Alaric:

The crew had arrived at the Rider’s hideout. Alaric chose to go alone from the back in the green thickets of grass. The familiar archers still stood menacingly in the night.

They all seemed restless, as if they had been patrolling for weeks on end. However, none of them seemed willing to let go of their weapons. It seemed as if they were expecting an attack.

He forced himself to focus and ignore the warning bells playing in his mind. He slowly crept up the grass from the back of the hall.

They couldn’t see him because they were all so tired. He would be extremely obvious in normal circumstances.

He slowly crawled inch by inch, making sure no sound escaped his lips or his gear. He reached the perfect strategic position, covered by leagues of thick and dark grass, covering his camouflage. Alaric searched the place for ideas.

He came up with getting a lone guard in the corner and stealing his equipment and uniform to get in quick and easy.

Once he thought about it, Alaric involuntarily pivoted to the right side of the messy building, and consequently, his swords clanging together echoed through the silent and tense atmosphere. Before he knew it, ten bows were pointed at his face. Alaric couldn’t muster anything, except for a few words.

“Damn it.”

Katherine:

“Kid,” Katherine whispered softly, trying to get the young man’s attention.

He glanced back at her, his focus interrupted.

“What is it? I need to stay focused,” he replied, his tone serious.

Not wanting to disturb him, Katherine merely shook her head and motioned for him to continue down the dark tunnel. They were navigating through the passage, Veritas with a knife and her with her trusty bag.

Alec, however, remained stubborn and refused to join them. Katherine couldn’t help but silently scold him. He was being incredibly one-sided and foolish. She held up the white stone he had gave her.

"The signal is phoenix..." He had told her. Any words written on the stone was transmitted to its family. By writing those words, it would tell the Rebellion to charge in and destroy the outpost, and that the information was secured.

“Veritas, how did you even know about this tunnel?” Katherine inquired, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Veritas didn’t glance back; he simply closed his eyes and confidently moved forward, seemingly avoiding obstacles effortlessly.

“Nothing, just nothing,” he randomly said cryptically.

“What?” Katherine pressed for an answer.

”We’ve hit a dead end,” Veritas admitted, somewhat surprised by his own navigation error.

Katherine couldn’t help but snort. “What did you expect, wandering with your eyes closed like a buffoon?” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

She noticed the wall appeared to be patched together, a detail her eyes had only been able to see after being adjusted to the darkness.

“Veritas, pass me the torch,” Katherine requested.

He complied without question, still pondering his mistake.

With the torch in her possession, Katherine pretended to sprinkle something over it. In truth, she was rubbing a rune she had packed, causing the torch’s flame to burn brighter. She fervently hoped it wouldn’t turn blue due to the power of the rune but fortunately, it remained a steady red.

Katherine used the enhanced flame to burn through the wall, causing molten bricks to scatter across the floor. She worried momentarily when one came close to Veritas, but he had swiftly moved out of harm’s way. Eventually, the fire stopped, revealing a hole in the passageway.

“Let’s keep moving,” Veritas suggested, not questioning her actions.

It was a risky move to use the runes so soon into her journey, but something compelled her. While she tried not to dwell on the deception, she acknowledged it had at least opened their path.

“Oil is quite strong,” Veritas remarked.

“Quite so,” Katherine agreed.

They proceeded up a flight of stairs, but Veritas placed a hand on her shoulder, redirecting her.

“This way,” he urged.

Katherine followed him blindly, and they discovered a concealed corridor adjacent to the stairs. Venturing through an eerie doorway, they were suddenly surrounded by numerous lamps. Another door lay ahead.

Veritas grabbed her hand, pulling her forward, but Katherine stopped in her tracks. "Alec said we need to listen in," she hissed.

But Veritas just shook his head, mouthing something she couldn't understand and still pulling her along.

The door emitted a loud creak as it swung open, revealing a dimly lit room. A commanding voice resonated within, prompting Katherine and Veritas to turn toward it.

“Welcome, Warden,” an elderly woman addressed her.

Her teeth resembled knives, and her formidable armor exuded strength. She appeared dangerous. Katherine exchanged a glance with Veritas, who seemed to anticipate this encounter.

“If this is diplomacy, esteemed leader, remove your headgear,” he demanded.

The aged woman extended a peace gesture and removed her war helmet, revealing gray hair cascading down her back. The symbol of a long-maned horse adorned her neck. Katherine’s eyes widened; Alec had informed her that Riders bore that emblem on their shoulders, but a leader who wore it around her neck was destined to lead for life. They had stumbled upon the Leader of the Riders herself, and Katherine was supposedly the Mines' Warden.

How could it get any worse?

“Shall we proceed to business?” Her voice echoed through the ornate room.

Suppressing her anxiety, she took a deep breath and met the leader’s gaze, engaging in a silent contest of wills.

Veritas retraced his steps to the metal door, closing it with a thud. The woman watched, clearly taken aback by his level of trust. Despite her being armed to the teeth, Veritas exhibited no trace of fear. Returning to Katherine’s side, his mouth turned up slightly.

Katherine pulled the chair back, allowing Veritas to take his seat. Unexpectedly, he pivoted away and positioned himself to the right of the leader.

Katherine’s heart raced. She doubted if Veritas was on her side. She couldn’t ignore the memories of their shared experiences, nor his extensive knowledge of the fortress. The Riders were smart, and Veritas hadn't ever assured his loyalty to any of them.

She reflected on the last few days, determined not to give up just yet. As her eyes swept the room, she noticed the leader’s confusion.

“Young man, step away from the corner and stay by the Warden. Do you choose to die?” the woman commanded.

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Veritas shook his head, maintaining his small, tiny smile.

The leader, scoffing, produced a tarnished, bloodstained knife.

But what happened next was even more shocking. Veritas rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo in the shape of a bone. The woman’s cruel grin deepened, pushing Katherine to the edge. Just when she believed things couldn’t worsen, Veritas uttered words that shattered her expectations.

“I've brought a spy, Leader.”

Katherine’s heart sank as she realized the gravity of the situation. She was going to die tonight.

Alaric:

Arrows rained down on Alaric. Time seemed to freeze as his words were swallowed by the wind. The archers, their distrust overriding any chance for negotiation, acted with ruthless efficiency.

Alaric’s reflexes snapped into action. He drew his swords in a single fluid motion, each blade an extension of his will. The first arrow shot toward his heart. With a graceful spin, he intercepted it with a clash of steel, shattering the arrow into harmless splinters.

He moved with the precision of a maestro, deflecting arrows with a symphony of blade strikes. Each movement was a dance of grace, his swords cutting through the storm of arrows with ease. The archers, initially confident, were now awestruck by his display of skill.

Alaric propelled himself into the air, eyes locked on the man closest to him. The archer's eyes widened in panic as Alaric’s swords descended like twin meteors, slicing through the his bow with a flash of splintered wood and feathers. The bow shattered, leaving the archer defenseless.

Chaos erupted in the hideout. The once-cohesive attack fell into disarray as Alaric’s relentless assault scattered the archers. In moments, they were reduced to a group of defeated warriors. Alaric stood amid the wreckage of arrows and broken bows, catching his breath.

A fallen archer croaked out, “You’re not what you seem.”

Alaric sheathed his swords, his voice carrying a weary edge. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

But Alaric couldn't stop himself from sighing. He wouldn't kill his own people unless necessary, but the Rebellion?

With the battle’s intensity behind him, Alaric pressed on, overcoming obstacles and camps of guards along the path up the outpost.

As he hurried towards the center, a sudden creak from below alerted him. His eyes flashed as a knife flew toward him. He deflected it with a swift movement, sending its thrower crashing down.

Alaric quickly grabbed his shield, leaving one sword sheathed for now. The shield would offer better protection against the archers. Scanning his surroundings, he located the next group of men.

Without warning, arrows began to rain down on him again. Men wielding long bone-emblemed swords charged forward. Another battle loomed.

His mind raced as he assessed the new threat. He raised his shield, deflecting arrows that clanged against it, and moved forward with precision.

As the first sword-wielder lunged, Alaric drew his sword and met the attack with a solid block from his shield. The attackers were fierce, but Alaric’s defense and counterattacks kept them at bay.

He sidestepped a slicing blow, using his shield to block while delivering a precise counterstrike with his sword. The sword-wielder fell, injured. Alaric continued to manage both the melee and the incoming arrows, his shield absorbing the brunt of the assault as he closed in on the archers.

He charged toward them, using the shield as both a defense and a battering ram. The archers were caught off guard by his aggressive advance. One by one, they fell to his relentless onslaught.

Turning his attention to the remaining archers, Alaric hurled one of his swords with deadly accuracy, severing the rope holding a makeshift platform. The archers tumbled to the ground, their attack finally halted.

A distant cry reached his ears, and a smile appeared on his face as he heard, “Rebels! Lay waste to the Riders!”

“That worked better than expected,” Alaric murmured to himself.

Katherine and Veritas had obtained the information.

After the Rebellion cleaned up, he could meet back up with the others.

However, he needed to make sure that the duo were okay first.

After all, he was the one that had forced them to collect information and send the signal to the Rebellion.

And Katherine still owed him from that dance.

However, he had another problem. Below him, was another patrol of guards.

Luckily enough for Alaric, they hadn’t heard the loud conflict. These small amounts of guards trickling out didn’t seem like an actual attack. They would get cleaned up by the Rebellion in a few moments anyway.

He picked up a stray piece of grass that laid on the ground.

It was so sharp, just like the swords he wielded. How one such piece could pierce the hearts of children alike, shattering childhood dreams, would be how he progressively killed others with all-encompassing ones.

Alaric acknowledged his role. He finally understood what he was sent here to do, clean the grime on the Crown of Lutra.

After finally being able to acknowledge the deaths of his family due to Katherine, his conviction had only grown stronger.

And, just as he was about to let the grass-blade fly in the wind, another loud creak resounded in the eerie upper part of the facility. Whoever was planning to assassinate him from behind gave up their position.

He turned around, planning to meet the man, face to face.

“Prince? You aren’t dead?”

Alaric’s heart skipped a beat at the unexpected voice.

He bit his tongue to stop himself from cursing out loud, buying a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Who?” he managed to stammer, feigning ignorance.

The voice grew sharper, the accusation clear. “Stop pretending. I see it now. You want to kill the King and steal the throne for yourself.”

Alaric spun around, a mask of confusion covering his face, a well-practiced act. His mind raced, searching for a way out.

Grayson. One of the strongest people in the King's army, one that he had seen recently at the Academy in statue form.

Alaric had hoped that his transformation would make him unrecognizable, but the man before him had shared his childhood.

“Alaric, Rest-Twixe As,” the man stated. The Honor Code stated that if someone promised to duel, they had to do so with those words. Even though their meaning had been lost through the passage of time.

Him saying those words were the same as saying "Duel me."

The prince and duel champion nodded, buying himself a bit more time.

He couldn’t afford to spare this man, as he would surely take his own life if given the chance. He had no other option. In a swift motion, he hurled his shield toward his old friend, who caught it with ease. Alaric wouldn’t let himself fight unfairly. This man deserved an honorable end, a warrior’s end.

"Rest-Twixe As," Alaric repeated, as it was custom.

He started to circle around his opponent. “Grayson, you know me well. I have no choice but to accept a fair fight,” Alaric conceded, his voice steady despite his racing heart.

A smile tugged at the guard's lips.

“Thank you, my prince. But tell me, are we still on the same side?”

“What do you mean?” Alaric replied.

With a deft movement, he took the edge of Alaric's shield and his sword, rubbing them together. A spark ignited and fell onto the floor above, setting off a chain reaction of flames. Alaric’s eyes widened in shock as fires erupted all around them, consuming the space.

The realization hit him like a tidal wave.

The entire place was a trap, rigged to explode.

The walls seemed to press in as the flames roared and crackled, their fierce heat threatening to engulf them. Alaric’s thoughts raced, desperately seeking an escape amidst the choking smoke. Time was running out.

With a surge of courage, Alaric made a split-second decision. He prepared to leap out of the fiery area, hoping to catch onto something to slow his fall on the way down the hundred feet of outpost.

But his old friend had other plans. Swiftly, the man seized Alaric’s armor, yanking him back into the fray. They grappled, but the man’s size and strength gave him the upper hand, pinning Alaric to the ground.

Both men were gasping for breath, but Grayson's ashy, smoky eyes held a wild intensity as the flames inched closer to the barrels filled with explosives. As fire licked at the barrels, Alaric’s heart sank, preparing for the worst.

Miraculously, the man’s grip loosened, most likely due to the lack of air. It was the opening Alaric needed.

Summoning every ounce of his strength, he heaved the man aside and hurled himself off the roof.

A piercing screech resonated through the crumbling structure, launching molten debris into the air as the explosion went off. A searing shard of of the building struck Alaric as he leapt, knocking him off course.

Struggling to regain his balance, Alaric swiftly improvised. He undid his clip-on armor, an accessory that had often been the target of Katherine’s jests, and hastily shed his wooly coat. With a final, daring throw, he flung the coat overhead just before impact. He closed his eyes, and the wind caught hold of him, slowing his descent enough that he landed roughly but safely in the branches of a nearby tree. Alaric groaned as he tumbled onto the unforgiving ground, his body aching. It took a while to get back up.

Surveying the scene, Alaric realized that the same fire that had engulfed his adversaries now consumed everything around him.

Panic clawed at his chest. What if the two were caught in the fire? Shaking off the disorientation, he sprang into action, his mind fixated on a singular goal. Ignoring the gathering crowd of onlookers, he limped back to the building’s entrance.

Breathless and fueled by a mix of relief and concern, Alaric walked as fast as he could, determined to find Katherine or Veritas amidst the chaos.