The scent of burning wood hit Lysandra before she saw the flames.
The watchtower was under attack.
Screams echoed through the trees as torches flew through the air, crashing against the ancient stone walls. Shadows of soldiers moved between the trees, their weapons gleaming under the firelight.
Aldric had found them.
Maren's voice rang through the chaos. "MOVE! Get to the tunnels!"
Jael grabbed Lysandra's arm, pulling her toward the secret passage beneath the watchtower, but she hesitated. If they ran, they would be hunted. If they fought, they risked losing everything.
But she wasn't about to let Aldric win.
A Battle of Shadows
Lysandra's pulse pounded as she closed her eyes.
The darkness inside her stirred. It wanted out.
She exhaled—and let it come.
A deep, unnatural chill spread from her fingertips. The fire's glow dimmed as shadows rose like ink from the ground, swirling around her.
The first soldier lunged.
Lysandra sidestepped, and the shadows caught his leg, yanking him back into the darkness. A strangled cry echoed through the air before—silence.
Jael's eyes widened. "Lys—"
But there was no time. More soldiers rushed forward.
Maren and the rebels fought fiercely, steel clashing against steel. Lysandra barely registered the chaos as she dodged another attack, shadows coiling around her like armor.
But the more she used her power, the heavier it became.
A whisper slid into her mind—soft, familiar.
"More, more, more—"
She clenched her jaw. Not now.
A soldier rushed at her, blade aimed for her throat. Before she could react, Jael was there, parrying the strike with a sharp clang.
"Lys, MOVE!"
She didn't need to be told twice.
Escape into the Unknown
The tunnel entrance was ahead—a narrow passage hidden beneath the roots of an ancient tree. Rebels were already disappearing inside, but Maren stood at the entrance, covering their retreat.
Jael shoved Lysandra toward it. "GO!"
She hesitated. "What about you?"
Jael gave her a crooked, exhausted grin. "Don't worry about me. Just make sure this wasn't for nothing."
Aldric's men were getting closer.
Lysandra hated running. She hated leaving people behind.
But she turned—and plunged into the darkness of the tunnel.
The last thing she saw before the passage sealed behind her was Jael, standing with his sword raised.
And behind him—
A figure in the shadows. Watching.
Hours later, deep in the capital, Aldric stood before his throne.
A soldier knelt before him, armor scorched, face bloodied.
"They escaped," the soldier admitted. "But we've captured some of their people."
Aldric's fingers tapped against his throne. He wasn't surprised.
He had expected Lysandra to run.
He smiled.
"Let her."
Because it didn't matter where she went. She was already playing into his hands.