MORTAL FREEDOM

The Ministry's war room was eerily quiet, the air thick with the scent of power. Lord Dominic stood by the large window, his hands clasped behind his back, his cold eyes fixed on the horizon. The strike team's scouts knelt before him, their black armor gleaming under the dim light of the room. They had returned with a full report of the rebels' movements.

"The rebels are weak," said Kroll, the team's leader, his voice sharp and calculating. "They've relocated to a new site north of the forest. Their forces are scattered and vulnerable, and their supplies are stretched thin."

Dominic didn't turn, his gaze unmoving. "And the boy?" he asked, his tone devoid of emotion.

Kroll nodded. "He's with them. The Surge makes him powerful, but he has no control. He's reckless and untrained a threat, but also a weakness."

Dominic tapped his fingers against the windowsill. "And your suggestion?"

"A full army isn't necessary," Kroll said confidently. "Give us a small but well-equipped force. We can strike swiftly, while they're still setting up their new camp. By the time they realize what's happening, it will be too late."

The room fell silent for a moment as the other Ministrians exchanged glances. Lady Sparta leaned forward from her throne. "And what if you fail?" she asked, her voice cold.

Kroll's lips curled into a faint smile. "We won't fail. I know their weaknesses now."

Dominic finally turned, his piercing gaze locking onto Kroll. "Very well," he said. "You have my permission. Strike hard, and bring the boy back alive."

Kroll bowed. "It will be done."

SETTING UP THE NEW CAMP

In the dense northern forest, the rebels were hard at work. The new camp was far from ready, and tension hung in the air. Makeshift tents dotted the clearing, and tools clanged as rebels scrambled to construct fortifications. Every shadow seemed like a threat, every sound a possible ambush.

Wilson stood near the edge of the camp, helping unload crates of supplies. The weight of his powers and the dangers they brought, pressed heavily on him. He could see it in the way some of the rebels avoided his gaze, their fear thinly veiled as distrust.

Sara-fin approached, carrying a bundle of ropes over her shoulder. "Hey, you look like you're somewhere else," she said, her voice light.

Wilson forced a smile. "Just thinking."

She dropped the ropes and leaned against the cart. "You're always 'just thinking.' You know, we could use some fresh food. The hunters are heading out soon. Why don't you come with me?"

Wilson hesitated. "You sure that's a good idea? I mean, what if something happens while we're gone?"

Sara-fin raised an eyebrow. "Wilson, something's always happening. You can't stop the world from spinning. Besides, you could use the break."

After a moment's pause, Wilson relented. "All right. Let's go."

A MOMENT OF PEACE

The hunting crew moved silently through the forest, their bows and spears at the ready. Wilson and Sara-fin lagged slightly behind the group, their steps quieter, their focus more on each other than the hunt.

"You're terrible at this," Sara-fin teased, glancing at Wilson as he tripped over a root.

"I'm great at this," Wilson shot back, brushing dirt off his pants. "I just… haven't had much practice."

She smirked, leaning close. "You'd starve if you were on your own, wouldn't you?"

"Hey, I can do plenty of things," Wilson protested. "I just haven't had time to"

Sara-fin cut him off, tossing a handful of leaves at his face and darting ahead with a laugh. Wilson blinked, then grinned, giving in.

"Is this part of the hunt?" he called, dodging low-hanging branches.

"Sure," she said over her shoulder, her laughter echoing through the trees. "Hunting for fun!"

They stopped in a small clearing, both slightly out of breath, their laughter dying as the moment stretched between them. The golden light filtering through the canopy seemed to wrap around them, the chaos of the world momentarily forgotten.

"Thanks," Wilson said softly.

"For what?" Sara-fin asked, tilting her head.

"For reminding me what it feels like to laugh," he replied. "To… just be normal."

She smiled, her eyes soft. "You're not normal, Wilson. But that's not a bad thing."

Their gazes lingered on each other. But before either of them could speak, a distant sound shattered the moment a sharp, unmistakable crack. Gunfire.

They both froze, the color draining from Sara-fin's face. "The camp," she whispered. Without another word, they turned and ran.

THE SCOUTS STRIKE

The camp was chaos. Flames licked at the edges of the clearing, and screams pierced the air as the Ministrian strike team launched their attack. The rebels scrambled to defend themselves, but they were outnumbered and unprepared.

Kroll moved through the chaos like a predator, his black armor glinting in the firelight. His soldiers moved with precision, shooting down rebels and setting fire to their supplies. The Ministrians' advanced weaponry gave them the upper hand, and it wasn't long before the rebels were on their knees.

Jayce fought fiercely at the front lines, his blade clashing against the Ministrians' weapons. Blood streaked his face, and his breaths came in ragged gasps, but he refused to back down. "Hold the line!" he shouted, though his voice was barely audible over the gunfire.

Brian, standing near the command tent, rallied what few fighters remained. "Don't let them take the camp!" he roared. But even he could see the inevitable they were losing.

Wilson and Sara-fin burst through the tree line, their hearts pounding as the scene unfolded before them. Smoke billowed into the sky, and bodies littered the ground. Wilson's stomach turned at the sight, but there was no time to process the horror.