The air in the tunnel felt electric, charged with a tension that was more suffocating than the damp stone walls. Kaia stood her ground, her boots planted firmly in the mud, her dagger pointed directly at Silas's chest. Behind her, she could hear Alaric's labored breathing, the sound of a King who was slowly bleeding out for a peace no one seemed to want.
"You would kill me for him?" Silas's voice was a low, wounded growl. The massive axe in his hands trembled, not from weakness, but from a fury that had been simmering for twenty years. "After everything we've lost? After your father's head was put on a spike by his army?"
"My father died for a future, Silas! Not for an endless cycle of blood!" Kaia shouted, her voice echoing like a crack of thunder in the small space. "Look at him! Does he look like a tyrant to you? He came to the Northern Pass unarmed, with a treaty in his hand! It was Thorne's men who fired the first arrow. Thorne wants us to kill each other so he can sit on a throne of corpses!"
The rebels behind Silas shifted uneasily. They looked at the King—pale, wounded, and leaning on a girl who was the heart of their rebellion. He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a man who had reached the end of his rope.
"He's a Lion," one of the rebels muttered, his grip on his spear tightening. "A Lion never changes his claws."
"And what are we, then?" Kaia countered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "If we murder a man who seeks peace, are we any better than the monsters we say he is? If you kill him now, Silas, the war will never end. The Royal Army will burn every village in the North to avenge their King. Is that what you want? More orphans? More burned homes?"
Silas looked at Kaia, his face a mask of grief and rage. For a long moment, the only sound was the rhythmic dripping of water from the ceiling. Slowly, agonizingly, Silas lowered his axe.
"The girl has her father's tongue," Silas whispered, his voice cracking. He looked at Alaric, his gaze hard and cold. "If you are lying, King... if this 'peace' of yours is just another trap... I will find you. And I will peel that crown from your skull myself."
Alaric stepped forward, his hand still clutching his blood-soaked side. He looked Silas directly in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "If I fail to bring peace to this land, Silas of the North... then my life is yours to take. But for now, we have a common enemy. Lord Thorne has seized the capital. He has declared me dead and himself the Regent. If we don't move now, Aethelgard will fall into darkness."
"The Old Valerius Keep," Silas said, turning to his men. "It's the only place Thorne's spies haven't reached. We go there. We regroup. And then... we take back the throne."
As they began to move deeper into the tunnel, Alaric reached out and squeezed Kaia's hand. "You saved me," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"I saved us both," Kaia replied, her fingers intertwining with his.
But as they emerged from the cave into the freezing night air, Kaia saw a single black bird circling the peaks above. A messenger crow. Thorne knew where they were. The real battle was just beginning