Inside the General's tent, the meeting was already underway. Lanterns swung gently from hooks overhead, casting long, flickering shadows across maps, quills, and scattered notes. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, ink, and wax—a tangible reminder of the weight of strategy. The young scout, still panting from his hurried ride, stood at the center, repeating his terrifying report. Every word he spoke landed like a stone in the heavy silence: a heavily fortified camp, two hundred bandits in lockstep with half a dozen orcs, and the cruel reality of enslaved villagers, forced into labor in a distant cave.
The officers' faces were masks of dread and calculation, each processing the implications in their own way. Lyra, however, remained calm, her sharp eyes tracing the northern trail on the map as if seeing beyond the lines of ink, into the shadows that awaited them. She lifted her gaze, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"How many bandits?" the Captain asked, voice taut, barely hiding his unease.
"Around two hundred, Captain," the scout replied, swallowing hard. "We couldn't get a precise count." His eyes flicked nervously to Lyra, awaiting her judgment.
Shawn shook his head slowly, the tip of his sword hilt tapping against his palm. "Two hundred isn't a bandit force," he muttered. "This is an army."
"The bandits are bad enough," Lyra said, her voice low, a cold whisper that carried through the tent. "But it's the orcs I'm concerned about… and the cruel work they're forcing the villagers to do."
A silence settled, heavy and oppressive. The mission had shifted, escalated—from a rescue to a war.
"General," the Captain leaned over the map, finger tracing the winding river, "we need to establish a forward camp here. If we control this point, we cut them off from the river and secure a path for the assault."
Lyra's eyes followed his finger, sharp and calculating. "What's the terrain like? We can't afford to be exposed." She looked back at the main camp marked on the map. "We'll have to leave a garrison here to protect the children. Any word on reinforcements?"
The Captain's face tightened. "The King's reply won't reach us for days. We're on our own."
"Then we cannot wait," Lyra said, slamming her hand onto the map. The sound cracked sharply, a whip-crack of authority. "Every day we delay, the villagers suffer more. Our advantage is stealth and speed. We will divide our forces. A small, elite team will infiltrate the camp and secure the cave. The main force will create a diversion—chaos without full engagement—drawing their attention while the rescue proceeds."
Her gaze shifted to the Captain. "You and I will lead the main force. Create confusion, but do not become ensnared. We are to be ghosts, striking and fading into the shadows."
Then to Shawn. "Lieutenant, you lead the infiltration team. Silence is your weapon. Your mission: get the villagers out safely. Fight only if necessary. We meet at dawn, on the northern ridge."
She paused, eyes narrowing. "Elise goes with the infiltration team. Half your squad—Robin—stays with the children and the main camp, ready for our return."
The room was silent, the audacity of the plan sinking into every mind. This was their only chance.
"Any questions?" Lyra's voice left no room for doubt. "We move out in one hour."
The meeting adjourned. Officers moved with grim purpose, their faces etched with focus and fear. Lyra lingered, her gaze resting on Rory, who had been watching silently.
"No, Rory," she said, cutting off his plea before it could form. "This is not a game. It's a war. You are not a soldier."
She knelt to meet his eyes. "You said you wanted to protect your friends. That is exactly what you're going to do. While we're gone, the main camp needs a guardian. You will be our eyes and ears, the shield for those who cannot fight."
Rory's shoulders slumped, the weight of responsibility pressing down. "Yes, General," he said, voice small but steady. "We'll be ready for your return."
Lyra turned to Selene, who clutched her healer's satchel, frustration and concern warring in her expression.
"You stay here," Lyra said firmly.
Selene opened her mouth to protest. "General, my abilities—"
Lyra cut her off, unwavering. "The mission is too dangerous. This is no simple raid; it's war. I cannot risk a healer on the front line. You will protect the children here. That is your battle."
Selene's shoulders sagged in quiet resignation, understanding the weight of her duty even if it pained her.
Lyra's eyes then met Elise's. "You will not join the infiltration team. Your skills as a scout are invaluable here. Guard the camp, look after Selene." Their eyes locked—a silent promise, a transfer of trust from one soldier to another. Elise nodded once, firm, unflinching.
Outside, the night air was thick with anticipation. The children slept quietly, unaware of the danger looming beyond the trees. Rory, burdened with his new responsibility, kept a vigilant watch, slingshot in hand, eyes scanning the shadows.
The forest beyond the camp was alive with movement. Moonlight struck the leaves in patches, painting the ground with shifting silver patterns. The main force, led by Lyra and the Captain, moved first. Small, compact, disciplined—soldiers blending with the darkness, footsteps light as whispers. They disappeared into the trees, a ghostly presence sowing confusion and fear.
Minutes later, the infiltration team, led by Lieutenant Shawn, followed. Smaller, faster, trained for precision. Each movement deliberate. Each step silent. Their mission: the villagers' liberation. Not confrontation. Extraction, not battle.
Back at the camp, the only sounds were the crackling of the remaining fire and the soft rustle of leaves in the night wind. Rory stood at his post, shoulders squared, slingshot ready, every nerve tuned to the night. Around him, Elise and Selene moved quietly, the guardians of what little sanctuary remained.
The air was tense, filled with the anticipation of violence and the fragile hope of rescue. Every second stretched, every shadow held potential danger. And yet, in the stillness, the faint glimmer of purpose—of courage, of duty, of survival—held the camp together like an invisible thread.
Tonight, they were all part of a plan more dangerous than any battle they had faced. And when the moon sank behind the trees, the war would begin.