Kira

A sliver of dawn light peeked over the horizon, painting the eastern sky in streaks of rose and gold. The carriage rattled to a halt, jolting me awake. My body ached from the cramped quarters, and my eyes burned with fatigue. But as I peeked out the dusty window, a wave of relief washed over me.

We had made it. Elmwood.

It wasn't much to look at – a cluster of ramshackle houses huddled together, surrounded by fields that looked more like battlegrounds than farmland. It was clear this was a poor village, struggling to survive.

We climbed out of the carriage, stiff and sore. Sleep had been a fleeting visitor during the treacherous journey, stolen in short bursts between jolts and nervous anticipation. My limbs felt heavy, and a dull ache throbbed behind my eyes. But compared to the weight of fear and uncertainty that had burdened us, this exhaustion was a welcome change.

We kept our hoods low, the remnants of our disguises shielding us from curious eyes. We couldn't afford to attract attention yet. Not until we reached the rebel base, nestled deep within the surrounding woods. Thankfully, it wasn't far, a half-day's walk at most, achievable before nightfall.

Finn took point, leading us through the narrow, cobbled streets. The villagers, going about their chores, cast us curious glances. Some, recognizing the weariness etched on our faces and the wariness in our eyes, offered silent nods of solidarity, a subtle recognition of our shared purpose.

Kass surveyed the scene with a frown. "No taverns," she muttered, "No shops." She gestured towards our meager rations – a few crusts of bread and a couple of wilted apples.

Our stomachs grumbled in agreement. A warm breakfast, a hot meal, anything other than stale bread, seemed like a distant dream.

"No, not here," Finn admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Elmwood survives on its own."

Disheartened, we were about to move on when Erin froze, a hand shooting out to stop me. "We're being watched," she hissed, her eyes darting towards one of the houses. A curtain twitched slightly, revealing a glimpse of a curious face peering down at us.

A young boy, no older than thirteen, with tousled brown hair and eyes the color of honey, peered out at us with an undisguised curiosity. He looked… strangely familiar.

Suddenly, the boy did something unexpected. He pushed the door open and cautiously approached us. He stopped in front of Finn, then tilted his head, squinting. "Hey," he said, his voice shy yet firm. "Don't I know you? You're the one I've seen with Marcus before."

Finn shot a glance at Erin, who gave a barely perceptible nod. "Yeah," he admitted cautiously. "That's me."

A wide grin spread across the boy's face. "I knew it! So, are you… them?" he whispered, gesturing towards our group. "The rebels?"

Finn hissed, his eyes darting nervously around. "Shhh! Quiet! Don't talk so loud."

Undeterred, the boy puffed out his chest. "Don't worry," he declared, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I won't tell anyone. You guys must be hungry, right?"

Our stomachs rumbled again, a chorus of agreement that couldn't be ignored. "Well, I can get you some food," the boy continued, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But you gotta wait a bit. My mom can't see you."

The boy, who introduced himself as Toby, Marcus’ brother, tugged at the sleeve of my cloak, motioning us to follow. "Come on," he whispered, urgency creeping into his voice. "We gotta go around back. Don't want Mama to see us together when she leaves for the fields."

We followed him cautiously, weaving through the maze of rickety houses until we reached a small cobbled courtyard hidden behind Toby's home. Chickens pecked at the ground, clucking their morning symphony, oblivious to the drama unfolding around them. Relief washed over me – at least here, we could speak freely.

"And you're Kira, Erin, Kass, Isaac, Elyse, and Finn, right?" He rattled off our names with surprising ease. "Marcus talks about you all the time!"

A blush crept up my cheeks. Marcus talked about us? It was a sweet thought, even in the midst of our current predicament. "He does?" I asked, surprised.

Toby nodded vigorously. "Yeah! Especially you," he added with a mischievous grin. My heart skipped a beat. Did he…?

"Have you seen Marcus recently?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Toby's brow furrowed. "Not really," he admitted. "Mama keeps me at home most of the time. Doesn't like visitors much, especially not Marcus's rebel friends." He shot a nervous glance towards the house. "But he does bring us food sometimes. Last time, he came with another guy, tall and kinda blonde."

A light flickered on in my head. "William!" I exclaimed, a wave of relief washing over me. So they hadn't been captured or worse. They were out there, still fighting, and apparently, still bringing food to his family.

"William?" Toby echoed, his brow furrowed. "Is that his name? He's nice. Gave me a shiny new slingshot."

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

"So, Toby," I began, a plan starting to form in my mind. "You said you can get us some food?"

His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Maybe. But you gotta promise to keep it a secret."

"We promise," we all chimed in, a chorus of rumbling stomachs adding a touch of urgency to our voices.

A muffled cry, followed by the rhythmic creak of a wooden door opening and shutting, signaled Toby's mother's departure. With a triumphant grin, he beckoned us forward. "Alright, come on!" he whispered, leading us through a sagging wooden door at the back of the house.

The interior was a stark contrast to the harsh sunlight outside. Dim light filtered in through the single, grime-coated window, casting long shadows across the cramped space. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the faint glow. The air hung heavy with the smell of woodsmoke and something indefinable, a scent that spoke of poverty and a constant struggle for survival.

Rough-hewn furniture, sparsely arranged, served its purpose but lacked any semblance of comfort. A worn rug, threadbare at the edges, lay on the uneven floorboards. A simple hearth, black with soot, dominated one wall, a small pot simmering over dying embers.

Toby, oblivious to our initial shock at the meager surroundings, called out, his voice carrying a youthful enthusiasm. "Liam! Coen! Wake up, you lazybones!"

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Two figures stirred in the dimly lit room adjacent to the main living area. They emerged, blinking against the sudden light, their faces eerily similar to Toby's – the same shock of brown hair, the same honey-colored eyes, but older, etched with the weight of a life lived on the fringes. Liam, the elder by a few years, looked eighteen, barely a man but with a responsibility beyond his years. Coen, no older than fifteen, had a gaunt face and a wary glint in his eyes.

They approached us cautiously, their bare feet silent on the wooden floor. A mixture of curiosity and suspicion clouded their features. "Toby," Liam began, his voice low and gruff, "Mum doesn't like people coming over, you know that."

Toby waved his hand dismissively. "Relax, it's fine! These are..." he paused, searching for the right words, "starving heroes!"

A bewildered silence descended upon the room. I stepped forward, taking a deep breath. "We're friends of Marcus," I explained, my voice calm but firm. "We won't stay long. We're just… hiding from the king's men."

Liam, his initial suspicion giving way to a spark of understanding, raised an eyebrow. "Hiding?" he echoed. "What did you do?"

A thought, unsettling yet undeniable, began to gnaw at me. Should we tell them more? Reveal some details about the rebellion, our objectives, our plans? It was a gamble, a risky proposition. But a part of me, a part that trusted Marcus implicitly, believed these boys deserved the truth.

Glancing at Erin, I caught her gaze. She nodded slightly.

Marcus had trusted them, had confided in them about his life, about us. He wouldn't have done so if he hadn't believed they could be trusted. Their loyalty to him seemed absolute, their desire to help undeniable.

Taking a deep breath, I said, "We were going to assassinate the king."

Liam's jaw dropped, his eyes widening in a mixture of shock and awe.

"Assassinate the king?" Liam's voice echoed in the dim room, disbelief laced with a tinge of admiration. Coen, the younger brother, let out a low whistle, his eyes gleaming with a thrill that sent shivers down my spine.

A wave of heat flooded my cheeks. "Well," I stammered, backtracking slightly, "not exactly kill him. More like… weaken him. Paralyze him, maybe."

"And lock him away?" Coen chimed in, his voice a hushed whisper.

"Exactly," I said, regaining some confidence. "But things went wrong. We got captured." A heavy sigh escaped my lips. "That's a story for another time."

Truthfully, recounting the mission, the fear, the despair, felt like reliving a nightmare. But the urgency of the situation pushed the memories aside.

"We need to find Marcus," I continued, my voice firm. "We need to regroup. The sooner, the better. We have to strike again, before…"

My voice trailed off as a horrifying image flashed through my mind. Caleb, bound and broken in the king's dungeons. We couldn't afford delays. Every passing day meant more suffering, more innocent lives lost.

Toby scurried around the small kitchen, gathering a motley crew of breakfast supplies. Leftover stew, a hunk of stale bread, some wrinkled apples – not exactly a feast, but a godsend in our current state. Liam, who seemed to be the unofficial leader in Marcus' absence, watched us with a mixture of curiosity and growing understanding.

As I devoured the stew, a warm liquid finally soothing my aching stomach, I saw a shift in his gaze. He wasn't just seeing a bunch of ragged strangers anymore. He saw comrades. People fighting for the same dream Marcus held so dear – a dream of a life free from the king's tyranny.

Liam cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us. "Will Marcus be coming for us soon?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. A pang of sympathy shot through me.

"I’m not sure," I admitted honestly. "We need to find him and William before we can make any real plans."

His voice dropped even lower. "Mom isn't always nice to us. She hits us sometimes. Gets drunk a lot since father died."

His words hit me with the force of a blow. This was something Marcus had confided in me once, a glimpse into his fractured childhood, the reason he was so protective of his younger brothers. But I hadn't known the full extent of it.

Liam hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, "I'm going to be eighteen next year." A jolt of dread shot through me. I knew what that meant.

Eighteen. The king's prime target age. Boys like Liam, strong and healthy, were snatched from their families, their lives leeched away in the dungeons, forced to serve the king's insatiable hunger for power. Just another reason why we had to end this reign of terror.

But what could I promise him? Hope? We were clinging to it ourselves by a thread. Freedom? No guarantee it would come anytime soon.

Squeezing his arm gently, I met his gaze head-on. "We're fighting for a future where no child has to fear being taken," I said, my voice firm despite the turmoil within. "We're fighting for a world where mothers don't drown their sorrows in ale. We're fighting for the same thing your brother is fighting for – a life of peace and justice for everyone."

Liam nodded slowly, determination sparking in his eyes.

The meager breakfast warmed our bellies, and the simple act of sharing a meal seemed to bridge the gap between strangers. The three brothers, their initial apprehension replaced by a cautious curiosity, began to open up. Stories tumbled out - funny anecdotes about Marcus's childhood clumsiness, tales of their father's mischievous spirit, and hushed whispers about their mother's unpredictable moods.

Liam, the eldest, surprised us all. Despite his gruff exterior, he possessed a mischievous streak that mirrored Marcus's. Kass found herself drawn to him, and soon their arms were locked in a playful battle of strength. The creak of the table and Liam's surprised yelp as Kass effortlessly pinned his arm down filled the room with laughter, a welcome sound that chased away the shadows of fear.

Across from me, Coen and Finn shared stories of their aspirations. Coen dreamt of becoming a skilled blacksmith, his eyes lighting up as he described the intricate tools he yearned to create. Finn spoke of adventures beyond the village walls, of exploring hidden forests and uncovering ancient secrets.

Elyse, ever the entertainer, captivated the boys with dazzling displays of her light magic. Her gentle orb that pulsed with an ethereal glow, a playful trail of shimmering sparks dancing across the room - her simple tricks had them wide-eyed with wonder. Toby, the youngest, bounced on his toes, begging her to teach him the secrets behind her magic.

Meanwhile, Isaac found himself surprisingly adept at teaching. The boys, ever eager to learn something new, absorbed Isaac's instructions on bandaging with rapt attention. Soon, Liam was clumsily but enthusiastically wrapping a practice bandage around his own arm, eliciting peals of laughter from the others.

Erin reveled in the role of storyteller. With a captivating voice, she recounted tales of daring escapes, cunning victories, and heartbreaking losses. The boys, hanging onto every word, bombarded her with questions. What was the king like? How did they fight the guards? What kind of skills did the other rebels possess?

As her words resonated through the room, Toby, with a determined glint in his eyes, piped up, "I'm gonna be a rebel too, just like you!"

A collective chuckle rippled through the group. Toby, barely a teenager, was filled with a fiery spirit, but the realities of war were harsh. Still, Erin, knelt before him, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

"We all have a part to play, Toby," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "For now, you can help by being brave, by being strong, and by being the best brother you can be to Liam and Coen."

These boys, though burdened with their own hardships, were brimming with life and hope. The shared meal, the shared stories, fostered a bond between us. We were no longer just rebels seeking refuge; we were comrades in arms, united in a common cause.

Stepping out of the ramshackle house, the harsh sunlight was a stark contrast to the dim warmth we'd shared with the brothers. A heavy silence descended upon us, broken only by the creak of the rusty door swinging shut behind us.

Leaving them was harder than I expected. These boys, with their vibrant spirits and stories of a life both joyful and fraught with hardship, had burrowed their way into my heart.

Kass dug into our meager pouch, pulling out a few of the remaining coins we'd managed to salvage from our escape. "Here," she said, pressing the coins into Liam's hand. "A little something extra for supplies. Just promise you won't let your mum know where it came from."

Liam's eyes widened in surprise, then a slow smile spread across his face. He nodded solemnly, his voice thick with emotion, "Thank you."

We lingered for a moment longer, exchanging silent goodbyes. Then, with a final squeeze of Liam's shoulder, I turned to leave. Just then, Toby surprised me. He darted forward, his small arms wrapping tightly around me in a fierce hug.

"Come back soon," he whispered into my ear, his voice muffled against my cloak. "We'll be waiting."

I squeezed him back, my throat tightening with emotion. "We will," I promised, my voice thick.

Then, with a final wave, we turned and began walking away. I stole one last glance back at the house. Toby stood in the doorway, his two brothers flanking him, all three figures waving until they were nothing more than specks on the horizon.