MORTAL FREEDOM

The forest was dense and shadowy, the towering trees stretching endlessly into the horizon. Wilson ran blindly, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. Every sound in the woods felt amplified the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves and he couldn't tell if they were echoes of the battle or the ghosts of his own guilt.

Sara-fin's face flashed in his mind, her fierce determination as she led the scouts away. Her voice still echoed in his ears: You have the power to stop this. But instead of stepping forward, he had hesitated. His fear had taken control. He had fled.

"You're a coward," Wilson muttered, his voice trembling. "You left her. You left all of them."

His feet caught on a log hidden beneath a patch of moss, sending him sprawling forward. His body hit the ground hard, and his head struck a low-hanging branch. Pain exploded through his skull, and the world spun as darkness closed in. Before he passed out, the surge flickered faintly beneath his skin, a reminder of the power he refused to use.

KROLL'S DEFEAT AND RETREAT

Kroll's armor was battered, and his pride was in tatters. The rebels had fought harder than expected, turning what should have been a simple operation into a disastrous retreat. He pushed through the underbrush with the remaining six scouts and their unexpected captive Sara-fin. The sting of failure burned in his chest, but he wasn't finished. Not yet.

"We're heading back to the Ministry," Kroll barked, his voice cold and clipped. "We've lost enough men for one day."

One of the scouts, a wiry man with a scar running across his jaw, hesitated. "And the girl?" He gestured toward Sara-fin, who walked between two soldiers, her hands bound tightly behind her back.

Kroll stopped abruptly, turning to face her. "What about her?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "She's a liability."

The scout shifted nervously. "Do we… kill her?"

Sara-fin's breath caught in her throat, but she forced herself to remain calm. She met Kroll's gaze, her heart pounding. "You'll regret it if you do."

Kroll raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is that so? Enlighten me."

Sara-fin straightened her shoulders, her voice steady. "You're after Wilson, right? You want him. Killing me won't get you any closer to him. But keeping me alive? That's your way in."

Kroll's lips curled into a faint smirk. "And why's that?"

"Because he loves and cares about me," Sara-fin said firmly. "If you keep me alive, he'll come for me. You don't need to hunt him he'll come to you."

Kroll studied her, his eyes narrowing as he weighed her words. Finally, he let out a low chuckle. "You're clever. I'll give you that." He turned to the scouts. "Change of plans. She's coming with us."

The scout with the scar frowned. "But sir"

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Kroll snapped. He stepped closer to Sara-fin, his tone icy. "If you're lying, you'll wish I had killed you here."

Sara-fin didn't flinch, her defiance unwavering. "I'm not lying."

Kroll motioned for his men to move. The group continued through the forest, their pace quick and their direction clear: back to the Ministry.

A CAMP IN RUINS

Back at the camp, the rebels worked silently, their faces grim as they collected the bodies of the fallen. Smoke hung heavily in the air, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. Fires smoldered at the edges of the clearing, casting flickering shadows over the devastation.

Jayce moved among the dead, his steps heavy. Every face he saw, everybody he lifted, felt like a personal failure. These were his people fighters who had trusted him, who had followed him and now they were gone. He couldn't save them.

The scouts' bodies were piled on one side of the clearing, their black armor glinting in the fading light. The rebels would show no respect for their enemies. The scouts' remains would be burned, their ashes scattered to the wind.

On the other side, the bodies of the fallen rebels were laid out with care. Their hands were folded across their chests, their faces wiped clean of blood and dirt. Survivors worked in silence, their grief palpable as they prepared the burial ceremony.

Jayce paused, his gaze falling on Elias's body. The tall man lay motionless, his broad shoulders and strong frame now lifeless. Jayce knelt beside him, brushing a strand of hair from his bloodied face. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I should've protected you."

Elias had saved his life. When the scout had aimed his rifle, Elias hadn't hesitated. He had thrown himself in the line of fire, taking the bullet meant for Jayce. His final words rang in Jayce's ears: "I'd do it again. For you."

Jayce's throat tightened as he forced himself to stand. He couldn't fall apart now. Not yet.

THE BURIAL CEREMONY

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the rebels gathered in a solemn circle around the burial site. Torches were lit, their flames casting a warm glow over the clearing. Jayce stood at the front, his shoulders squared despite the weight on his heart. In his hands, he held a torch, its flickering light reflecting the pain in his eyes.

"We've lost much today," Jayce began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "Brothers. Sisters. Friends. People who fought beside us, who believed in our cause, who gave everything to protect what little freedom we have left."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "They were more than soldiers. They were our family. And though their bodies rest here, their fight lives on in us. We owe it to them to keep going, to stand strong, and to refuse to give up."

The rebels nodded, their faces somber but resolute.

Jayce stepped toward the pyre where the fallen rebels lay. He knelt, placing the torch at the base. Flames erupted, licking hungrily at the wood. The rebels bowed their heads as the fire consumed the bodies, their grief mixing with a fierce determination to honor the sacrifices made that day.

A VOW OF VENGEANCE

As the ceremony ended, the rebels began to disperse, their exhaustion evident in their slow, heavy steps. Jayce remained behind, staring into the dying flames. His mind was a storm of grief and anger, his thoughts consumed by the events of the day.

He thought of Elias, his sacrifice, his unwavering loyalty. He thought of the rebels who had died, their blood staining the ground. And he thought of Wilson, hiding behind that rock, watching and doing nothing.

His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. "You could've stopped this," he muttered under his breath. "You could've saved them."

His thoughts darkened further, his rage consuming him. Wilson had fled, leaving them to face the battle alone. And because of that, Elias was dead. Because of that, his father was gone.

Jayce's jaw tightened as he made a silent vow, his eyes burning with hatred. "You're a coward, Wilson Tanga. And I promise you this: I'll find you. And when I do, you'll pay for what you've done."