The air was thick with mist as Aron and his band moved through the forest. The victory at the supply wagons had given them much — food, weapons, new allies — but it had also stirred the hornet's nest.
Every night, they saw the glow of distant fires as the Puppet Master's forces scoured the land. Every day, they heard the rumble of armies on the march.
Lina walked beside Aron, her eyes sharp. "They'll send more than foot soldiers now. He knows you're more than a boy with a blade."
Aron nodded. "Then let him come. Let him see we won't break."
---
That night, they camped in a deep hollow, hidden beneath ancient trees. The freed villagers — now part of the growing rebel force — shared stories, sharpened blades, and kept watch in pairs.
But as the moon climbed high, a strange sound carried on the wind: the steady, cold rhythm of hoofbeats.
Lina was first to rise. "Aron," she hissed. "Riders. Fast. Close."
Aron grabbed his sword. Garron roused the others.
They barely had time to form a line before the first of the riders burst from the dark — black-armored figures on black horses, faces hidden behind iron masks.
"The Black Blades," Garron growled. "Jaren's finest killers."
---
The clash was fierce and sudden. The Black Blades struck with precision, their swords cutting through the rebel line like lightning.
Aron fought at the front, blade meeting blade. He ducked a deadly swing, drove his sword into the rider's side.
Beside him, Lina moved like the wind, knives flashing.
But the Black Blades were well-trained, ruthless. For every one they felled, two more pressed in.
"Fall back!" Aron shouted. "Draw them into the trees!"
---
The band scattered, breaking into small groups, using the forest to their advantage.
Aron led a handful of fighters deeper into the woods. The Black Blades followed, but the terrain slowed their charge.
Hidden pits, sharpened stakes, fallen logs — the traps Garron had prepared saved lives that night.
One by one, the riders fell — but not before they left blood on the ground.
---
When dawn broke, the Black Blades were gone — either slain or vanished into the mist. The cost had been high. Six of Aron's band lay dead, and many more bore wounds.
Aron stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at the blood-soaked earth. His hands trembled — not with fear, but with rage.
"This is the price," Lina said quietly beside him.
Aron nodded. "Then we pay it. But so will Jaren. So will every man who rides for him."
---
Far away, in his dark hall, Jaren listened to his captain's report.
"The Black Blades failed, my lord. The boy lives."
Jaren's voice was cold, but calm. "So be it. Send for the flamecasters. If steel will not break him, let fire do what blades could not."
He turned back to his map, the pieces shifting on the board of war.
The prince grows bold. But the fire that rises fastest burns out soonest.