The night after the oath felt heavier than battle.
Wind tore through the tents of the Shadow Accord, carrying whispers of unease. The rebellion had grown too fast, too far — alliances built on desperation and half-forgotten loyalties.
Lyn sat alone on a hill overlooking the camp, his sword planted in the soil beside him. The blade hummed faintly, still resonating with the vow they'd sworn.
Umbra's shadow coiled nearby. —You've gathered too many who follow, but few who understand.
"They'll learn," Lyn murmured. "Faith takes time."
—Faith cuts both ways.
Below, torches flickered. A commotion spread through the lower ranks. Shouts. Clashing steel.
Lyn rose instantly, sliding down the slope. By the time he reached the center of the camp, the circle had already formed — two tamers facing each other, blades drawn, their spirits snarling in tandem.
Rhea pushed through the crowd. "Internal dispute," she hissed. "They're accusing each other of stealing crests."
Lyn's gaze hardened. "Enough."
The word hit like a thunderclap. Every spirit in the area recoiled. He stepped between the combatants — a young woman from the western tribes and an older soldier bearing the sigil of the old Academy.
"You both carry the same scars," Lyn said, voice low but cutting through the tension. "The chains you broke are the same chains they forged for us all."
The older man spat blood. "You talk about unity, boy. But I saw your kind burn villages in the name of 'freedom.' Tell me, where's the faith in that?"
Lyn's eyes flickered. Umbra's form shimmered behind him — not as threat, but judgment. "Faith isn't blind loyalty," Lyn said quietly. "It's choosing to believe in something after you've seen how easily it breaks."
The man faltered. Around them, the rebels lowered their weapons. The tension thinned — not vanished, but folded into silence.
Rhea leaned close. "They're not soldiers, Lyn. They're survivors. They need structure — not sermons."
Lyn nodded slightly. "Then I'll give them one."
He stepped onto a crate, facing the flickering sea of faces and shadows.
"From tonight forward," he declared, "no blade is raised without cause. No bond is tested without witness. We fight for freedom — not chaos. Our faith isn't in one man or one crest. It's in the will to choose."
The crowd murmured, the words sinking deep. For the first time since the rebellion began, they weren't just an army — they were a movement.
Umbra's presence pulsed through their shared bond. —You sound like a leader now.
Lyn exhaled. "I don't want to lead. I just don't want to lose them."
—Then lead because you must, not because you crave it.
Somewhere beyond the horizon, thunder rolled — faint but familiar. A signal.
Rhea turned sharply. "Scout flares. From the east."
Lyn gripped his blade. "Then we move."
Umbra's shadow spread outward, touching every spirit in the Accord. The camp stirred — exhausted but ready.
The rebellion's faith had been forged — not from glory, but from the scars that refused to heal.
And as dawn bled over the plains, Lyn whispered into the wind: "For every chain they raise, we'll answer with a bond stronger still."