The night air was crisp against Aldric's skin as he stood at the edge of the ruined mine. Smoke and dust still rose from the collapsed entrance, the remains of their desperate gamble.
The rebels had escaped. Cedric's forces had been buried alive.
For a brief moment, there was silence.
Then a voice—shaky, but victorious.
"We did it," one of the rebels muttered.
Another let out a hoarse laugh, falling onto his back, staring at the stars.
And just like that, relief spread through the group. The tension in their shoulders eased. Some collapsed onto the rocky ground, others leaned against the cliffside, their exhaustion finally catching up to them.
But Aldric didn't let himself rest.
His mind was already moving to the next fight.
Because no matter how many battles they won, the war wasn't over.
Not yet.
Regrouping
Elya approached, brushing dust from her clothes. Her face was streaked with sweat and soot, but she was still standing.
