The quarry rang with new life in the days that followed the raid. The wagons taken from Jaren's supply column had given Aron's band much — food to fill empty bellies, steel to arm the willing, medicines to save the wounded.
But more than these, the victory had given hope.
New faces arrived daily — villagers, miners, herdsmen — drawn by the tale of the prince who defied the Puppet Master.
The quarry that had been a refuge became a fortress of the free.
---
Aron stood atop a ledge, watching as his people worked. Garron oversaw the strengthening of the walls. Mara tended the sick. Lina trained the youngest with bow and blade.
Lina joined him, brushing ash from her cloak. "Word spreads fast. But with it comes danger. Jaren will not let this stand."
Aron's jaw tightened. "Then we strike again. Before his claws close."
---
That night, they planned their next move.
"We've hurt his stores," Garron said. "If we strike his gold next, his soldiers will feel it."
Lina traced a path on a rough map. "A treasury wagon leaves Greycross in two nights. Lightly guarded. They think we're too far to stop it."
Aron's eyes burned with purpose. "Then they'll learn how far we can reach."
---
They moved before dawn, swift and silent. The land that Jaren tried to burn now hid the prince's fury.
Two nights later, beneath a moonless sky, they struck.
The treasury wagon's guards fell in moments — swift arrows, blades in the dark. The gold and silver meant for Jaren's coffers now filled rebel packs.
Aron ordered the rest scattered upon the road for the poor to find.
---
But as they fled into the hills, the trap sprang.
From the dark rose black riders — the Shadow Guard, Jaren's elite. Silent as death, they fell upon the rebels, blades flashing in the starlight.
Garron's roar shook the night as he met them with axe in hand. Lina's knives gleamed as she fought at Aron's side.
The prince's blade rose and fell, each stroke born of defiance.
---
The battle was fierce, but the rebels broke free, vanishing into the wilds.
When at last they reached the quarry, they bore new scars — but also new strength. The Shadow Guard had not broken them.
"We strike, and we endure," Aron said to his band. "And one day, we win."
---
Far away, upon his black hill, Jaren watched the embers of his plans smolder.
His silver mask reflected the fire's glow.
"Good," he whispered. "Let him think he rises. The higher the prince climbs, the deeper the pit that waits."