The western plains stretched wide and silent, the horizon painted in ash and fading light. The army's campfires flickered against the wind, casting long shadows across weary faces. Kael moved among the soldiers, listening. Their whispers were sharper now, no longer the same doubts he had heard before.
"He carries himself like a commander, though no rank was given," one muttered.
"The beast answers him as if bound by oath," another said.
A third voice, quieter, added, "Rowan claims his victories are dangerous miracles, not discipline."
Each word carved into Kael's chest. He had begun to mark them in his mind ,those who fought beside him, those who hesitated, those who whispered poison. Tharos stirred nearby, feathers glowing faintly, his ember eyes fixed on Kael. The fire spreads, the beast rumbled in his thoughts. Some will burn with it. Others will flee.
Rowan moved through the camp like a shadow, his smile polished, his voice smooth. He spoke of Kael's fire as recklessness, of his victories as accidents. That night, Kael returned to his tent to find a blade buried in the dirt outside it was a crude warning, its hilt wrapped in torn cloth.
Garrick examined it, his scarred face grim. "Rowan is no longer whispering. He is plotting. He will strike when the court watches, so your fall becomes spectacle."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Then I must endure. And I must be ready."
At dawn, horns split the silence. Rebels struck the camp in a sudden raid of mantis riders leaping from the plains, beetles charging through the fires. Chaos erupted. Kael raised his sword, shouting, "Form ranks! Hold the line!"
The soldiers obeyed, though hesitation lingered. Rowan barked conflicting orders, deliberately scattering the defense. Confusion rippled through the ranks. Kael's fury burned hotter than Tharos's wings. He spurred the beast forward, fire sweeping across the plains. Rebels screamed, their charge broken. But in the chaos, Kael saw it Rowan's blade aimed not at the rebels, but at him.
Rowan lunged, his sword flashing in the firelight. "The peasant falls tonight!" he snarled, echoing the words Kael had heard in the forest.
Kael parried, steel ringing against steel. The soldiers froze, watching in stunned silence. "You betrayed us," Kael growled. "You betrayed the Empire."
Rowan's smirk twisted into fury. "The Empire is already broken. I will not bow to a peasant with a beast."
Their blades clashed again, sparks flying. Garrick limped forward, shouting to the men, "Stand with Kael! Rowan is treason!"
The duel raged across the camp. Rowan fought with venom, his strikes sharp and precise. Kael fought with fury, his sword heavy, his breath ragged. Tharos roared, wings igniting, casting ember light across the battlefield. Soldiers rallied, their fear turning to resolve.
Rowan faltered, his smirk gone, his eyes wide with desperation. Kael's blade struck true, disarming him. Rowan stumbled back, defeated but alive. The soldiers stared, awe replacing doubt. Rowan's treachery was no longer whispers. It was truth.
Rowan was dragged before the nobles, his voice silent, his smirk gone. The soldiers gathered around Kael, their loyalty no longer uncertain. This time, the whispers carried a different weight.
"He stood against betrayal and did not break."
"The beast roared, but it was Kael's blade that silenced treason."
"If he can endure betrayal, perhaps he can endure anything."
Garrick's voice carried across the camp, steady and resolute. "He endured. He bled. He rose again. That is command. That is legend."
Kael lowered his sword, the firelight dancing across his armor. He felt the eyes of the men upon him, not with suspicion, but with something heavier something that will someday be a burden, it was expectation. The path ahead was no longer that of a recruit struggling to prove himself. It was the path of a leader forged in fire, one who would be tested again and again until the Empire itself decided whether he was its salvation or its doom.