron's Fate
Silas entered the shelter, his expression unreadable. "The Baron pulled back after the battle. He didn't flee far—his forces retreated to a fortified camp about half a day from here."
Alexander frowned. "He's still close?"
Silas nodded. "He's licking his wounds. But from what our scouts report, his forces are in bad shape. Low morale, exhausted men, and not enough supplies. They weren't expecting to lose."
Alexander let that sink in. "If we strike now—"
"We can't," Marcus cut in. "We're just as battered as they are. We don't have the numbers for another full battle."
Alexander exhaled sharply. He knew Marcus was right.
Silas crossed his arms. "The Baron isn't preparing for another fight. He's securing his position, but he's not advancing. That means one thing—he's considering an alternative."
Alexander met his gaze. "A peace deal."
Silas nodded. "It's not guaranteed, but he's lost too many men to keep pushing. If he attacks again and loses, he loses everything. And he knows it."
Gareth let out a dry chuckle. "Never thought I'd see the day the Baron was forced to negotiate."
Elias smirked. "I bet it's killing him inside."
Alexander thought for a long moment. If they could force the Baron into a stalemate, it would give them time—time to fortify, time to grow, time to turn Emberhold into something more than just a settlement.
But they had to be careful.
The Baron wasn't defeated. Not yet.
Tyrell cracked his knuckles. "So, what now?"
Alexander slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the pain as he forced himself to stand.
"Now," he said, determination in his voice, "we see if the Baron is willing to talk."