Milo's pov
The rhythmic thud of hooves against the frozen earth was the only sound accompanying me as I rode across the desolate plains. The winter's breath was a cruel whip against my face, and yet, it wasn't the cold that bit deepest—it was the growing weight of my own ignorance.
The rebellion wasn't a spontaneous uprising, and the realization that I had been blind to its orchestrators burned like a slow, insidious fire in my gut. Each passing hour magnified the gnawing doubt: How many more pieces of the board have I failed to see? How far does this game stretch, and who are the players?
But despite the dread, a solution lingered at the edges of my mind. The threads were thin, barely woven together, yet they hinted at a way to subvert this rebellion before it could escalate further.
Whether it would work or not was another matter entirely.
