We didn't rest that night. Not really.
The gorge had taken its toll, but Tarek had taken more than the supply train—he had taken our caution.
Every step now felt heavier, measured, like walking on a knife's edge. We moved at first light, shadows stretched long across the hills, silent and tense.
"Eyes open," I muttered, scanning the ridge lines above.
"Every sound. Every movement. Nothing goes unnoticed."
Rethan grunted beside me. "Already feels like a trap. Doesn't it?"
"Feels like a war," I corrected. "Because it is."
The men were exhausted, bones sore, and morale stretched thin, but they followed without complaint.
They trusted me—or maybe they trusted their own survival depended on me. That was enough.
We passed through a narrow pass, jagged cliffs on either side. The only sounds were the scuff of boots and a distant bird calling.
Then, without warning, the world erupted.
Arrows screamed from above. Hundreds of them. The cliffs were alive.
Council troops had waited for us, hidden in small nooks, firing from every available angle.
Horses reared, men fell. Shouts echoed off stone walls. The first volley killed five men instantly, one of them a new recruit who had only just joined two weeks ago.
"Scatter!" I roared.
We dropped to cover, shields angled, and returned fire where we could. Archers of our own picked off exposed foes, but for every man we felled, three more appeared.
Tarek's signature: patience, planning, and precision.
Rethan cursed under his breath. "Damn son of a—he knew exactly where we'd be!"
I didn't answer. I was already calculating.
The gorge was narrow. Too narrow to fight properly. This was his battlefield, chosen for him. But no battlefield stays perfect forever.
Every cliff has a blind spot. Every formation has a weakness.
Every trap has a way out.
I spotted it—an overhang with loose scree on the left side, where a dozen men could climb unseen.
It would take time.
Time we didn't exactly have, but we had no other choice.
"Follow me!" I yelled, and we slipped into the shadows of the cliff, scrambling upward.
Rocks tumbled behind us, hitting enemy shields with dull thuds.
The sudden noise drew arrows and attention upward, thinning the assault below.
We reached the top, panting, smeared with blood and dirt. From this vantage point, we could see the gorge fully—the Council forces fully committed, stretched in narrow lines, their tight formation betraying confidence. Confidence they shouldn't have had.
"This is it," I said quietly, more to myself than anyone. "We turn their strength against them."
Rethan smirked, gripping his axe. "About time."
I signaled the men. "Ready the rocks. Fire arrows. Signal when to charge."
Chaos became our ally. Stones tumbled, flaming arrows struck tents and wagons, and panic rippled through the Council troops.
The narrow gorge became a furnace of fear.
Horses reared, men screamed, formations shattered.
I leapt down into the center, sword drawn, moving like a predator through the confusion. Rethan followed, axe swinging.
Lysa and Joren flanked us, precise and lethal.
A Council captain confronted me mid-charge, shield raised, sword at the ready.
"You're a dead man, traitor!" he shouted.
"I hope not," I replied, slashing through his defense and knocking him into the burning wreckage behind him.
The rest of the soldiers hesitated, caught between advancing and retreating, the gorge closing in around them. That pause was all we needed.
By midday, the trap had become ours. Half the Council soldiers lay dead, half fled in disorder, and the rest were trapped between fire and cliff. We didn't give mercy. There was no time. Survival demanded ruthlessness.
As the smoke cleared, I surveyed the battlefield.
Silence stretched across the gorge, broken only by the occasional crackle of fire and the groans of the dying. My men were exhausted, but alive. More importantly, we had won the battle on our terms.
But I knew better than to celebrate.
Somewhere in the hills, Tarek watched. And he would not forgive this.
I turned to Rethan. "Send scouts. I want to know where he is. Every movement. Every camp. Every horse."
Rethan nodded. "We'll find him."
Lysa stepped closer, hand on my arm.
"Cairos… this is getting dangerous. You're pushing them, pushing yourself… we can't survive a mistake."
"I don't plan to," I said coldly, letting the words hang. "Not anymore. The line's gone.
There's no stopping now."
Night fell, and the gorge glowed faintly in the distance with fires we had left behind.
Somewhere beyond, Tarek's fury would manifest, but for now, we had turned his trap into a victory.
And that meant the war was only beginning.
The hounds were not finished.
But neither were we.
The silence of the gorge pressed against me like a promise—and I knew the coming days would demand everything.
Because Tarek would strike back. And next time, there would be no mistakes allowed.
The game was shifting. And I intended to stay ahead of it.