The rebel column moved cautiously down the mountain trails, their destination a cluster of villages nestled in the lowlands known as the Amber Veil. Once a region known for its golden fields and thriving trade, the Veil had been reduced to ash and fear under Mordain’s rule. Soldiers patrolled the roads, villagers were conscripted or executed at the first hint of rebellion, and the fields that had once fed thousands now grew wild and untended.

  Alric walked near the head of the column, the weight of his dagger pressing heavily against his side. He could feel the tension among the rebels; they spoke little, their eyes darting toward every shadow along the trail. They all knew the danger of this mission. The villages they sought to rally were under constant surveillance, and even a whisper of their presence could bring Mordain’s forces down on them.

  Iridia walked beside him, her sharp blue eyes scanning the horizon. She’d grown quieter since their last battle, the weight of leadership settling on her broad shoulders. “Do you think they’ll listen to you?” she asked without turning her head.

  Alric hesitated. “I don’t know. But we have to try. If we don’t start bringing people to our side, this rebellion will collapse before it even begins.”

  Iridia nodded, though her expression remained grim. “It’s a fine line, prince. Hope can unite people, but it can also make them reckless. If we’re not careful, we’ll spark something we can’t control.”

  “We don’t need control,” Alric replied. “We need resistance. If the people of the Veil rise up, Mordain will have to divide his forces. That gives us time to gather strength.”

  Iridia didn’t respond immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “You sound like a leader.”

  Alric glanced at her, but she kept her gaze fixed on the trail ahead. He wasn’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or a warning.

  By midday, the rebels reached their first destination: Harrowfield, a once-prosperous farming village now reduced to a shell of its former self. The fields surrounding the village were overgrown with weeds, and the wooden fences lay broken and rotting. The houses were little more than shacks, their walls patched with scrap wood and cloth.

  Alric’s heart sank at the sight. These were his people—his kingdom—and they had been left to wither under Mordain’s rule.

  The rebels entered the village cautiously, their weapons ready but hidden beneath cloaks and tunics. The streets were eerily quiet, and the few villagers they passed avoided their eyes, slipping into their homes and shutting the doors behind them.

  Iridia frowned. “They’re terrified.”

  “Can you blame them?” Alric said, his voice low. “For years, they’ve seen what happens to anyone who resists. We have to show them that things can be different.”

  They stopped in the center of the village, near a dried-up well. Alric glanced around, his heart heavy. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his return to the people he was supposed to protect.

  “Gather everyone,” he said, his voice firm. “We need to speak to them.”

  It took time, but eventually, a small crowd gathered in the square. Men, women, and children stood in tight clusters, their faces lined with exhaustion and suspicion. Many of them carried the scars of Mordain’s rule—burn marks, missing fingers, haunted eyes.

  Alric stepped forward, his chest tight with nerves. The weight of their stares bore down on him, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. But Kaelion’s voice cut through his doubt, calm and steady.

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  “Speak with conviction, boy. They don’t need a prince—they need a reason to fight.”

  Alric took a deep breath, letting the tension flow out of him. He met the villagers’ eyes, one by one, and began to speak.

  “My name is Alric Valen,” he said. “I was born a prince of this kingdom, but I stand before you as an exile. Like you, I’ve seen what Mordain has done to our land—how he’s crushed anyone who dared to stand against him. But I’m here to tell you that his reign of terror doesn’t have to last.”

  The villagers exchanged uneasy glances, their skepticism clear.

  “I know it’s hard to believe,” Alric continued. “You’ve been told that resistance is hopeless, that Mordain’s power is absolute. But it’s not. My companions and I have already struck at his forces—we’ve destroyed his supply lines, routed his vanguard, and shown that he can bleed.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd, but it was cautious, uncertain.

  Alric stepped closer, his voice rising. “I’m not asking you to risk your lives for nothing. I’m asking you to stand with us—to take back what’s yours. Your homes, your freedom, your future. Together, we can end Mordain’s reign and rebuild this kingdom into something better. Something stronger.”

  A long silence followed his words, the tension in the air so thick it was suffocating. Then, an older man stepped forward. He was gaunt and hunched, his face a web of wrinkles, but his eyes burned with a fierce light.

  “You talk big, boy,” the man said, his voice rough. “But talk doesn’t put food on the table. It doesn’t keep the soldiers from dragging our children off to fight in Mordain’s wars. If you want us to fight, show us you can protect us.”

  Alric nodded, his jaw tightening. “What do you need?”

  The man pointed toward the eastern edge of the village. “There’s a garrison a few miles from here. Mordain’s soldiers come every week to take what little we have left. If you’re serious about this rebellion, stop them. Drive them out.”

  Alric’s heart pounded, but he didn’t hesitate. “We’ll handle it. But when we do, I need your word that you’ll join us. That you’ll help us spread the word to the other villages.”

  The man studied him for a moment, then gave a single nod. “You deal with the soldiers, and we’ll stand with you.”

  The rebels set out at night, moving through the dense woods that bordered the eastern road. Alric’s group was small—fifteen fighters, including Iridia and a handful of Harrowfield’s braver villagers—but they moved with purpose.

  The garrison was a small outpost, little more than a fortified watchtower surrounded by wooden palisades. A dozen soldiers patrolled the perimeter, their torches casting flickering light on the worn dirt path that led to the village.

  Alric crouched behind a fallen log, his eyes fixed on the garrison. Kaelion appeared beside him, his golden eyes gleaming in the dark.

  “You’ve got the element of surprise,” Kaelion said. “Take out the guards quietly, then hit the tower. Fast and brutal.”

  Alric nodded, signaling to the others. They spread out, moving silently through the trees. The first guard fell quickly, an arrow piercing his throat before he could shout. The second was dispatched with a dagger to the back, his body dragged into the shadows.

  But as the rebels closed in on the tower, one of the guards shouted an alarm. The garrison erupted into chaos as soldiers scrambled for their weapons.

  “Move!” Alric shouted, charging toward the gate.

  The rebels hit the garrison hard, their attack swift and relentless. Alric fought at the front, his obsidian dagger cutting through armor and flesh with unnatural ease. The power of the Echoes surged through him, sharpening his senses and quickening his reflexes.

  But the whispers came with it, growing louder and more insistent.

  “More… Take more… You cannot stop now…”

  Alric gritted his teeth, forcing the voices aside as he struck down another soldier.

  The battle was over in minutes. The garrison’s defenders lay dead or fleeing into the woods, and the watchtower burned, its flames lighting the night sky.

  When the rebels returned to Harrowfield, the villagers greeted them with cautious cheers. The old man who had challenged Alric earlier stepped forward, his face lined with a mixture of relief and awe.

  “You did it,” he said. “You actually did it.”

  Alric nodded, his exhaustion hidden behind a mask of determination. “Will you stand with us now?”

  The man hesitated, then extended his hand. “Aye. We’ll fight. And we’ll spread the word to the other villages. Mordain will know he can’t break us.”

  As the villagers began to rally, their fear giving way to determination, Alric felt a flicker of hope.

  But in the shadows of his mind, the Echoes stirred.

  And he knew that the true battle was only beginning.