The campfire crackled in the center of a small clearing, casting flickering shadows on the faces of those gathered around it. Emmet sat on the outskirts, his serpent coiled protectively at his feet. Tabitha leaned against a tree, her staff resting across her lap, the faint glow at its tip casting a soft light on her face.

Around the fire were six others—fighters, survivors, and wanderers who had been drawn together by a shared hatred for the Blackbrand Guild. Emmet studied them carefully, the flicker of hope in his chest tempered by wariness.

The leader of the group was a tall, broad-shouldered man named Korvin. His scarred face and stern eyes spoke of a life spent fighting, and the massive war axe resting at his side made it clear he was no stranger to battle.

“We’ve been tracking Blackbrand for months,” Korvin said, his deep voice carrying easily over the crackle of the flames. “They’ve taken our people, our families. We know where they’re headed, but we don’t have the numbers to take them head-on.”

“We don’t need numbers,” Emmet said, his voice firm. “We need a plan.”

Korvin raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And what do you know about plans, kid? You look like you’ve been wandering for weeks.”

Emmet’s gaze hardened. “I’ve been hunting Blackbrand for five months. They destroyed my village and took my siblings. I’ll do whatever it takes to get them back.”

Korvin’s smirk faded, replaced by a look of understanding. “You’re not the only one with something to lose,” he said, nodding toward the others around the fire.

Emmet glanced at the group, taking in their faces. There was Lira, a wiry woman with sharp eyes and a bow slung across her back, and Drenn, a burly man whose twin maces gleamed in the firelight. Beside them sat Kael, a quiet, dark-skinned mage with intricate tattoos glowing faintly along his arms, and two younger fighters, barely older than Emmet, who carried the haunted look of those who had lost everything.

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“You’ve got fire,” Korvin said, leaning forward. “But fire alone won’t win this fight. We need to hit them smart, strike where they’re weakest.”

“And where is that?” Tabitha asked, her voice cutting through the conversation like a blade.

Korvin hesitated for a moment, then reached into his pack and pulled out a roughly drawn map. He spread it on the ground, using a dagger to pin down the edges.

“They’re setting up a camp here,” he said, pointing to a spot near the base of the Iron Divide. “It’s a staging ground for their operations—where they keep supplies and prisoners before moving them deeper into their territory. It’s heavily guarded, but not impenetrable.”

Emmet studied the map, his mind already racing with possibilities. “If we can free the prisoners and destroy their supplies, it’ll cripple them.”

Korvin nodded. “That’s the idea. But we’ll need to move fast. The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to catch them off guard.”

The group fell silent, the weight of the task ahead settling over them. Emmet glanced at Tabitha, who met his gaze with a faint nod. He turned back to Korvin.

“When do we leave?”

Korvin grinned, a fierce light in his eyes. “At first light. Get some rest, kid. You’re gonna need it.”

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

Later, as the others slept, Emmet sat by the fire, staring into the flames. His serpent rested beside him, its breathing slow and steady. Tabitha sat a few feet away, her staff glowing faintly in the dark.

“You think this will work?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tabitha tilted her head, considering his question. “It’s a better plan than wandering aimlessly,” she said. “And you’ll need allies if you’re going to survive what’s coming.”

Emmet nodded, though her words did little to ease the knot in his chest. He had spent so long chasing shadows, driven only by his determination to find Mila and Theo. Now, for the first time, he had a clear path forward—and people willing to fight beside him.

But the road ahead was far from certain.

He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the fire wash over him. Tomorrow, they would strike. And for the first time in months, Emmet felt the faint stirrings of hope—fragile and fleeting, but enough to keep him moving forward.