Inside the General's tent, the low glow of the lantern cast long shadows across the map on the table. Lyra was hunched over it, her gaze fixed on the northern trails. The flap of the tent parted, and Elise entered, her hand on Rory's shoulder. She gave the boy a gentle push forward, a silent encouragement, before turning and stepping back outside.
Lyra looked up, her expression that of a leader interrupted. Her gaze, however, softened as it fell on Rory. The boy was walking slowly, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped. The defiant swagger he had worn so proudly was gone, replaced by a profound and heavy shame. He was no longer the small warrior she had met at the beginning, but a child who had been broken by the brutal reality of his own actions.
The heavy silence was broken by the sound of a child's choked sob. Rory, his small body trembling, looked up at Lyra, his face a mask of shame and remorse.
"I'm sorry for stealing the weapons... hic... and for making the other kids follow me." He angrily wiped a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand, as if frustrated by his own weakness. "And for not listening." He gripped the slingshot in his hand, the worn leather a stark symbol of his folly. "I was stupid. I almost got... everyone killed."
He stood there, head bowed once more, waiting for the General's judgment. Lyra remained silent for a long moment, the only sound the flickering of the lantern. Her gaze was not one of anger, but of a quiet, somber understanding.
She knelt down, her face level with his, her posture commanding even on one knee. "You were. We cannot undo what has already happened, but admitting your mistake is the first step toward making things right."
Rory's head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise and fresh tears. He had expected punishment, not a lesson.
"You're a brave kid, Rory" she continued, her voice low and steady. "And those children… they listened to you. They followed you. They see you as their leader." She gestured to the slingshot clutched in his trembling hand. "You made a mistake, but you didn't do it because you're a coward. You did it because you're brave—just foolishly so. A true leader learns from their mistakes. They don't act rashly; they listen to those around them and they understand the weight of their responsibility."
Rory looked down at the slingshot, no longer a toy but a symbol of the hard lesson he'd just learned. His shame broke, replaced by a quiet, determined resolve.
"You have to earn their trust back," Lyra said, her voice a final, firm command. "That is where you start. Now go. Elise is waiting for you."
"That's it? You're not going to punish me?" Rory asked, his voice barely a whisper. He looked up at the General, his face pale and tired, his guilt-stricken eyes wide with a mix of surprise and confusion.
Lyra met his gaze without flinching. "No," she said simply.
She saw the disbelief in his expression and continued in a low, firm tone. "The world already punished you, Rory. You learned a lesson that almost cost you and your friends their lives. That is a far more powerful consequence than anything I could do to you. Now, your job isn't to think about what you did, but what you're going to do next."
"What should I do next, General?" Rory asked, his voice still small but with a new tremor of resolve.
Lyra returned the question to him, her gaze unwavering. "What do you want to do?"
"I still want to protect my friends... find my moms," he said, the words no longer a boast but a solemn promise.
Lyra gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Then that is what you do," she replied. "But a leader doesn't charge into the woods with a borrowed sword and a foolish plan. A leader uses the tools they have, with the skill they've earned, and learns to be patient." She pointed to the slingshot still in his hand. "Protecting your friends starts with that. Finding your mothers will require a journey. And on a journey, we take every step with a purpose. Now, go. Elise is waiting for you to begin."
After Rory left, Lyra return to the map she was studying it was still the sole focus. Suddenly, the tent flap was thrown open and a young scout stumbled in, panting, his face streaked with dirt and sweat.
"General, a report from the scouts!" he gasped, saluting clumsily.
Lyra looked up, her expression unreadable. "Speak."
"The trail led to a camp, General," the scout said, his voice laced with fear. "It's not just a hideout. It's heavily fortified, larger than any bandit camp we've ever seen. And there were more of them. Not just bandits... but orcs, hal a good dozen of them. They're working together." He swallowed hard.
Lyra's gaze hardened, the quiet concern in her eyes replaced by a cold fire. "And the villagers?"
The scout's eyes fell to the floor. "They're using the villagers, General. They're chained and going back and forth to a cave."
The horrifying truth hung in the air, transforming the tactical problem into a moral one. Lyra's hesitation vanished. Her voice became a cold, steel-hard command. "Call a meeting. Immediately. Get the Captain and the Lieutenant here to discuss our next steps. And quickly send a message to the King, informing him of the orcs and requesting reinforcements.
Understood," the scout said, his voice now a little more steady as he was given a clear set of orders. He saluted again, a little less clumsily this time, and then disappeared back into the night, the urgency of his mission propelling him forward.
Lyra remained where she was, her hands now flat on the map, her posture rigid. The information was a seismic shift in their mission. What had started as a rescue operation against a band of human criminals had now morphed into a full-blown war against an organized, fortified enemy. The presence of orcs and the use of slave labor were not the hallmarks of simple bandits. This was an army, a force with a purpose far more sinister than mere thievery.
The new information about the villagers being enslaved to work in a cave was a particularly chilling detail. Lyra's mind, a whirlwind of tactical calculations, now raced through a different set of possibilities. They weren't just being held captive; they were being exploited. Their lives were in immediate danger, not just from their captors but from the grueling, backbreaking labor they were being forced to endure.
Lyra took a deep breath, her eyes tracing the lines of the orc-occupied camp on the map. She knew they couldn't wait for the King's reinforcements. Every moment of delay was another moment of suffering for the villagers and another moment for the enemy to consolidate their strength. They had to act, and they had to act now.
She straightened up from the table, her face a mask of grim determination. Her voice, when she spoke, was a cold whisper, but it carried the weight of her command. "Captain, Lieutenant. My tent. Now." The meeting would begin.