The stronghold burned, but it did not fall.
Caidren had dragged Elias through the hidden corridors, moving with swift precision until they reached the inner barracks—where his most trusted soldiers had gathered, waiting for orders.
There was no time for explanations. No time for arguments.
He turned to the man at his side.
Varen.
Loyal, relentless, unshakable. The only one Caidren could trust with this.
"Take him," Caidren ordered, shoving Elias forward.
Varen caught him, steady hands gripping Elias's shoulders as the omega staggered. "My lord?"
"Keep him here. Keep him alive."
Elias blinked slowly, exhaustion clear in his expression. "You—"
Caidren cut him off with a sharp look. "You're not my priority."
It was a lie.
A lie thick enough to choke on, but one he refused to acknowledge.
Varen didn't question it. He gave a firm nod, tightening his hold on Elias as if he understood—even if Caidren refused to.
Then, without another word—
Caidren turned and walked away.
Back into the fire.
Back into the war.
Because if he didn't fight, if he didn't win—then none of this would matter.
The Stronghold Holds
The battle was brutal.
The enemy had swarmed the western gate, pushing through the defenses like a relentless tide. Caidren met them head-on, his sword carving through armor and flesh, his presence a storm on the battlefield.
His soldiers fought harder when they saw him.
They always did.
Because he was their Alpha. Their leader. Their strength.
And they would not fall while he stood.
The clash of steel rang through the air. The scent of blood thickened with every strike, every death. Caidren fought like a man possessed, cutting through enemy lines with ruthless precision.
This was where he belonged.
Not in dark corridors, checking on fragile things.
Not in silent chambers, pretending not to care.
Here.
In the heart of war.
And yet—
Even as he struck down the last of the invaders, even as his soldiers let out triumphant cries—
His mind pulled elsewhere.
Back to a hidden barracks.
Back to a boy who shouldn't have mattered.
Victory, and the Aftermath
The stronghold still stood.
The fires had been controlled, the enemy forces crushed. Victory had been claimed, and his men celebrated, eager to bask in their triumph.
But Caidren—
Caidren moved with purpose, ignoring the calls of his generals, ignoring the weight of leadership pressing against his shoulders.
He had something else to check first.
Something he shouldn't care about.
And yet, as he pushed open the door to the barracks—
And saw Elias still standing, still alive—
Something inside him settled.
Something he refused to name.