The survivors stumbled back into camp, armor scorched, faces pale. Kael dismounted from Tharos, his body aching, his sword nicked from battle. Soldiers stared at him with mixed eyes some in awe, some in fear, some even has suspicion.
Rowan was among them, shaken but alive. Kael's gaze locked on him. He remembered Rowan's voice in the forest: "The peasant falls tonight!" Yet now Rowan walked back into camp as if nothing had happened.
Kael's jaw tightened. He knew the truth, but he had no proof.
Around the fires, Kael watched the recruits. Some avoided his eyes, whispering in corners, their laughter sharp when Rowan passed. These were Rowan's true followers,complicit in betrayal.
Others looked conflicted, shame flickering in their expressions. They had fought beside Kael in the ambush, blades raised even as Rowan's words poisoned the air. Misled, perhaps, but not traitors.
Tharos rumbled low whenever one of Rowan's loyalists drew near. Kael trusted the beast's instincts.
Rowan struck quickly. He strode into the command tent, voice sharp.
"Commander," he said to Garrick, "this peasant nearly burned us alive. His beast is no soldier's ally , it's a monster out of control."
Murmurs rippled through the ranks. Some nodded, others frowned.
Kael stepped forward. "Without Tharos, we'd all be dead. He saved lives."
Rowan sneered. "Or perhaps you wanted glory. Perhaps you wanted to show us all that you and your monster are above the Empire's law."
The word monster hung in the air like a blade.
Garrick slammed his fist on the table. "Enough! Kael saved your lives. You may not like his methods, but you owe him your survival."
Rowan's smirk faltered, but only for a moment. "Survival bought with fire is survival bought with fear. The men will not follow a beast." Said Rowan with a fiery eyes, his gaze sharp but not sharp enough to tore through the defence of Garrick.
Kael's fists clenched. He wanted to shout the truth that Rowan had betrayed him but Garrick's warning echoed: Steel cannot silence whispers. Without proof, his words would sound like paranoia.
That night, Kael sat alone at the edge of camp. The stars were hidden behind smoke, the air heavy with ash.
"They fear you," he whispered to Tharos. "And maybe they're right. You are fire. Fire destroys."
Tharos pressed his muzzle against Kael's chest, ember eyes glowing. Fire destroys, but it also endures. Without fire, there is no light. Without fire, there is no life.
Kael closed his eyes. He thought of the recruits who had fought beside him despite Rowan's venom. He thought of those who had hesitated, leaving him exposed. Slowly, he began to mark them in his mind allies, enemies, uncertain.
At dawn, a rider arrived bearing the Emperor's seal. His voice carried across the camp:
"By decree of His Majesty, all commanders are summoned to the capital. The rebellion spreads. The Empire must decide its course."
Kael felt the weight of the words. The battlefield was no longer his only arena. Now, the halls of power awaited halls where Rowan's whispers could become daggers sharper than steel.
Tharos rumbled low, wings flickering with fire. The storm moves to the heart. Be ready.
Kael rose, sword at his side, determination burning in his chest.
The war was no longer just against rebels.
It was against doubt, politics, and treason.