The dawn after the battle brought no peace. The smoke of the burned forest hung heavy over the land, turning the sky to ash.
Aron stood upon the edge of the quarry, gazing out across the blackened hills. His heart was heavy, but his eyes burned with purpose.
Beside him, Lina spoke quietly. "We held, Aron. Against fire. Against steel. We held."
Aron nodded. "But holding isn't enough. We can't just survive. We have to strike — harder, smarter. Before Jaren crushes what's left of this land."
---
That morning, the band gathered in the quarry's heart.
Garron, his axe resting across his knees, looked at Aron. "What's your plan, my prince? We're few. He's many."
Aron's voice was steady. "He expects us to hide. To bleed. But instead, we'll become the storm he fears."
---
They set to work, shaping their next move. Scouts were sent to track enemy movements. Hunters ranged far to find food and news. Smiths, once craftsmen of simple tools, now forged arrowheads, spear tips, and makeshift armor.
The quarry echoed with the sound of hammers and hope.
---
Three nights later, the scouts returned with word that set the plan in motion.
"Jaren's supply column rides south," said one, breathless from the run. "Heavy wagons. Few guards. They think we're broken, hiding among the stones."
A rare smile touched Aron's face. "Then let's remind them we are not broken. We are the storm."
---
Before dawn, Aron led a force swift and silent through hidden paths. The quarry faded behind them as they moved like shadows over the scarred land.
By midday, they reached the road. The enemy's wagons creaked along, slow and burdened.
Aron raised his hand.
---
The ambush was sudden, brutal, and precise.
Garron's axe split the first guard's shield. Lina's arrows found their marks. The rebels fell upon the column with fury sharpened by loss.
Within moments, the supply wagons were theirs — food, weapons, medicine.
They burned what they could not carry and vanished into the hills before the Scourge could answer.
---
By nightfall, they returned to the quarry — richer in supplies, richer in hope.
Mara smiled as she tended the wounded. "You gave the land a reason to believe again."
Aron shook his head. "Not me. All of us. Together."
---
Far away, upon his black hill, Jaren stared at the smoke of his lost wagons.
His silver mask gleamed in the firelight.
"So the prince learns to strike," he said softly. "Good. Let him. It will make his fall all the sweeter."