Dawn came quietly, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Mist clung to the lowlands, curling around trees and rocks, softening the scars left by marching boots and bloodied steel.
Our camp lay hidden among a fold of hills overlooking a narrow road—an old trade artery that once carried grain and cloth, now choked with patrols and fear.
I stood apart from the others, watching the horizon lighten.
This was the last calm morning we would have for a long time.
Behind me, the Bloodline stirred. Men rose, tightened straps, checked blades dulled by honest use.
No one spoke loudly. Laughter had become rare these past days—not gone, but subdued, weighed down by the understanding that something irreversible was unfolding.
Lysa joined me first, arms crossed, eyes sharp despite the fatigue that lined her face.
"They've posted notices in the towns south of here," she said. "Not just bounties."
I didn't look at her. "Read them."
She hesitated, then recited from memory.
"Cairos of the Bloodline. Traitor to the Council. Inciter of rebellion. Enemy of order. Any who shelter or aid him will be judged accordingly."
I exhaled slowly.
"They've stopped pretending," she added.
"Yes," I said. "They have."
Rethan approached soon after, helmet tucked under one arm. "Scouts confirm it," he said.
"Council banners moving east and west. They're sealing roads, choking trade, press-ganging men into service."
Joren followed, silent as ever, but his expression said enough.
"They're preparing for something bigger," he said. "Not a hunt. A purge."
That word settled heavily between us.
For a long moment, none of us spoke. Wind brushed through the grass, carrying distant birdsong—life going on, unaware of the shape history was about to take.
"They're forcing our hand," Rethan said finally.
"Yes," I replied. "Which means it's time we stop reacting."
I turned to face them fully now.
Up close, I could see what the past weeks had carved into them. New scars. Harder eyes. A confidence that hadn't been there before—not arrogance, but belief.
Belief was dangerous.
And powerful.
"Gather everyone," I said. "All of them."
They assembled in a shallow clearing ringed by trees, weapons close at hand.
Every member of the Bloodline stood there—soldiers, scouts, cooks, wounded men leaning on spears, even a few villagers who had chosen to follow us after the valley.
No ranks. No banners.
Just people.
I stepped forward, feeling their attention settle on me like weight.
"I won't dress this up," I began. "You all know what happened. The Council has named us enemies. Not just soldiers. Not just rebels."
I let the word hang.
"Enemies of order."
A bitter murmur rippled through the group.
"They will burn villages to find us," I continued. "Hang men to make examples. Call it justice."
I paused, then added quietly, "And they will not stop."
Silence answered me.
"So here is the truth," I said. "If we keep moving as we are—hiding, striking, vanishing—they will grind us down eventually. Slowly. One by one."
Some faces tightened. Others nodded grimly.
"But there is another path," I said. "One that doesn't end with us hunted into the dirt."
I drew my sword—not in threat, but in symbol—and planted its tip into the earth before me.
"They've already named me," I said. "They've already condemned us. So let's stop pretending this is something it's not."
I met their eyes, one by one.
"We are not traitors," I said. "We are not bandits. We are not criminals hiding in the dark."
My voice hardened.
"We are at war."
The word struck like thunder.
"With the Council," I went on. "With the lies they hide behind. With the order they enforce by fear and blood."
A murmur rose—this time not bitter, but fierce.
"I won't force anyone to stay," I said. "If you leave now, you go free. No shame. No pursuit."
I waited.
No one moved.
Rethan stepped forward first, planting his axe beside my sword. "I didn't come this far to crawl back," he said. "If they want a war—fine. Let's give them one they remember."
Lysa followed, unsheathing a dagger and pressing it into the soil. "They burned my home," she said flatly. "This ends when they do."
One by one, weapons followed. Spears. Knives. Swords. Battered shields.
A line was being drawn.
I swallowed, feeling the moment settle into something permanent.
"Then hear this," I said. "From this day forward, we stop running. We choose our battles. We strike where it hurts. We protect those who shelter us."
I pulled my sword free and raised it—not high, not theatrically, but steady.
"We will not hide our name," I said. "If they fear it, let them."
A shout rose—raw, unpolished, human.
"Bloodline!"
The word echoed through the trees, fierce and unbroken.
I let it fade before speaking again.
"There's one more thing," I said. "If we're going to fight a war… then we fight it openly."
That caught their attention.
"The Council controls the narrative," I continued.
"They decide what truth looks like. Who is remembered. Who is erased."
I glanced at Joren. He already understood.
"We're going to change that."
The crossroads lay two miles south.
A stone marker stood there, old and cracked, carved with faded sigils from a time before the Council ruled these lands.
Merchants passed it daily. Patrols too.
By midday, we stood before it.
Rethan looked uneasy.
"This is bold."
"Yes," I said.
"Bold gets you killed."
"So does silence."
We worked quickly.
Lysa kept watch while others cleared the marker. Joren carved into the stone with careful strokes, following my instructions exactly.
When it was done, I stepped back and read the words.
Not a threat.
Not a plea.
A statement.
Here stood the Bloodline.
Hunted, not broken.
At war with the Council of Aereth.
Below it, one name.
Cairos.
No titles. No crown.
Just a man who refused to disappear.
We didn't linger.
By the time the first patrol found it, we were already miles away, melting into the land like smoke.
But I knew what would happen.
They would tear it down. Smash the stone. Curse my name.
And then they would talk.
Soldiers would whisper it around fires. Merchants would repeat it in taverns. Farmers would murmur it behind closed doors.
A name. A line drawn in stone.
That was how wars truly began.
That night, as we made camp beneath unfamiliar stars, Rethan sat beside me, staring into the fire.
"You know there's no turning back now," he said.
"I know,"
I replied.
"And if this ends with your head on a spike?"
I met his gaze. "Then at least they'll have had to earn it."
He laughed quietly. "You really are a bastard, you know that?"
A faint smile touched my lips. "So they tell me."
Later, when most had slept, I remained awake, staring into the darkness beyond the firelight.
Somewhere out there, Tarek al-Rhazim was planning his next move.
Somewhere, kings and councils were weighing the cost of letting me live.
And somewhere far in the future, scribes would argue over what to call this moment.
Rebellion. Insurrection. Treason.
They would be wrong.
This was something older than all of that.
This was a declaration.
And Aereth would never be the same again.
— End of Volume I: The River At Dawn —