The camp stirred with the first light of dawn. Sarina, though bound by chains invisible to her companions, moved as she always had—efficient, calculated, hiding the inner storm that churned just beneath the surface. She kept her sword sheathed as she assisted in preparing for the day’s march, making sure the camp’s supplies were accounted for. The rebellion’s next mission awaited, but the weight of what had nearly happened the night before hung over her like a shroud.

She stole a glance at Lira, who was laughing lightly with a group of younger fighters near the edge of camp. Sarina’s throat tightened. The image of Lira asleep, vulnerable, with her sword poised to strike was still too vivid, too fresh. She hadn’t been able to stop herself, not until that strange light had momentarily severed Azrathis’s control. What was that? A fluke? A mistake in Azrathis’s spell? Or something more?

"Keep moving, my little puppet." Azrathis’s voice curled into Sarina’s thoughts, soft and sinister, reminding her of the power still coiled around her mind. "Do not think you’ve found a way out. You are mine."

Sarina’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles turning white. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, the taste of copper grounding her. If only she could fight back. If only she could find some way to resist. But Azrathis’s hold was growing stronger, the chains tightening whenever she even entertained the thought of defiance. It felt like walking on the edge of a blade—one wrong move, and she would fall entirely into the abyss.

Her mind returned to the light. Whatever it had been, it had weakened the queen’s grip on her, if only for a moment. And that moment had been enough to stop her from becoming a murderer in her own camp. If it happened once, perhaps it could happen again.

"Captain?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Sarina blinked, quickly masking her inner turmoil as she turned to face one of her scouts—a tall, lanky man named Torrin. His face was tight with unease, his brow furrowed.

"Something wrong, Torrin?" she asked, forcing her voice to sound normal, though inside, her nerves prickled. Every conversation was a test of how much of her own mind remained intact.

"The path ahead," he said, casting a quick glance toward the mountains looming in the distance. "It’s not safe. We’ve spotted demon patrols in the area. We may need to reconsider our route."

"Let me see." Sarina stepped closer to him, peering toward the ridge that stretched like jagged teeth across the horizon. She wasn’t sure if it was Azrathis pulling her, or her own instincts that made her step toward the danger without hesitation. She could feel her mind tugged in two directions—one urging her to think tactically, to protect her people, and the other, driven by Azrathis’s desire, pulling her closer to the conflict, closer to chaos.

"Scouts said the patrols are heavy this time of day," Torrin added, his voice tense. "We can move under cover of night, but…"

"No," Sarina interrupted, her voice sharper than she’d intended. Torrin looked startled, and she quickly softened her tone. "We’ll move at dusk. We can’t afford to wait for nightfall—we’ll lose too much ground. Prepare the others."

He hesitated, sensing something off in her demeanor, but nodded. "Understood."

As Torrin left to spread the word, Sarina felt a flicker of satisfaction from Azrathis. "Ah, my little puppet, leading your flock into the lion’s den, just as I intended." Her laughter echoed in Sarina’s skull, dark and mocking. "You cannot escape my influence, no matter how hard you fight."

Sarina’s stomach churned. Azrathis had orchestrated this, nudging her toward a decision that placed her comrades in more danger. She hadn’t noticed the manipulation until it was too late. Every command, every choice she made—Azrathis was twisting them from within.

But there was no time to rethink her strategy now. The decision had been made. Sarina gathered her remaining composure and approached the center of camp, where Lira was waiting.

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"Everyone’s on edge," Lira said when Sarina approached, her eyes scanning the camp, her tone guarded but concerned. "Torrin said you’re pushing to move at dusk. Are you sure about that? We’ve fought hard to avoid unnecessary risks."

Sarina’s heart pounded in her chest. The chains tightened as Azrathis’s voice whispered in her ear, Lead them into danger. Their deaths will feed my power. Sarina’s mouth opened to repeat Azrathis’s will, but this time, she hesitated. The light from last night, the brief glimpse of freedom—it had come when she’d been on the brink of destroying everything. Perhaps it would return if she resisted hard enough.

"I…" She faltered, the pressure on her mind increasing. Azrathis’s grip was fierce, suffocating. "We don’t have time," she managed, her voice strained.

Lira frowned, sensing something deeper, something Sarina wasn’t saying. "What’s really going on with you?" Her voice was soft, but insistent. "I know something’s been wrong since you came back from the Spire. You’re not telling me everything."

Sarina looked away, her heart aching with the weight of her secrets. She wanted to tell Lira, to beg for help, but how could she explain what had been done to her? Even now, she wasn’t fully in control of her own words, her own thoughts.

"I’m fine," she forced herself to say, even though the words tasted like ash in her mouth.

"You’re not," Lira replied firmly, stepping closer. "Sarina, I’ve followed you into battle countless times. I know when something’s eating at you. This isn’t just about the fight with Azrathis. What happened in that Spire?"

Sarina felt the chains tighten once more, as if in warning. Azrathis was listening, and any slip of the truth would be met with punishment. She could feel the demon queen’s power lurking just beneath the surface of her mind, ready to lash out.

But Lira’s eyes… there was such trust, such concern. Sarina’s throat tightened. She couldn’t keep lying to her, not like this.

"I… can’t explain right now," Sarina said, her voice barely a whisper. "But something is wrong. I need time."

Lira’s eyes narrowed, her expression torn between worry and frustration. "Time? Sarina, we’re on the brink of a major battle. If there’s something going on, you need to let me—"

A sudden wave of pain ripped through Sarina’s skull, cutting off Lira’s words. Sarina gasped, her knees buckling as she clutched her head, the sensation like white-hot needles stabbing into her mind.

Enough, Azrathis hissed, her voice a sharp blade in Sarina’s thoughts. You dare defy me? I can crush your pathetic mind with a thought. Obey.

Sarina fell to the ground, her body trembling as Azrathis’s power surged through her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—only the pain remained, sharp and unbearable.

"Sarina!" Lira dropped to her side, gripping her shoulders. "What’s happening? What’s wrong?"

Sarina couldn’t respond, her vision blurring as darkness closed in. The chains were tightening, pulling her deeper into Azrathis’s grasp. She could feel herself slipping away, her mind unraveling under the weight of the demon queen’s will.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain stopped.

Sarina gasped for air, her body limp as the chains around her mind loosened once more. Azrathis had pulled back, but the warning was clear—any further defiance would be met with even greater punishment.

Lira’s face swam into focus, her expression filled with fear and confusion. "Sarina, what just happened?"

Sarina pushed herself up, her body weak and trembling. She could still feel the remnants of Azrathis’s power coursing through her, a reminder of the control she held. "I’m fine," she whispered, though it was far from the truth. "It’s nothing."

Lira’s brow furrowed. "That wasn’t nothing. Sarina, you collapsed. You’re not well."

Sarina shook her head, forcing herself to stand. "We need to move. The patrols will be closing in soon. We can’t waste time."

Lira opened her mouth to argue, but Sarina cut her off. "That’s an order, Lira."

The sharpness of her tone surprised even herself, and Lira took a step back, her expression hardening. "Fine," she muttered, turning away. "But this isn’t over."

Sarina watched her go, her heart heavy with guilt. She hated herself for pushing Lira away, for lying to her. But she couldn’t risk the truth—not when Azrathis was watching her every move.

----------------------------------------

As dusk fell, the camp was packed and ready to move. The atmosphere was tense, everyone on edge, aware of the danger they were walking into. Sarina led the way, her movements automatic, guided by a mind that was no longer entirely her own.

The rebel forces moved silently through the rough terrain, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the encroaching night. Sarina kept her gaze fixed ahead, but her thoughts were elsewhere, spinning with the conflicting forces inside her.

She was still Sarina, still the warrior who had led this rebellion for years. But she was also something else—Azrathis’s puppet, bound by chains she couldn’t break.

But there was still that light. That flicker of hope. It had saved her once before.

Maybe, just maybe, it could save her again.