The night sky burned.
Aedric stood atop a rooftop across from the warehouse district, his cloak whipping in the wind as he watched the inferno consume Gorran's supply depot. The flames painted the darkened city in hues of orange and crimson, flickering reflections dancing upon the canals that snaked through Velmire's underbelly.
The fire was more than just destruction—it was a symbol. A declaration.
Lirian landed lightly beside him after climbing up from the side of the building. "We should move. The guards will lock down the district soon."
Aedric tore his eyes from the blaze. She was right. They had made their point, but they couldn't afford to be caught basking in it.
"Where's Varen?" he asked.
Lirian jerked her chin toward the shadows below. "He's making sure the escape route is clear. Tessa's already heading back to the hideout."
"Good. Let's go."
They descended quickly, using the narrow alleys to keep out of sight. The streets were already in chaos—guards shouting, citizens peering through windows, and the distant ringing of bells signaling the city watch's mobilization.
Aedric's pulse remained steady. They had struck a nerve, and now the real test would begin.
---
By the time they slipped back into the hideout, Tessa was already at the table, poring over a rough map of the city.
Dorn, still weak but sitting up now, looked up from his cot. "That was fast," he muttered, voice rough.
Varen shut the door behind them, smirking. "Fast is how we stay alive."
Aedric pulled back his hood. "They'll retaliate. Hard."
Tessa nodded. "I've already heard whispers in the streets. People are talking about the fire."
Lirian sat on the edge of the table, wiping soot from her hands. "Gorran won't let this go unanswered. He'll want to make an example of someone."
Aedric exhaled slowly. That was the risk. Gorran wouldn't just hunt them—he'd punish the city for defying him.
"We need to stay ahead of him," Aedric said. "If he wants a war, we make sure he fights it on our terms."
Varen grinned. "Sounds like you've got something in mind."
Aedric met his gaze. "We're going to cut off his reach, one piece at a time."
---
Morning came with an uneasy hush.
The city, normally buzzing with the sounds of merchants and dockworkers, carried an unnatural quiet. Fear had settled over the streets. The fire had been a spark, but it was yet to be seen whether it would ignite something greater—or be stamped out.
Aedric and Lirian moved through the market, keeping to the edges, listening. It was crucial to understand how the city was reacting.
A fishmonger spoke in hushed tones to a customer.
"They say rebels did it. Burned down the whole place."
His customer frowned. "Gorran won't let them live long."
Nearby, a woman whispered to her husband, worry etched into her features.
"If they can burn a warehouse, what else can they do? Will the city burn next?"
Aedric's jaw tightened. Fear. That was the enemy. The people had lived under Gorran's thumb for so long that they feared any change, even one that might free them.
Lirian glanced at him. "We need to push the story before Gorran twists it against us."
He nodded. If they let Gorran control the narrative, the rebellion would be painted as nothing more than a group of dangerous criminals.
"We need to speak to the right people," Aedric said.
Lirian smirked. "I know exactly who to start with."
---
As night fell again, Aedric and Lirian made their way to the western quarter—one of the few parts of the city where Gorran's influence hadn't fully strangled the people.
The Broken Quill was a modest tavern, nestled between a tailor's shop and a candle-maker's stall. It wasn't the busiest place in Velmire, but it was home to one of the city's most well-connected men.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of spiced ale and old parchment. The walls were lined with bookshelves, an oddity for a tavern, and the tables were filled with quiet conversations rather than drunken shouting.
At the back of the room sat an older man, his graying beard neatly trimmed, his sharp eyes scanning the room from behind round spectacles.
Caleth Varn. A scholar, a scribe, and the closest thing Velmire had to an underground historian.
He looked up as Aedric and Lirian approached, his gaze settling on them with quiet curiosity.
"You've been busy," he murmured, gesturing for them to sit.
Aedric slid into the seat across from him. "You've heard."
Caleth chuckled. "The whole city has heard. Some call you heroes. Others call you fools."
Lirian leaned back. "And what do you call us?"
The old scribe studied them for a long moment. "That depends on what you do next."
Aedric didn't hesitate. "We need the people to know the truth. Gorran will paint us as criminals, but we need them to understand what's really happening."
Caleth hummed thoughtfully. "You need a voice."
Lirian nodded. "And you're one of the loudest in the city."
He tapped his fingers against the table, considering. "Information is a dangerous thing. Words have toppled empires and built them anew."
Aedric leaned forward. "Then help us. Give the people a reason to stand."
Caleth studied him again. Then, slowly, he smiled.
"I will write," he said. "But you must give me something worth writing about."
Aedric met his gaze. "You'll have it soon enough."
---
By the time they returned to the hideout, the city was already shifting. Word traveled fast in Velmire, and the rebellion's first message had been sent.
Tessa was waiting. "We have a problem," she said immediately.
Aedric frowned. "What happened?"
She glanced at Dorn, who sat up, face grim. "Gorran's rounding people up. Anyone suspected of helping us."
Aedric clenched his fists. This was what he feared.
Lirian cursed under her breath. "We knew he'd retaliate."
Varen cracked his knuckles. "Then we take them back."
Aedric exhaled slowly. The war had escalated. The fire had been the first move, but now the real battle was beginning.
He looked at his gathered allies.
"No more hiding," he said. "Tonight, we fight for our people."