Kael's POV
I hit water hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
Cold. Dark. Can't breathe. Can't see. The current grabs me like a giant's fist and drags me under. My lungs are screaming. My arms flail uselessly.
Something catches my collar and yanks me upward. I break the surface gasping.
"SWIM!" Sarah coughs beside me. "The current—damn it—SWIM!"
I try, but the underground river is too strong. It throws us against rocks. Slams us into walls. I taste blood in my mouth.
Then suddenly we're falling again—over a waterfall, down, down, crashing into a pool that spins me like a toy.
When I finally surface, I'm alone.
"Sarah?" I call, treading water. "SARAH?"
No answer.
The current has weakened here, and I manage to drag myself onto a muddy bank. My whole body hurts. Blood streams from cuts on my arms and face.
I lie there for maybe thirty seconds before I hear voices echoing from upstream.
"—fell into the old sewers—"
"—track them downstream—"
"—five hundred gold, boys! Find the Thornhaven traitor!"
Gareth's soldiers. Still hunting me.
I force myself up and stumble into the darkness, following the river away from the voices. My feet squelch in mud. Something scurries past me—rats, maybe. Or worse.
I walk for hours until I see daylight ahead—a grate leading out of the sewers.
I climb through and find myself in a forest outside the city walls. Free.
For exactly ten seconds.
Then I hear horses. See torches. A patrol.
I run, but my fever-weakened body gives out after fifty yards. Strong hands grab me from behind.
"Got him!" a soldier shouts.
I'm thrown face-first into the dirt. Boots press down on my back.
"Kael Thornhaven," a cold voice says. "You're under arrest for desertion, conspiracy with rebels, and attempted escape from lawful custody."
They chain my wrists. Throw me onto a wagon with a dozen other prisoners—men and women in rags, some bleeding, all looking broken.
The soldier who spoke earlier reads from a scroll: "By order of Brother Aldric, you are conscripted into the Penal Legions. You march to Fort Bloodstone at dawn. May you die with more honor than your traitor father."
They lock the wagon and leave us in darkness.
I slump against the wooden side, exhausted and defeated. Sarah escaped—I hope. But I'm captured, chained, being sent to war as cannon fodder.
Father's evidence locations might as well be on the moon.
"First time?" a voice asks beside me.
I turn. A thin man about my age sits there, dark hair matted with blood. His eyes are sharp despite the bruises.
"First time what?" I mutter.
"Being chained up for no good reason." He grins, showing a missing tooth. "Name's Jonas. They got me for stealing a loaf of bread to feed my kid sister. You?"
"My father was executed for discovering the war is a lie," I say flatly.
Jonas whistles low. "Well. That's significantly worse than bread theft."
Despite everything, I almost laugh.
"Don't bother getting comfortable," a small voice says from the corner. A halfling—barely four feet tall—peers at us with sad brown eyes. "The march takes two weeks. Most of us won't survive it."
"Cheerful," Jonas mutters. "You always this fun at parties?"
"I'm Pip." The halfling ignores the sarcasm. "I was a medic before they arrested me for treating rebel wounded. Now I'm supposed to be a soldier." He holds up his tiny hands. "I can barely lift a sword."
"Can you keep people alive?" I ask.
Pip nods.
"Then you're worth more than a hundred soldiers." I meet his eyes. "Stay close to us. We'll protect you."
"Why would you do that?" Pip looks suspicious.
"Because my father taught me that honor isn't about following orders. It's about protecting people who can't protect themselves."
Jonas studies me. "You're either really noble or really stupid."
"Can't it be both?"
This time Jonas does laugh—a short, bitter bark. "I think I like you, Thornhaven. Shame we'll probably die together in two weeks."
The wagon lurches forward as the march begins.
For the next fourteen days, we walk through hell. Past burned villages. Past bodies hanging from trees—"deserters" left as warnings. Past refugee camps where starving children watch us with hollow eyes.
Pip treats the wounded when guards aren't looking. Jonas steals extra rations for the weaker prisoners. I share what Father taught me about the orcs—that they traded peacefully for decades before the "raids" started.
Slowly, the three of us become something like friends. Maybe the only friends we'll ever have again.
On the fourteenth day, Fort Bloodstone appears on the horizon—a massive stone fortress surrounded by trenches and barbed wire. Smoke rises from distant battlefields. The smell of death reaches us even from here.
They unchain us in the fort's courtyard. A woman in commander armor stands before us—mid-thirties, scarred face, eyes like ice.
"I'm Commander Lyria Stormwind," she announces. "You are the Expendables. That's not a nickname—it's your official designation. You will be sent into battle first. Most of you will die. Those who survive might earn real soldier status. Or you'll die in the next battle. Either way, you're here to bleed so real soldiers don't have to."
Someone behind me whimpers.
"New assignments will be posted at dawn," Lyria continues. "Until then, you're confined to the barracks. Try to run, and we'll execute ten of your fellow prisoners. Dismissed."
As we shuffle toward the barracks, Jonas leans close. "You know what's worse than being canon fodder?"
"What?" I ask.
"Knowing you're cannon fodder and having to wait until morning to find out which battle kills you."
We're assigned to Barracks 7—a cold stone building with forty bunks and no heat. Pip claims a top bunk corner. Jonas takes one below him. I'm about to take the bunk beside them when someone grabs my shoulder.
I spin around to find the rebel spy from Gareth's patrol—the one who pointed out the escape route.
"You," I breathe. "You're here?"
"Quiet." He glances around. "The rebellion has agents in every unit. We've been tracking you since you fell in the river. Sarah Chen survived—she's safe. She sent a message."
My heart pounds. "What message?"
"The first evidence location was compromised. Brother Aldric found the trading post and burned it. Everything your father hid there is gone." The spy's face is grim. "You need to reach the second location before Aldric does. The old mine beneath your family's lands. But there's a problem."
"What problem?"
"Tomorrow's battle assignment just posted." He pulls out a paper. "Your unit is being sent to Bloodstone Pass. It's a suicide mission—three hundred Expendables against two thousand orc warriors. Nobody expects survivors."
My blood runs cold. "When?"
"Dawn. Six hours from now." The spy meets my eyes. "Which means if you're going to escape and find that evidence, you have to do it tonight. The rebellion can provide a distraction, but you'll only have one chance."
I think of Jonas and Pip. Of the forty other prisoners in this barracks who'll die tomorrow because the Sanctum needs bodies to throw at orcs.
"What if I don't run?" I ask. "What if I survive the battle?"
The spy laughs bitterly. "Kid, nobody survives Bloodstone Pass. It's designed that way. Aldric specifically requested you be assigned to this battle. He's making sure you die before you can find the evidence."
So this is it. My last night alive.
Unless I abandon everyone here and run like a coward.
"I need to think," I tell the spy.
He nods and melts back into the barracks shadows.
I sink onto my bunk, head in hands.
Jonas sits beside me. "Bad news?"
"The worst." I look at him. "Tomorrow we die. Unless I run tonight and let everyone else face the battle alone."
"Ah." Jonas nods slowly. "The old 'save yourself or save others' dilemma. Classic."
"What would you do?" I ask.
Jonas is quiet for a long moment. "My sister's probably dead already. Starved or sick or sold. So I've got nothing to live for except maybe proving that bastards like Aldric don't get to win." He meets my eyes. "But you? You've got evidence that could save thousands. Sometimes the hero has to run away so he can fight another day."
From his top bunk, Pip calls down softly: "Or maybe there's a third option."
"What third option?" I ask.
Pip's smile is small and sad. "You go to battle tomorrow. You survive somehow. And you prove that even Expendables are worth more than the Sanctum thinks."
"That's insane," Jonas says.
"Probably." Pip shrugs. "But I'd rather die trying to be a hero than live knowing I ran away."
I look between them—this thief and this medic who should hate me for being a lord's son, but somehow don't.
And I make my decision.
Before I can tell them, alarms start blaring throughout the fort.
Guards rush past our barracks, shouting about an attack on the north wall.
The rebellion's distraction. My escape window.
The spy appears beside me again. "NOW. This is your chance. Come with me or die tomorrow—choose!"
I stand up.
Jonas stands with me. So does Pip.
"What are you doing?" I hiss.
"Coming with you, obviously," Jonas says.
"This is my escape. You don't have to—"
"Shut up and run," Pip interrupts. "We're Expendables. Nobody cares if we live or die. If we're going to die anyway, might as well die trying to stop a genocide."
I want to argue. Want to tell them to stay safe.
But the spy is already moving, and the alarms are screaming, and we have maybe ninety seconds before guards realize prisoners are missing.
So I run.
Jonas and Pip run with me.
We make it through two checkpoints using the chaos as cover. We're almost to the east gate when a voice behind us freezes my blood.
"KAEL THORNHAVEN!"
I turn slowly.
Commander Lyria Stormwind stands there, sword drawn, eyes blazing with fury.
"You're escaping," she says flatly. "I should execute all three of you right now."
"Then do it," I say, surprising myself with how calm I sound. "But know that you'll be killing the only people trying to stop this war before thousands more die."
Lyria's eyes narrow. "Explain. Fast."
So I do. I tell her everything—Father's evidence, the false flag attacks, the conspiracy, Aldric's genocide plan. I talk so fast the words trip over each other.
When I finish, Lyria is silent for a long moment.
Then she sheathes her sword.
"The battle tomorrow is suicide," she says quietly. "I've been ordered to throw three hundred Expendables at an orc position that doesn't need taking. It serves no military purpose except getting rid of prisoners Aldric finds inconvenient." She looks at me. "I've suspected this war was wrong for months. I just didn't have proof."
"Help us get the proof," I beg. "Please."
Lyria closes her eyes. When she opens them, they're hard with decision.
"You have until dawn to reach the old mine and recover whatever your father hid. If you're not back by morning roll call, I can't protect you." She steps aside, clearing the path to the gate. "And if you're lying to me, I will hunt you down myself and make you wish Aldric got you first."
"Thank you—" I start.
"Don't thank me until you survive." She turns to leave, then pauses. "One more thing. If you do find evidence... bring it back here. Give it to me. I'll make sure it reaches people who can use it. People with more power than you have."
Then she's gone, melted into the chaos.
The spy grins at us. "Well. That went better than expected."
"The mine's three hours from here," Jonas says. "We should move."
We slip through the gate into the night.
Behind us, Fort Bloodstone burns with false alarms and real desperation.
Ahead, in the darkness, my father's second evidence cache waits.
And somewhere out there, Brother Aldric is hunting us with everything he has.
We run into the forest, three Expendables with nothing to lose and everything to prove.
I don't see the orc scouts watching us from the trees.
I don't see them notch arrows and aim.
I don't see anything until an arrow punches through Pip's shoulder and he screams.
Then the ambush begins.