The supply convoy rolled through the mountain pass at midnight, torches casting dancing shadows on the cliff walls.
Kael watched from above, counting heads, assessing defenses. Twenty guards, half of them Shadowbound. Three supply wagons loaded with weapons and provisions for Malkor's advancing legion. And leading the convoy, a Shadowbound commander whose armor bore the crimson serpent insignia of Lord Tavik's personal forces.
Perfect.
"Remember the plan," Kael whispered to the strike team spread out along the cliff edge. "We make it look like Commander Varesh's forces did this. Leave no survivors who can contradict that story. In and out in five minutes."
Lyra gave him a sharp nod. The others signaled their readiness.
Kael took a breath, called his power, and dropped into the pass like a silver comet.
He hit the ground in an explosion of flame and fury, his blade already moving. The first Shadowbound barely had time to raise his weapon before Kael's sword took his head. Silver fire erupted, consuming the shadow before it could escape.
Then chaos erupted as the strike team followed him down.
Steel rang against steel. Men screamed. The horses panicked, threatening to bolt with the supply wagons. Kael moved through the melee like a force of nature, his training and power combining into something terrifying and beautiful.
But this time, he wasn't lost in the bloodlust. This time he remained aware, controlled, channeling the power without letting it consume him. Each strike was calculated, each burst of flame precisely measured.
He was learning. Growing. Becoming what he needed to be.
The Shadowbound commander came at him with corrupted magic crackling around his blade. Kael met him head-on, silver flames clashing with dark power in a display that lit up the pass like lightning.
They fought across the convoy, neither giving ground. The commander was skilled, ancient battle instincts buried in his corrupted flesh guiding his movements. But Kael had something the Shadowbound didn't—the ability to adapt, to think, to fight with both mind and magic.
He feinted left, the commander committed to the block, and Kael's real attack came from below. His blade caught the Shadowbound beneath the arm, where the armor plates met. The commander staggered, dark ichor pouring from the wound.
Kael pressed his advantage, his flames burning brighter. The commander tried to counter, but Kael was already inside his guard. With a final surge of power, Kael drove his blade through the Shadowbound's chest.
As the commander fell, Kael reached into the corpse's armor and pulled free a small banner—Commander Varesh's banner, stolen from a previous raid and now planted here as false evidence.
Around him, the battle was ending. The strike team had done its work with brutal efficiency. The guards lay dead, the Shadowbound destroyed, their shadows burned away by silver fire.
"Five minutes," Lyra called out, her voice sharp with urgency. "Let's move!"
They scattered into the mountains, leaving behind a scene of carnage that would tell a very specific story. Lord Tavik's supply convoy, destroyed by what appeared to be Commander Varesh's forces. The banner planted as a calling card, the style of attack matching Varesh's known tactics.
By the time Malkor's forces found the convoy, they would have no reason to suspect resistance involvement. They would see only what they expected to see—rival commanders fighting for dominance, the empire eating itself from within.
Kael and his team made it back to camp as dawn broke. They were exhausted, blood-spattered, but alive. And more importantly, they had succeeded.
The first domino had fallen.
Now they just had to hope the others would follow.
Three days later, word reached them through Lyra's contacts. Lord Tavik and Commander Varesh were at each other's throats. Accusations flew. Troops were being repositioned. The careful coordination of Malkor's forces was beginning to fracture.
It was working.
But Kael knew better than to celebrate too soon. They'd bought themselves time, not victory. Malkor was no fool—eventually he would see through the deception and respond with overwhelming force.
They needed to be ready for that moment.
In the war council that night, Kael stood before his people—not as an uncertain farmer anymore, but as their king—and began planning their next move.
The resistance wasn't just surviving anymore. They were fighting back. And with every strike, every small victory, they were proving that Aethermoor's legacy lived on.
The darkness had ruled unchallenged for twenty years.
That era was ending.
Kael looked at the faces around him—scarred, determined, hopeful—and felt something he hadn't felt since his father's death.
He felt ready.
Ready to lead. Ready to fight. Ready to reclaim what had been stolen and forge something new from the ashes.
The road ahead would be soaked in blood and sacrifice. But for the first time, Kael believed they might actually survive to see its end.
And if he had to become a monster to defeat monsters, well, at least he'd be their monster. A king forged in darkness to bring back the light.
The silver flames burned steady and true within him, waiting for the battles to come.