The night was a blanket of black, suffocating and alive.
Not a star dared to shine over the ruined valley, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Every man in our camp moved quietly, faces smeared with soot and blood, weapons resting in calloused hands. We had survived the Gorgefire, but Tarek al-Rhazim had learned more than we realized.
He had learned patience. And patience was deadly.
I walked along the ridge, eyes scanning every shadow.
The valley below was a map of chaos: smoldering wagons, splintered shields, bodies frozen mid-motion.
I counted the dead silently, letting the weight of it press into my chest. Twenty-three men lost.
Too many.
Too few to make him pay yet, but enough to taste his reach.
Rethan came up beside me, axe resting against his shoulder. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I watched movement in the dark. A flicker—no, multiple flickers.
Torches?
Scouts?
"Yes,"
I finally said.
"He's probing. Finding out what we'll do next. And he'll test us again. That's who he is."
Lysa joined us, eyes narrowed. "We can't keep reacting. He's setting the pace. We need to take it from him."
I looked at her, the firelight catching in her hair, highlighting the tension around her jaw. "Agreed. But we don't strike blindly. We need leverage."
"Leverage?" Rethan's brow furrowed.
"The kind that makes men sweat in their beds," I said. "The kind that forces Tarek to move before he wants to."
The men murmured among themselves. Fear, yes, but more importantly—anticipation. They trusted me to navigate the knife's edge, and I would.
We spent hours mapping the valley, studying paths, choke points, and potential ambush sites.
Every rock, every crevice became part of a plan. We were hunters now, not fugitives.
Around midnight, I called a meeting near the largest ruin, a crumbled tower that had once housed a minor garrison.
The map scratched into the dirt became our battlefield.
"Tarek's army is fractured after the Gorgefire," I explained, tracing lines with a bloody finger.
"He can't replace those supplies easily.
He'll react fast, but his reinforcements are thin.
That's where we strike."
Lysa leaned close. "And the officers? You mean to take them out too?"
I met her gaze, cold and unflinching.
"Every one that keeps his plans moving. Every one that makes him think he's untouchable."
Rethan smirked.
"And after that?"
I looked at the map, letting the shadows play over it.
"After that… we remind him what happens when the traitor becomes the predator."
The men shifted uneasily. Some were used to fighting for survival. Some were used to death. Few were ready to understand the war of calculated terror I was about to unleash.
We moved at first light. Every step was deliberate, every breath measured. The valley itself seemed to close in on us, cliffs looming overhead, the scent of smoke still thick.
Then it happened. A scream from the northern ridge. Not an enemy soldier. Not a mistake. Something primal, unexpected.
One of our scouts, pinned under a boulder that had shifted during the night, the arrow of fate cruel and sudden.
I ran, muscles screaming, heart hammering, as I lifted the stone with all my strength. The scout gasped, alive but shaken.
"They're
closer than I thought," he whispered.
I clenched my jaw.
"Then we make sure they don't get closer without paying the price."
By noon, we had positioned ourselves along the cliffs overlooking a narrow ravine leading to the main road.
The sun broke through for a moment, reflecting off steel and armor like a promise of blood.
The first Council patrol appeared, unaware of the trap. They were confident, disciplined, moving as if the valley was theirs. They weren't.
We struck.
Rocks tumbled first, crushing shields and helmets.
Arrows followed, flames soon licking at canvas and wooden wheels. Soldiers screamed, trying to regroup, but we were already among them, steel and fury biting into flesh and bone.
Rethan laughed as he swung his axe, sending men flying. "This is better than I imagined!"
I moved with lethal precision, targeting officers, dispatching them before they could rally their men. Lysa cut through a squad with cold efficiency, her daggers singing through the chaos.
By sunset, the ravine was ours. Not a single soldier escaped without injury, and Tarek's supply chain lay in ruins again.
But as we surveyed the aftermath, I felt it—the unmistakable weight of eyes upon us.
Tarek had arrived.
Not on the battlefield, not among his men, but watching, measuring, planning.
I knew then that the war had escalated beyond supply lines, beyond ambushes, beyond death. This was now personal.
And I was ready.
The night settled over the valley like a shroud, stars hidden by smoke and clouds.
Somewhere, far above, Tarek al-Rhazim observed his prey, unaware that the predator had already sharpened its teeth.
Tomorrow, the war would take a new shape.
And I would make sure he felt every cut.
The Edge of Ruin was behind us. The hunt had begun.