On the twelfth day, Faylen made his move.
He stood before the soldiers in the largest cavern, his voice carrying strong despite the smoke.
"We cannot wait for salvation that will never come. Lindarion is dead. The gods are silent. If we sit here, we will wither. But if we march, we may yet carve our way to freedom. Who will follow me?"
A murmur spread. Dozens stepped forward. Not all out of loyalty, many out of desperation. Anything was better than the dark.
Ydrien rose to stop him, her body trembling with fatigue. "March into death, if you will. But you'll drag hundreds with you."
"Better that," Faylen spat, "than let them rot in your false hope."
For the first time, steel rang in the council chamber. Thariel drew her sword, blocking Faylen's path.
"No," she said, her voice like stone. "You leave, you leave alone. These people need unity, not madness."
The cavern erupted in shouts. Blades half-drawn. Soldiers torn between hunger, hope, and despair.
