The wind howled through the mountain pass as the rebel column trudged eastward. Their goal was Blackspire—a fortress carved into the face of a jagged cliff, a vital supply hub for Mordain’s empire. Capturing it would cripple his forces in the Amber Veil and send a message to the kingdom: the rebellion was more than just whispers and rumors.

  Alric marched near the front of the column, his obsidian dagger hidden beneath his cloak. The weight of the blade pressed against his side, a constant reminder of the power he carried—and the cost of wielding it. The Echoes had grown louder since the battle with Mordain’s Wolves, their whispers brushing against his thoughts like a cold wind.

  But he couldn’t afford to falter now. The rebellion’s future depended on this gambit.

  Iridia walked beside him, her sharp blue eyes scanning the trail ahead. “The scouts say Blackspire is heavily fortified,” she said. “Walls of solid stone, reinforced gates, and a garrison of at least a hundred soldiers. Even with a distraction, it won’t be easy to breach.”

  Alric nodded, his jaw tight. “We’ll need more than brute force. We’ll hit them where they least expect it.”

  “And where’s that?” Iridia asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Alric pointed to the map she carried, his finger tracing the narrow gorge that ran beneath Blackspire. “The aqueducts. They bring water from the river through the gorge and into the fortress. If we can infiltrate the tunnels, we can get inside without being seen.”

  Iridia frowned. “And once we’re inside? How do you plan to take the fortress from the inside out?”

  Alric met her gaze, his voice steady. “We’ll disable the gates and open them for the main force. If we can catch them off guard, we’ll have a chance.”

  Iridia studied him for a moment, then nodded. “It’s risky. But if it works…”

  “It has to work,” Alric said. “We don’t have a choice.”

  As the rebels set up camp that night, Alric called a meeting of his trusted leaders. Iridia, Jorik, and several others gathered around the fire, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames.

  “We’ll divide into three groups,” Alric began, gesturing to the map spread out before them. “The first group, led by Iridia, will launch a diversionary assault on the western wall. Their goal is to draw as many soldiers as possible away from the gates.”

  Iridia nodded, her expression unreadable.

  “The second group, led by Jorik, will target the southern approach. If the enemy sends reinforcements from their outposts, your job is to intercept them.”

  Jorik grunted in approval.

  “The third group,” Alric said, his gaze sweeping the room, “will be the infiltration team. We’ll enter through the aqueducts, disable the gates, and signal the others when it’s time to strike.”

  “You’re leading the infiltration team?” Iridia asked, her tone sharp.

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  “Yes,” Alric said firmly.

  She folded her arms. “You’re putting yourself in the most dangerous position again.”

  “I’m the only one who can do this,” Alric replied. “If the Echoes give us any kind of edge, we’ll need it in the tunnels.”

  Iridia’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue.

  Jorik leaned forward, his grizzled face shadowed by the firelight. “And what if something goes wrong? What if you don’t make it to the gates?”

  “Then you’ll have to hold the line,” Alric said. “No matter what happens, Blackspire has to fall.”

  Later that night, Alric sat alone at the edge of the camp, his back against a boulder. The cold wind bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by the mission ahead, and by the whispers that grew louder with each passing moment.

  “You’re pushing yourself too hard, boy,” Kaelion said, his golden-eyed form flickering into view beside him.

  “I don’t have a choice,” Alric muttered.

  “There’s always a choice,” Kaelion said, his tone sharp. “But if you keep throwing yourself into the fire, there won’t be anything left of you to fight Mordain.”

  Alric clenched his fists. “If I don’t fight, the rebellion dies. What would you have me do?”

  Kaelion studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I’d have you remember that this isn’t just about the rebellion. It’s about you. The bloodline chose you, but that doesn’t mean you have to destroy yourself for it.”

  Before Alric could respond, a familiar chill washed over him. The air seemed to grow heavier, and the shadows around him deepened.

  “Not him again,” Alric muttered, his breath quickening.

  Maltheron’s voice slid into his mind, cold and mocking. “Oh, don’t look so disappointed, little prince. You’ve been doing so well—I couldn’t resist checking in.”

  Kaelion growled, his spectral hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Leave him, Maltheron. He’s not yours to claim.”

  “Not yet,” Maltheron said, his pale face materializing from the darkness. His crimson eyes gleamed with amusement as he stepped closer, his robes swirling like smoke. “But the boy is teetering on the edge. One wrong step, and he’ll be mine.”

  Alric glared at him, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. “What do you want?”

  “Only to help,” Maltheron said, spreading his hands. “You’re walking into a fortress guarded by some of Mordain’s best soldiers. Wouldn’t it be wise to have every advantage?”

  “I don’t need your help,” Alric said through gritted teeth.

  Maltheron chuckled. “Of course you don’t. But when the time comes, and you find yourself outnumbered, outmatched, and desperate… remember my offer.”

  With that, he dissolved into the shadows, his laughter echoing in Alric’s mind.

  Kaelion stepped closer, his golden eyes blazing. “Don’t listen to him, boy. He thrives on desperation, and the moment you give in to him, he’ll take everything.”

  Alric let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding. “I won’t give in. Not to him.”

  Kaelion’s gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. “You’re strong, Alric. But even the strongest can break. Don’t let it come to that.”

  The following night, Alric and his infiltration team crept toward Blackspire under the cover of darkness. The fortress loomed above them, its stone walls jagged and blackened by centuries of weather and war. The aqueducts stretched beneath the cliffs, their openings hidden among the rocks.

  The team moved quickly, slipping into the tunnels one by one. The air inside was damp and cold, the sound of rushing water echoing around them.

  Alric led the way, his dagger drawn and his senses sharp. The darkness pressed against him, and the whispers of the Echoes were louder here, as if the stone itself carried their voices.

  “Stay focused,” Kaelion said, his voice steady in Alric’s mind. “You’re almost there.”

  The team reached a grated door, its rusted metal bars blocking their path. Alric knelt, inspecting the lock.

  “Can you open it?” one of the rebels whispered.

  Alric nodded, placing his hand on the lock. He let the power of the Echoes flow through him, the obsidian blade glowing faintly as it touched the metal. With a soft click, the lock fell away.

  The rebels exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing.

  Beyond the door, the tunnels widened, leading upward into the heart of the fortress. Alric’s pulse quickened as they climbed, every step bringing them closer to their goal—and closer to danger.