The forest lay quiet beneath gray skies, but Aron felt the tension in the air. His band — no longer just frightened villagers, but a small force bound by oath — moved through the trees with care.
Every sound, every crack of a branch, set hearts pounding. They knew the Puppet Master's soldiers were near.
Lina crouched beside Aron at a ridge overlooking the valley below. Smoke rose from what had once been the village of Red Hollow.
"Another village lost," she said bitterly.
Aron's hands clenched. "How many more before this ends?"
---
That night, around a small fire hidden beneath the roots of a fallen tree, they planned.
Garron drew lines in the dirt. "His army camps on the old road. Two hundred strong, maybe more. But they're slow, weighed down with spoils. We can strike at their supply wagons. Starve them. Break them."
Lina added, "And if we free the captives they drag with them, we gain more hands for the fight."
Aron looked at their weary faces, lit by flickering flame.
"We'll strike at dawn," he said. "The Puppet Master wants us to fear him. Let him taste what it means to be hunted."
---
Dawn came cold and wet. Fog cloaked the land. Aron's band moved like shadows, slipping through the mists.
They struck the first wagon without warning. Garron's axe shattered the driver's skull. Lina's blade cut through the ropes that bound the horses.
Chaos spread as wagons overturned, supplies spilled, and soldiers scrambled to form lines.
Aron fought at the front, his sword finding its mark again and again. He moved with purpose — not as a boy prince, but as a leader forged by loss.
The captives, freed from chains, joined the fray, grabbing weapons from fallen foes.
---
But the enemy was not so easily broken. Horns sounded. More soldiers rushed from the main camp.
"We've done what we came for!" Aron shouted. "Fall back — into the trees!"
His band melted into the forest, arrows and curses following them.
---
By nightfall, they regrouped in a deep hollow. They had lost two more — brave souls who had stood their ground to buy time for the others. But they had freed thirty villagers, seized food and arms, and sent a message:
The prince fights.
---
Far away, in the throne hall of ruin, Jaren listened as his captains spoke of ambushes, lost wagons, and rising unrest.
The Puppet Master's voice was calm, but deadly.
"Double the patrols. Burn the forests if you must. And send word to the Black Blades. It's time the boy learned what true fear is."
His mask gleamed in the firelight, the silver catching the glow like cold moonlight.
The game is far from over.