Joren Thal hefted a rock onto the pile blocking the east tunnel, his hands steady despite the shouts echoing through the mine. The air was thick with dust, and the faint glow of lanterns barely lit the faces of the six miners with him—Rik, Sela, and others from Verdis's coastal villages. They'd followed Kaelith Veyne's plan to sabotage Hispania's gold shipment, and now, with the carts burning in the main chamber, they had to get out before the guards caught them. Joren's group was the decoy, meant to draw attention while Kaelith, Toren, and Lysa escaped through the cliff exit.
"Keep stacking," Joren said, his voice low but firm. He was no leader, just a farmer who'd lost his land to Hispania's taxes, but Kaelith had trusted him to handle this. The thought of her sharp eyes and quick orders kept him moving, though he hadn't seen her group since they split up.
Rik, a wiry fisherman, dropped another rock onto the pile. "Guards are coming, Joren. I hear them."
"Let them come," Joren said, wiping sweat from his brow. "This'll slow them down."
Sela, a younger miner with calloused hands, hesitated. "What if they break through? Dario Mendez is out there. He doesn't take prisoners."
"Then we move faster," Joren said. He didn't have Kaelith's knack for inspiring people, but he knew they couldn't stop. Hispania had ruled Verdis for a decade, taking its gold, iron, and crops, leaving families like his starving. Tonight's fire was the first real fight back, and Joren wasn't about to let it fail.
The pile of rocks was chest-high now, blocking the tunnel enough to buy time. Joren signaled the group to move. They grabbed their tools—pickaxes and hammers, the only weapons they had—and headed west through the mine's twisting passages. The plan was to reach the old ventilation shaft, a narrow climb to the surface near the forest. Kaelith had mapped it out weeks ago, using knowledge from older miners who'd worked these tunnels before Hispania came.
The distant crackle of the fire mixed with the guards' shouts. "Spread out! Check every tunnel!" That was Dario Mendez's voice, sharp and angry. Joren's jaw tightened. He'd seen Mendez whip a villager for missing a tax payment. If the captain caught them, they'd be dead or chained to a galley.
The group moved quietly, their boots scuffing the stone floor. The tunnel sloped upward, the air growing cooler. Joren led the way, his pickaxe over his shoulder, checking for signs of pursuit. Rik kept close, muttering about his fishing boat, left untended for this. "If we get out, I'm never setting foot in a mine again," he said.
"Focus," Joren said. "We're not out yet."
The ventilation shaft came into view, a narrow hole in the ceiling with a rusty ladder bolted to the rock. Joren tested it—solid enough. "Sela, you first," he said. She climbed, her small frame slipping through the opening. The others followed, one by one, Joren going last. The ladder creaked under his weight, but it held.
They emerged into the forest, the night air sharp with pine and salt from the nearby sea. The mine's glow was visible in the distance, smoke rising from the burning carts. Joren's group had done their part, and he hoped Kaelith's had too. He led them deeper into the trees, toward a meeting point—a small cave where they'd regroup with the others.
As they moved, Sela grabbed Joren's arm. "Something's wrong," she whispered, pointing to the cave ahead. No lantern signal, no sign of Kaelith or Toren. Joren's gut sank. They were supposed to be here by now.
"Stay low," he said, crouching behind a tree. The group spread out, gripping their tools. Footsteps crunched nearby—not their people, but Hispania soldiers, their armor clinking. Joren counted three, lanterns swinging as they searched the forest.
"Check the cave," one said. "They can't have gone far."
Joren signaled the group to stay still. If they fought, they'd lose—miners against trained soldiers. But running risked noise. He weighed the odds, his mind racing. Kaelith would've known what to do, but he was on his own.
Before he could decide, a shout came from the cave. Toren Veyne stepped out, his face pale, Lysa Vorn beside him. "Joren!" Toren called, his voice rough. "It's us!"
The soldiers turned, drawing swords. Joren cursed under his breath and stood. "Now!" he said, charging with his pickaxe. Rik and Sela followed, their tools raised. The soldiers were caught off guard, and Joren's swing caught one in the shoulder, dropping him. Rik tackled another, while Sela and the others swarmed the third.
It was over fast, the soldiers unconscious but alive. Joren tied them with rope from his pack, his hands shaking. He turned to Toren, who looked unsteady. "Where's Kaelith?" Joren asked.
Toren's face tightened. "Dead. Marco Silv got her in the tunnels. I… I stopped him."
Joren froze. Kaelith was the one who'd started this, the one who'd made them believe they could fight. "You sure?" he asked, hoping he'd misheard.
"She's gone," Lysa said, her voice quiet. "Marco stabbed her. Toren knocked him out, and we got away."
Joren rubbed his face, the weight of it hitting him. "Damn it," he muttered. Kaelith had been the plan's heart. He looked at Toren, who was staring at the ground, fists clenched. "You okay to keep going?" Joren asked.
Toren nodded. "She told me to keep fighting. I will."
Joren didn't know Toren well—he was quieter than Kaelith, less sure—but he saw the same stubbornness in his eyes. "Alright," Joren said. "We need to move. Hispania's going to tear this island apart after tonight."
They headed deeper into the forest, toward a village where Mira Kade, the smuggler, had a safehouse. The fire in the mine was a start, but Hispania's Admiral Lorca Veyra would hit back hard. And Joren had heard rumors—foreign nations, Varkand or Kravos, with strange magic, watching Verdis like hawks. They needed to regroup, plan, and figure out how to keep the rebellion alive without Kaelith.
"We'll make them pay," Toren said, breaking the silence.
"Yeah," Joren said, gripping his pickaxe. "For Kaelith. For Verdis."