The sky turned red as the sun began to sink behind the hills. Aron and his band stood at the edge of the old road, staring east. In the distance, dust rose — the trail of a wagon convoy moving toward the mines.
"They have the people of Stonebrook," Lina said, her voice tight.
"And soldiers," added Garron, eyeing the masked men who rode alongside the wagons. "At least twenty. Maybe more."
Aron's heart pounded. The weight of choice pressed on him. To act meant risking all they had — their lives, their future. To let the wagons pass meant surrendering hope.
"I can't let them go," Aron said. His voice was low, but steady. "Not again."
---
They moved quickly, slipping through the rocks and brush, staying out of sight.
"We strike at the wagons first," Aron whispered. "Cut them loose. Free the prisoners."
"And the guards?" Garron asked.
Aron's jaw tightened. "We fight. We win — or we fall."
Lina drew her dagger. "Then let's make it count."
---
The wagons creaked along the road, heavy with supplies and chained villagers. The masked riders were weary from the march, their guard low.
From the shadows of the rocks, Aron and his band struck.
Garron led with a thrown axe, burying it in the back of a rider. Lina was a blur, slashing at reins and ropes, setting the horses free.
Aron leapt onto one of the wagons, cutting the chains that bound the prisoners. "Run! Into the trees!" he cried.
---
Chaos filled the road.
The masked men rallied fast, drawing blades, shouting orders.
Aron fought with all his strength. His stolen blade flashed in the setting sun. A rider charged him — Aron sidestepped, slashing the man's leg, bringing him down.
Beside him, Lina fought like a wolf, quick and fierce. Garron swung a broken spear, driving back two men at once.
---
The freed villagers fled into the woods.
But more riders came, drawn by the noise. The fight turned desperate.
"Fall back!" Aron shouted. "Into the trees!"
They ran, the forest swallowing them. Arrows hissed past. One grazed Aron's arm, burning like fire.
They did not stop until the night covered them like a cloak.
---
They gathered beneath the shelter of an old oak. Their breaths came hard. Blood stained their clothes — not all of it the enemy's.
Aron leaned against the tree, his wound throbbing. "We did it," he said, voice heavy with exhaustion. "We freed them."
Garron clapped him on the shoulder. "You led us well, prince."
Lina smiled faintly. "And lived to tell it."
---
But far away, in the dark throne room of the fallen palace, Jaren stood at his window.
A messenger knelt at his feet. "My lord… the wagons… they were attacked. The prisoners freed."
Jaren's masked face turned toward the night. For a moment, he was silent.
"Let the boy have his victories," he said at last. His voice was soft, dangerous. "Each one will only make his fall greater. The game is not won in a single move."
He stepped back from the window, shadows swallowing him whole.