A sliver of sunlight speared through the grimy window of the infirmary, casting a wan glow over Caleb's pale face. He shifted on the cot, his grimace a testament to the throbbing pain in his arm. Relief washed over me as the door creaked open, revealing Isaac's welcome face.

"Well, look who's finally decided to rejoin the living," Isaac rumbled, a hint of amusement softening his tone. "Ready to face the real world again?"

Caleb offered a weak smile, the movement pulling at the bandages on his arm. "As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," he rasped. The ordeal in the dungeons had left him shaken, both physically and emotionally.

"Take it easy," Isaac cautioned, his gentle hand landing on Caleb's shoulder. "You'll be sore for a few days, but you're a tough one. You'll pull through."

I watched from the corner where I'd been perched throughout the night, a silent sentinel against the shadows. Seeing Caleb on his feet, weak but determined, sparked a flicker of hope that had been waning since the revelation of the King's immortality.

As we exited the infirmary, a wave of joyous commotion washed over us. In the center of the room, Elyse, her face drained even more of color than usually, but her eyes sparkling with life, was being engulfed in a celebratory mob. Laughter and tears mingled in the air as they embraced her, the raw relief a tangible entity in the room.

Elyse's return from the dreamless sleep was a beacon in the suffocating darkness. Her recovery, a testament to Isaac’s skills, lifted the weight that had been pressing down on us all. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I watched the reunion unfold.

The table in the common room buzzed with an energy that hadn't been present in weeks. Sunlight streamed through high, dusty windows, illuminating a scene of unexpected unity. In the center sat Elyse, her face still pale but her eyes alight with the joy of recovery. Her fellow rebels, from the grizzled veterans to the fresh-faced recruits, surrounded her, sharing stories and stolen laughter.

Surprisingly, Erin, her normally fiery demeanor subdued by the recent disagreement with Marcus, sat at the table as well, picking at her food with a sullen expression. Even Isaac himself, who usually remained in his cluttered chambers, emerged for this celebratory meal.

Across from me sat Caleb, his arm cradled awkwardly in a sling. The encounter with the wolfsbane still cast a shadow on his face, but there was a spark of determination in his eyes. We hadn't spoken in earnest about it yet, the unspoken tension hanging heavy between us.

Frustration gnawed at me. I understood Caleb was injured and unable to train us, but the enforced idleness felt like a slow suffocation. We couldn't afford to lose momentum, not with the rebellion hanging in the balance. So, while Kass and I were relegated to the monotonous tasks of chopping wood and peeling vegetables, we found ways to turn them into training exercises. Each swing of the axe became a strike against an unseen enemy, each flick of the knife a silent rehearsal for a deadly thrust.

Evenings were spent huddled around the flickering fire in the communal hall, Kass and I sharing not just our meager rations but also the anxieties churning within us. The lack of proper training chafed at us both, but seeing the steely glint of determination reflected in Kass' eyes sparked a fire within me. We wouldn't be passive participants in our own fate.

In the dead of night, when the carriage drivers were sluggish with sleep and boredom, Marcus and Finn would disappear into the night. They weren't strong enough to take on an army, not with Caleb sidelined in the infirmary. But they could make a statement, a tiny rebellion in the face of overwhelming odds. Wagons carrying supplies to the castle – sacks of flour, barrels of wine – would be mysteriously overturned, harness straps cut, progress subtly impeded. It wasn't much, but it was something, a tiny ember of rebellion in the growing darkness.

Kass's need to connect with her younger brother, Leo, manifested in a quiet ritual. Every other day, under the cloak of twilight when the library was deserted, Kass would disappear into the dusty stacks with a quill and a sheet of parchment. There, in the flickering candlelight, she poured her heart out, weaving tales of resilience and veiled reassurances of her safety. The letters, a lifeline to a past life, were always entrusted to Marcus. Whenever he ventured out to Elmwood, the small village nestled discreetly on the periphery of the base, to check on his own family, Kass would slip him the letter, a silent plea for it to reach Leo's hands. Though the risk of interception gnawed at me, I understood the gnawing ache of a sister's worry.

Days bled into one another, the silence broken only by the rhythmic thud of the axe and the hushed murmur of worried conversations. I missed the camaraderie of sparring sessions, the sting of a well-placed kick during practice a welcome reminder of the fight we were in. But dwelling on that wouldn't change anything. We wouldn't wait for normalcy to return. We'd adapt, train in our own way.

While I devoured dusty tomes in the library, Kass, ever the pragmatist, used the base itself as her training ground. But there was another way she could contribute, another skill I knew she possessed.

One crisp morning, I found her by the entrance to the abandoned forge, a determined glint in her eye. "The forge," she began, her voice low but resolute. "It's almost ready."

My lips curved into a smile. "Almost?" I teased, a playful nudge in my voice. "Last I checked, it was still a collection of cobwebs and broken promises."

A wry grin spread across Kass's face. "Marcus and Finn have been working wonders. Just a few more tweaks, and it'll be singing its fiery song again."

The implication was clear. With a functioning forge, Kass could finally unleash her potential. Our limited weaponry, dulled by countless battles, could be sharpened and repaired. Perhaps even new tools of rebellion could be forged. The prospect sent a thrill through me.

A silent understanding passed between us. "Speaking of singing its song," I said, a mischievous glint in my eyes, "did Marcus mention his recent… market excursion?"

A knowing smile mirrored mine. Marcus had a particular talent for finding things – especially when those things involved a bit of friendly haggling.

"Steel, then?" Kass asked, a hint of excitement lacing her voice.

I winked. "Enough to keep you busy for a while, I'd imagine."

The once-deserted forge became the heart of renewed activity. Finn, ever the handyman, supervised the final repairs, his eager instructions punctuated by Marcus’ gruff questions. Kass, finally in her element, surveyed the pile of gleaming steel with a fierce intensity.

While Kass, finally reunited with her passion, transformed the forge into a fiery heart thrumming with the promise of stronger blades and sturdier armor, I found myself drawn to Isaac's side. The memory of Caleb's pale face and my own helpless fear seared into my mind. I wouldn't be caught unprepared again.

Isaac readily agreed to my request. The medical supplies quickly became our new training ground. Isaac's voice, gentle but with a quiet intensity, explained the intricacies of wound cleaning, bandage application, and the delicate art of stabilizing a broken bone.

The dusty vials and packets felt like weapons in themselves, tools to fight not against an enemy soldier, but against the unseen enemy of injury and disease. I learned to identify herbs by smell and sight, practiced tying knots with shaking hands, and absorbed Isaac's practical knowledge like a sponge.

The frustration that had gnawed at me during the initial days of enforced inactivity slowly transformed into a growing sense of purpose. Maybe I wouldn't be on the frontlines alongside Caleb and Kass, but I could still be a vital part of the rebellion. Maybe not with a sword in hand, but with a healing touch and a steady mind.

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And then, with Caleb getting a little color back in his face, a flicker of urgency sparked in the base. We couldn't afford to lose momentum. One afternoon, as I practiced bandaging techniques on Isaac with a newfound confidence, Kass perched on the table next to us, watching intently, the door to the infirmary creaked open and Caleb shuffled in, his face a mask of grim determination.

His left arm hung awkwardly in a sling, the throbbing pain evident in the way he favored his right side. Yet, his eyes, usually twinkling with mischief, held a steely glint. "Enough of this coddling," he rasped, his voice rough and devoid of its usual gruff humor. "Time to sharpen these strategic minds."

Surprise flickered across Isaac's face, mirroring my own. We hadn't expected Caleb to be back to strategy sessions so soon.

Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Easy there. You're lucky I haven't strapped you to that cot for another week."

Caleb's jaw clenched for a moment, but a flicker of respect softened his gaze. "I understand your concern, Isaac," he said, his voice low and serious. "But this injury can't be an excuse for complacency. I need us, all of us, at our best."

A wave of unexpected warmth washed over me, quickly dashed by a flicker of anger. Here was the Caleb I knew, the leader who wouldn't let anything stand in the way of the cause. But a part of me, a raw and resentful part, couldn't help but remember the white lie, the convenient omission about the real danger he'd faced on his last mission. Was he always going to keep me in the dark? I thought, the anger a dull ache in my chest.

Isaac sighed, a hint of amusement softening his stern expression. "Alright, alright," he conceded, gesturing towards a cot beside him. "But take it slow. You're no good to us if you tear something wide open."

Caleb settled on the cot with a groan, wincing as he shifted his shoulder. He reached into a pouch on his belt, producing a weathered map. As he unfolded it, a jolt of something else shot through me – the map depicted Dun Cyren.

My breath hitched. This wasn't a random patrol route or a generic outpost. This was the very location of Caleb's near-fatal mission. Was he… taunting me? Here I was, stuck learning to heal, while he dangled this near-suicidal mission in front of me, a constant reminder of his recklessness and my helplessness.

"Let's say we're planning a raid on a patrol outpost," Caleb began, oblivious to the storm brewing within me. He pointed to a marked location, thankfully far from the castle itself. "This is just a hypothetical scenario, of course. But for the sake of this exercise, you're leading this mission, Kira," he continued. "Kass, you're point. Scout ahead, keep us out of trouble."

The challenge hung in the air, laced with an unspoken barb. Ignoring the map for now, I focused on the scenario. "This seems like a standard recon mission," I said, my voice tight. "Kass can scout, identify troop movements and patrol schedules. We can hit them at night, a surprise attack…"

As I outlined a plan, my voice grew stronger. Maybe dissecting this scenario, even on a different map, would help me understand Caleb's thought process, the strategy that led him into such danger. Perhaps, by strategizing victory here, I could reclaim a sense of control over the situation that still rankled me.

"A surprise attack is definitely the way to go," Caleb agreed, his voice raspy but laced with a hint of approval. He leaned forward, tracing a path across the map with his uninjured hand. "But consider this – what if the new recruits are jumpy, easily spooked? They might raise the alarm prematurely. How would you adapt?"

I furrowed my brow, studying the map. The image of the castle grounds flickered at the edge of my vision, a constant reminder of my unanswered questions. Pushing it aside, I focused on the problem at hand. "We could use a distraction," I said finally, a spark of confidence igniting within me. "Maybe set off a noisemaker further away, draw some guards in that direction while we slip past the others."

Caleb's lips curved into a genuine smile, the first I'd seen since his return. "Excellent thinking, Kira! You're catching on fast. Always consider multiple options, anticipate the enemy's reactions. That's what separates a good plan from a great one."

His praise washed over me, a warm wave that momentarily eclipsed the anger. My cheeks flushed a faint pink, a feeling I hadn't associated with Caleb before. Was this…giddiness? Ridiculous. He was just complimenting my strategy skills, nothing more.

"Alright," Caleb continued, his voice regaining its usual strength. "Let's keep going. What about exfiltration? How do you get your team back out safely?"

The thrill of the challenge returned, pushing the confusing flutter in my chest aside. For now, strategy was the battlefield, and I was determined to prove myself worthy, not just to Caleb, but to myself. Focusing on the map, I began to lay out the escape route, a silent promise forming within me. I would learn everything I could, become the best strategist I could be. And then, when the time came, I wouldn't be stuck on the sidelines, learning to apply bandages. I would be there, fighting alongside Caleb, a force to be reckoned with.

"Okay," I said, tracing a finger along a barely-there path on the map. "We could use this old, abandoned mine shaft on the outskirts. It would be a tight squeeze, but it would get us out undetected, especially under the cover of darkness."

Caleb's eyes widened in surprise. "That's…brilliant, Sparkle. I never even considered that option. Most wouldn't even know that passage exists anymore." A hint of amusement flickered in his gaze. "Seems like you've been doing your homework on the surrounding area."

My cheeks flushed again, a mixture of pride and embarrassment. "Well, someone has to be prepared," I mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

"Exactly," Caleb said, his voice softening. "And that's precisely why you're going to be a valuable asset. Not just with bandages, but with your mind as well."

His words hung in the air, a silent apology wrapped in praise. The anger that had simmered within me earlier began to cool, replaced by a flicker of something new – a grudging respect for Caleb's leadership and a renewed determination to prove myself.

Suddenly, the creak of the infirmary door broke the tension. Finn peeked inside, his face alight with excitement. "Did someone say strategy session? Can I join?"

Caleb chuckled. "Looks like we have a full team, then. Alright, Finn, what intel can you gather before the mission to make Kira's plan even more foolproof?"

My stomach rumbled in perfect timing, a reminder of the more mundane aspects of life that still needed tending to. Kass and I exchanged a knowing glance. The mission hung heavy in the air, but even rebels needed to eat.

"Duty calls," Kass said with a playful smile. "Let's go see if Marcus needs help with dinner."

I returned her smile, my own stomach growling in agreement. We made our way down the hallway, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and stews guiding us towards the kitchen. We found Marcus chopping vegetables with a meticulousness that betrayed his usual gruff demeanor.

"Extra hands?" he asked, glancing up. Relief flickered in his hardened eyes. "Good. We've got quite a crew tonight."

We quickly fell into a familiar rhythm, chopping and stirring, putting out a spread of simple, nourishing food that would fuel our bodies for the battles ahead. Silence settled over the table as we ate – Kass, Finn, Marcus, Elyse, Erin, and even Isaac. Everyone's eyes drifted to the infirmary door from time to time, a silent communication of concern for our absent leader. I knew Caleb was resting, taking time to mend his injury before the mission. He wouldn't be reckless, not with the weight of the rebellion on his shoulders, not when my own success depended on him being at his best.

Laughter, loud and genuine, sliced through the tense silence that had gripped the dinner table moments ago. Finn, his ever-present grin stretched wide, had whipped out his deck of cards, eliciting groans and playful protests from the others. Kass whooped in delight as she slammed down a winning hand, her fiery red hair bouncing with each enthusiastic movement.

Even Erin, her usual gruff demeanor softened by a shared mug of ale, cracked a smile at Finn's playful jabs.

The cacophony of the card game crashed against my ears – laughter, playful arguments, the slap of cards on the worn table. Despite the forced merriment, my mind still replayed Erin's words on a loop: assassin, wolfsbane, the King.

What if Caleb wasn't the target, but the assassin? The thought sent a tremor of disbelief through me. The coincidence – Caleb's encounter with wolfsbane, the assassin using the same poison – it was too perfect to be random. Perhaps his plan had backfired, leaving him injured, and the King poisoned but alive.

But why? Why would Caleb, smart as he was, risk everything on a solo assassination attempt? Doubt gnawed at me, a venomous serpent coiling around the fragile trust I'd built for him. Every stolen glance, every shared moment of training – could it all have been a calculated act?

Frustration bubbled within me. There had to be another explanation. Caleb's injuries were undeniable, the wolfsbane a tangible reminder of his near-death experience. Yet, the seed of suspicion, planted by Erin's veiled words, decided to take root.

A warm touch startled me from my internal turmoil. Finn, his face alight with a mischievous grin, held a hand out. "Lost in the revolution, Kira? Your turn."

I plastered a smile back on, drawing a card. The game continued, a flimsy shield against the storm raging within. Every laugh, every playful barb, felt hollow against the weight of my suspicion.

"Excuse me," I finally managed, my voice strained. "I think I need some fresh air."

The game momentarily stalled. Marcus, mid-taunt, looked up, his playful grin replaced with a flicker of concern. "Everything alright, Kira?"

I managed a weak nod. "Just a bit… stuffy in here. I'll be back in a minute."

Slipping out of the crowded quarters, I sought refuge in the cool night air. The moon, a sliver of silver in the vast expanse of black, cast an ethereal glow on the courtyard. A lone figure sat on the edge of the ancient well, his silhouette stark against the moonlit stones. My breath hitched. It was Caleb.