The dawn after the siege broke cold and golden over Black Hollow. Smoke still rose from the battlefield, carrying with it the bitter scent of blood and fire.
Aron stood upon the ruined gate, gazing at the field of the fallen. His body ached from battle, his arm wrapped in bloodstained cloth, but his eyes burned bright.
Below, his band gathered — wounded, weary, but unbowed. And with them stood the villagers who had come to their aid, drawn by the prince's defiance.
---
Garron joined him, leaning on his axe. "We stood, my prince. Against the Scourge. Against the mask. We stood."
Aron nodded, though his heart was heavy. "At a cost."
Garron's voice was quiet. "A cost worth paying."
---
They buried the dead at dawn's first light — friend and foe alike. No time for fine words, only the promise that their sacrifice would not be forgotten.
Mara moved among the wounded, her hands steady despite her weariness. Lina kept watch from the tower, eyes always on the horizon.
---
As the sun climbed, the people gathered in the courtyard.
A farmer stepped forward — a man who had brought his sons to fight. He dropped to one knee before Aron.
"My prince," he said, voice rough with emotion, "let me serve. Let my sons serve. We'll fight beneath your banner."
Others followed — hunters, craftsmen, even former outlaws. One by one, they knelt, pledging themselves to the rebellion.
Aron raised his hand, bidding them rise.
"I am no king," he said. "But I swear this — so long as I draw breath, I will stand for the free. And I will not bow to the mask."
A cheer rose, fierce and true.
---
That night, around the fire, they made plans.
"We can't hold Black Hollow against another full army," Lina warned.
Aron agreed. "But we can use it. As a symbol. A spark."
Garron traced lines in the dirt. "Raids, ambushes, strikes at his supply lines. We make him bleed, little by little."
"And we give the people something to believe in," Mara added.
---
Far away, in the broken palace of Sun City, Jaren listened as his captains spoke of defeat.
The Puppet Master's voice was soft, but deadly.
"Let them have their victory. Let them think the tide has turned. The higher they climb, the farther they will fall when I crush them."
His silver mask gleamed in the firelight.
"Gather the flamecasters. The Shadow Guard. The beastmasters. Let the boy see what terror truly is."
The storm had only begun.