The sun was barely a faint glow on the eastern horizon when Elian called his company together. Standing on a small rise that gave him a view of the assembled soldiers, he took in the mix of Brightbloods and common-born, each face bearing the weary resolve of men and women who had long grown used to war. Despite their differences, they were bound together under his command—for better or worse.

"We’re in hostile territory," Elian began, his voice cutting through the morning silence. "The second prince’s princedom is a mystery, and we need answers. Aero Eltharion is no ordinary opponent, and his moves in this civil war will either make or break our cause. For that reason, we’re splitting up."

The murmurs began immediately, questions whispered among the company. Elian silenced them with a raised hand.

"Ten groups, ten men each," he continued. "You’ll spread out across the outskirts of this region. Gather intelligence—anything useful. Troop movements, supply routes, allies, weak points—whatever you can find. Three days from now, we rendezvous here to share what we’ve learned. Keep a low profile. No unnecessary risks."

He let his words settle, the gravity of the mission clear in every face. "I trust every one of you to handle this with the skill and discretion you’ve proven in battle. Stick together, and no matter what, return to this spot in three days’ time."

Elian oversaw the assignments personally, ensuring each group had a balance of skills and trustworthiness. His own group, the first, included his most loyal allies: his lieutenants, hardened warriors who had fought beside him since his days as a squad leader. Among them was Calden, his ever-pragmatic fourth-in-command, and Theris, a scout whose sharp eyes had saved them more than once.

The second group, led by brightblood Marlen Caddis, was a mix of Brightbloods and soldiers less aligned with Elian’s leadership. Though Elian had grown to respect Marlen’s pragmatic nature, the Brightbloods in the group had been openly critical of a Shadowborn leading them. Elian could only hope Marlen’s presence would temper their arrogance.

The remaining groups were led by trusted Brightbloods and Elian’s allies, dispersed to cover different parts of the princedom’s outskirts.

The second group made its way westward, keeping a safe distance from any patrolling forces. Marlen walked near the front, his eyes scanning the treeline for signs of movement. The Brightbloods in his group had clustered behind him, their murmured conversations too low for him to catch.

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But after hours of marching, their whispers grew louder. Curious—and wary—Marlen slowed his pace, falling back just enough to catch snippets of their words.

"...perfect opportunity...""...nobody’ll know what we did...""...a rogue’s move, but if it works..."

Marlen’s stomach tightened as he pieced together their intent. The Brightbloods were planning something reckless. He slowed further, deliberately letting them get ahead, then finally spoke.

"What are you whispering about back there?" he asked, his tone sharp.

One of the Brightbloods, a tall man named Kael, gave him a casual glance. "Nothing that concerns you, Marlen. Just a little strategy to get us through this alive."

"I’ll be the judge of that," Marlen said, stepping closer. "What’s the plan?"

Kael exchanged a smirk with the others before answering. "We’ve been thinking. Those Forgers at the gates? If we go in dirty—look the part of desperate refugees—maybe they’ll let us in. Say we’re from the third prince’s princedom, fleeing with intel. Once inside, we can see what Prince Aero’s up to."

Marlen’s eyes narrowed. "That’s suicide. The Forgers aren’t fools—they’ll see through it. And even if they don’t, you’re risking the entire mission."

"Spoken like someone who’s scared to take risks," Kael sneered. "We’ll handle it. Stay here if you’re afraid."

Before Marlen could stop them, the Brightbloods had already moved toward the gates. Cursing under his breath, he followed at a distance, staying hidden among the trees.

The Forgers stood like statues before the gates, their hulking forms radiating a palpable aura of menace. Their weapons were as massive as they were, glowing faintly with the telltale hum of Forgecraft.

Kael led the Brightbloods forward, their clothes dirtied and torn to mimic the appearance of refugees. One of the Forgers, a woman with glowing red veins running up her arms, turned her head slightly as they approached.

"State your business," she said, her voice a deep rumble that seemed to echo through the air.

Kael stepped forward, bowing his head in mock deference. "We’re refugees, my lady. From the third prince’s princedom. The war has... displaced us. But we bring valuable intelligence that might interest the second prince."

For a moment, there was silence. The Forgers exchanged a glance. Then, one of them, a man with a jagged scar running down his face, burst into laughter.

"Refugees?" he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "You Brightbloods are terrible liars."

The scarred Forger raised his hand, the veins along his forearm flaring with fiery light. A massive hammer materialized in his grip, glowing with molten energy. He swung it forward, the ground trembling with the force of his Forgecraft.

"Run" Marlen whispered to himself as he watched from his hidden position. But it was too late.

The hammer’s impact unleashed a shockwave of heat and force that sent the Brightbloods sprawling.

The Forger stepped forward, his weapon still glowing with raw power.

"I’d suggest you turn back now," he growled, his laughter gone, replaced by a dangerous edge.

"Or this will be the last gamble you ever make."

Marlen stayed frozen in the shadows, his heart pounding. The mission had just taken a deadly turn.