The snowstorm rolled in fast.

By midday, the sky had turned a dull gray, and the wind howled through the narrow mountain passes, whipping snow into blinding flurries. The rebels pressed on in a tight formation, their cloaks pulled tight around them, their boots crunching against the frozen ground.

Juri Winkler led the column, his eyes fixed on the treacherous path ahead. His breath fogged in the icy air as he clutched the map he had drawn, its charcoal markings beginning to smear from the damp cold. The ambush had cost them dearly—four recruits dead, six more injured—and the message left behind by their attackers weighed heavily on his mind.

“You cannot escape the reach of the magical nobility.”

Halrick trudged beside him, his sword strapped across his back and his usual wry expression replaced by a grim scowl.

“We’ve got maybe two more days of supplies,” Halrick said, his voice barely audible over the wind. “Less if the storm gets worse.”

Juri nodded without looking at him. “We’ll make it work.”

Halrick sighed. “You keep saying that, but these people are running on fumes. Garrick’s trying to keep them motivated, but morale’s in the gutter.”

“They’ll push through,” Juri replied, his tone clipped. “They don’t have a choice.”

Halrick frowned. “And if they don’t?”

Juri stopped, turning to face him. “Then they’ll die. Just like the people we left behind at Ironhold. Just like the people the nobles will keep killing until someone stops them.”

Halrick held his gaze for a moment, then shook his head. “You’ve got fire, kid, but don’t burn your own people with it.”

Juri didn’t respond. He turned and kept walking, his jaw clenched against the cold.

By nightfall, the rebels had found shelter in a shallow cave carved into the side of a cliff. The walls were jagged and uneven, but the space was large enough to accommodate the group. Fires crackled in the center of the cave, their warmth doing little to ease the chill that had seeped into everyone’s bones.

Juri sat near one of the fires, the map spread out on his lap. He adjusted the lantern beside him, squinting at the markings as he planned their next move.

Garrick approached, his expression as weary as the recruits he had been rallying. He crouched beside Juri, his voice low.

“We’ve got a problem,” Garrick said.

“Just one?” Juri muttered, not looking up.

“Dane,” Garrick replied. “He’s stirring up trouble. Saying you’re going to get us all killed.”

Juri’s eyes narrowed, and he finally looked up. “Dane? The one who questioned me back at Ironhold?”

Garrick nodded. “He’s got a few others listening to him now. They’re scared, Juri. They don’t think we can survive out here, let alone fight the nobles.”

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Juri set the map aside, his expression hardening. “Let me handle it.”

Dane stood near the cave entrance, his scarred face illuminated by the faint glow of the fires. He was speaking in hushed tones to a group of recruits, his gestures sharp and aggressive.

“This isn’t a rebellion,” Dane was saying. “It’s a death march. That kid thinks he’s smarter than the nobles, but he’s just dragging us to an early grave.”

Juri approached silently, his boots crunching against the rocky ground. The recruits fell silent as they noticed him, their expressions a mix of guilt and apprehension.

Dane turned, his jaw tightening when he saw Juri. “You want something, Winkler?”

“Yes,” Juri said calmly. “I want you to stop undermining me.”

Dane folded his arms, his scarred face twisting into a scowl. “Someone has to say it. You’re leading us to ruin, and everyone knows it. They’re just too scared to speak up.”

Juri stepped closer, his sharp blue eyes locking onto Dane’s. “You think you can do better?”

“I think I can keep us alive,” Dane shot back. “You’ve got your head so far up your own plans that you don’t see how desperate things are. People are starving. Freezing. Dying. And for what? Your machines?”

Juri’s voice dropped to a dangerous calm. “My machines are the only reason any of us are still alive. Without them, Ironhold would have fallen weeks ago. Without them, the nobles will keep hunting us until there’s no one left.”

Dane sneered. “Big talk from someone who’s never even held a sword. You don’t lead with plans and blueprints, Winkler. You lead with strength.”

The recruits murmured nervously, their eyes darting between Juri and Dane.

“You want to challenge me, Dane?” Juri said, his voice cold and sharp. “Go ahead. But know this: the moment you try to take control, you’ll be the first to die when the nobles find us.”

Dane hesitated, his bravado faltering under Juri’s unwavering gaze. Finally, he spat on the ground and stalked away, muttering curses under his breath.

Juri turned to the recruits, his tone softening. “If anyone else has doubts, speak now. Otherwise, trust me when I say I’ll get us through this.”

The recruits exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing.

The next morning, Juri gathered Halrick, Garrick, and a few other key rebels to discuss their next move. They sat around a crude table made from rocks and a salvaged plank, their breath visible in the frigid air.

“We’re running out of time,” Juri began, his voice steady but firm. “The nobles know we’re in these mountains. If we don’t find a defensible position soon, they’ll pin us down and wipe us out.”

Halrick nodded. “And we can’t keep moving like this. The recruits are dropping like flies.”

Juri tapped the map in front of him. “There’s a valley about a day’s march from here. According to the scouts, it’s sheltered on all sides by cliffs and has a natural spring. If we can get there, we can regroup and start building again.”

“And what happens when the nobles find us?” Garrick asked.

Juri smirked faintly. “We make it a trap they’ll regret walking into.”

The others exchanged uncertain glances, but no one argued.

“Fine,” Halrick said. “But if Dane so much as looks at you the wrong way, I’m tying him to a tree and leaving him for the wolves.”

Juri chuckled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The rebels reached the valley the following afternoon. It was a wide, snow-covered basin surrounded by steep cliffs, with a frozen river cutting through the center. The natural spring Juri had mentioned bubbled faintly beneath the ice, its warm waters steaming in the cold air.

“This’ll do,” Halrick said, surveying the area. “Plenty of cover, and the cliffs make it hard to attack from above.”

Juri nodded. “We’ll set up camp here. But we don’t just defend—we prepare.”

He gestured toward the cliffs. “We’ll set traps along the ridges. Pressure mines, tripwires, anything that’ll slow them down. And I’ll start work on the next machine.”

“The next machine?” Garrick asked.

Juri’s smirk widened. “This one won’t just defend us. It’ll hunt them.”

That night, as the rebels worked to establish their new camp, Juri sat alone in his makeshift workshop—a simple tent filled with tools and blueprints. He sketched furiously, his mind racing with ideas for a new type of machine.

But his thoughts were interrupted by a sound—a faint rustling at the edge of the camp.

Juri froze, his hand hovering over the blueprint. He grabbed a small pistol from the table and crept toward the sound, his heart pounding.

A figure emerged from the shadows, their cloak dusted with snow.

“I bring news,” the figure said, their voice low and urgent. “The nobles are coming. And they’re bringing something far worse than soldiers.”