The Hollow was a graveyard of sound.
Every breath, every shuffle of boots, every clink of metal could have been a death sentence.
Fred crept through the east tunnels, heart hammering like a war drum in his chest.
The black powder bottle sat heavy in his pack.
One wrong spark.
One stumble.
And it would be over.
He counted the steps carefully — thirty paces from the old well, a right turn at the rusted pipeline, another fifteen toward the furnace access.
His fingers brushed the crude trigger mechanism Bran had built from scrap metal and desperation.
> "You better work," Fred muttered under his breath.
Above him, the Hollow guards were shifting uneasily.
They felt something too.
Some primal instinct warning them that death was slithering closer.
---
At precisely 1:00 AM, the Furnace Room exploded.
The roar shook the stone walls, throwing workers and guards alike to the floor.
Flames licked up the ancient support beams.
Screams split the air — not all from pain, but confusion.
Panic.
The most precious weapon Fred and his allies had.
He didn't pause to admire the chaos.
There was no time.
Nia was already moving, slashing the cords of the Armory Storage with brutal efficiency.
Old rusted weapons spilled to the ground.
Not many.
Not enough.
But enough for a beginning.
Meanwhile, Torin disabled the East Gate's alarm system — smashing the old mechanical gears with a stolen hammer.
It was working.
It was working.
Until it wasn't.
---
Kael moved faster than anyone expected.
The moment the fire bloomed, he knew.
Not guessed.
Knew.
He didn't send underlings.
He came himself.
A shadow in a black coat.
A sword in his hand so thin and cruel it seemed more like a fang than a weapon.
Fred saw him in the distance — a black figure cutting down rioters like wheat before a scythe.
Men Fred had spoken to yesterday.
Men he had promised freedom.
Dead now.
Throats opened.
Chests split.
The rebellion was drowning in its own blood before it had even learned to walk.
Fred's stomach twisted in horror.
But he couldn't stop.
Wouldn't stop.
---
Bran was bleeding badly by the time Fred found him — a deep gash across his side.
Still, Bran grinned like a man seeing heaven itself.
> "We did it, Fred!" he coughed.
> "We lit the fire!"
Fred threw Bran's arm over his shoulders.
Dragged him toward the East Gate.
Behind them, Nia fought like a demon — twin knives flashing, her face a mask of cold fury.
Torin was already at the mechanism, prying the last stubborn bolts free.
Almost there.
Almost free.
Almost.
The gate began to screech open, rust flakes snowing down from its hinges.
A thin gap appeared — a taste of open sky beyond.
Fred felt his heart leap into his throat.
Freedom.
Real freedom.
So close.
So agonizingly close.
---
The world ended with a single gunshot.
Fred barely saw it.
One moment Bran was laughing, blood foaming his lips but still alive.
The next, his head snapped back — a hole blown through his skull.
He crumpled, dead weight dragging Fred to the ground.
Fred screamed — not in words.
Just raw, animal grief.
Nia whirled, eyes wide.
Torin shouted something Fred couldn't hear.
Kael stood twenty feet away, pistol smoking in his hand.
> "You think you can burn my kingdom?" Kael growled, voice low and full of venom.
> "I am the fire, boy."
Fred scrambled, rage giving him speed.
He lunged for Bran's dropped blade.
But Kael was already moving.
The black fang of his sword flashed once, twice.
Torin stumbled back, blood blooming across his chest.
Nia threw herself at Kael, shrieking.
For a heartbeat, Fred thought — hoped — she might land a blow.
Might end him.
But Kael caught her wrist mid-swing.
Twisted.
There was a wet crack.
Nia collapsed, screaming, arm limp at her side.
---
Fred knew he had one chance.
One.
He fumbled into his pocket.
The last desperate tool they had prepared.
A tiny, jury-rigged bomb — little more than a shard of black powder wrapped in cloth.
Not enough to kill Kael.
But maybe enough to blind him.
Fred hurled it at Kael's face and dove sideways, dragging Nia with him.
The bomb exploded with a flash of fire and smoke.
Kael roared in fury and pain, staggering back, eyes slashed red.
Fred didn't wait.
He shoved Nia through the half-open gate.
Torin stumbled after them, coughing blood.
Fred threw one last look over his shoulder.
Kael was still standing.
Still burning with rage.
Still alive.
---
They staggered into the night.
Into bitter cold.
Into freedom.
Behind them, the Hollow burned.
Guards scrambled like ants.
Sirens wailed.
Death reigned.
But they were free.
Broken.
Bleeding.
But free.
Fred collapsed on the rocky hillside beyond the Hollow's walls, staring up at the stars.
He couldn't remember the last time he had seen them.
Each star was a wound in the black sky.
Each one bleeding light.
He realized dimly that he was crying.
Not from fear.
Not from pain.
But from the unbearable weight of survival.
He had lived.
At a terrible cost.
And tomorrow, Kael would hunt them with every weapon he had.
There would be no safety.
No peace.
Only war.
But tonight — for the first time in his life — Fred was his own man.
And no one, not even Kael, could ever take that away.
---