The first guard never saw me coming.
I moved low and quick, just as Gavin had taught me, my blade glinting faintly in the torchlight of the black flame camp. The sentry stood at the eastern perimeter, yawning and leaning lazily on his spear. He probably thought he was watching over nothing more than a few deer and frogs.
He didn't even have time to cry out before I drove my blade into his side and lowered him silently to the dirt. His eyes widened in shock, then glazed over as he slumped into the reeds.
I stood still for a moment, feeling my heart hammering in my chest, but there was no alarm—not yet. I exhaled and kept moving.
From across the camp, I caught a glimpse of Arya, darting from tent to tent like a shadow. Her knife flashed, and another sentry fell with a muffled gasp. Gavin was already deeper inside the camp, his larger frame somehow just as silent, dispatching guards with deadly precision.
We had slipped into the enemy's lair like wolves among sheep. And for the first time in what felt like years, I felt powerful.
The camp wasn't large, but it was crowded. Fires crackled at the center, where several black flame soldiers sat eating and drinking, unaware of the danger creeping closer. Around them, rows of tents stretched into the darkness, each one marked with the black flame insignia that had haunted my dreams for weeks.
I moved to the east tents, just as Gavin had instructed. My job was simple—clear them, set them alight, and keep moving.
The first tent was empty, save for supplies—crates of dried meat, barrels of water, and bundles of weapons. I slashed through the canvas and spilled a lantern over the wood, watching it catch fire as the oil ignited.
One tent down.
I moved to the next, crouching low to peek through the flap. This one wasn't empty.
Two soldiers sat inside, sharpening blades. One of them noticed a faint glow through the tent's seams. He stood and moved toward the flap just as I burst through.
The first man barely raised his sword before my blade opened his throat. The second scrambled back, reaching for his spear, but I followed him in, ducking low and driving my shoulder into his chest. He fell backward into a pile of supplies, gasping.
I ended him quickly and moved on.
By now, faint shouts were rising from the center of the camp. The fires we'd set were spreading fast, smoke curling into the sky.
I could hear Arya's laughter from somewhere nearby—sharp and mocking as she danced around two bewildered guards. Gavin's voice barked a command in the distance, followed by the ring of steel on steel.
The black flame camp was waking up to a nightmare.
One more tent, then I'd fall back to the ridge as planned. I moved toward the last row, crouching low behind a stack of crates. But as I neared the final tent, something cold gripped my chest.
A man stood in front of it.
He wasn't dressed like the others. His armor was blackened steel etched with red runes that glowed faintly in the firelight. His helmet bore the black flame insignia, but twisted—like it had been burned into the metal.
And he was waiting for me.
"You're bold," he said, his voice low and metallic behind the visor. "I'll give you that."
I froze, my sword still raised.
"I was wondering," he continued, tilting his head. "When would the little rat finally stop running and come to me."
He stepped forward, and I could feel the heat radiating from him, as though his very presence was fire.
"Who are you?" I demanded, though my voice came out more like a growl than a question.
The man chuckled.
"Names don't matter," he said. "But you can call me… the Hand."
He drew his blade—a long, curved sword wreathed in faint red flame.
My grip tightened.
This wasn't part of the plan.
Behind me, more shouting erupted as black flame reinforcements poured out of the barracks. I could see Arya retreating, cutting down anyone who got too close. Gavin was already at the ridge, calling for us to fall back.
But I couldn't move. Not yet.
The Hand raised his flaming sword and lunged at me.
I barely blocked in time, the impact jarring my arms and sending me staggering back. His strength was incredible, and the heat from his blade sizzled against mine.
"You're not ready," he said, pressing his weight forward.
I gritted my teeth and pushed back, feeling my legs strain.
"Maybe not," I spat, "but I'm done running."
I twisted, breaking his grip just enough to slip out of his range and slash at his side. Sparks flew, but my blade only scored his armor.
The Hand laughed. "Good," he said. "Show me what you've learned, little rat."
We circled each other, blades clashing in a storm of sparks and flame. Every strike sent tremors through my arms, but I kept moving, kept attacking. Every lesson Gavin had drilled into me—the rhythm of a fighter's breath, the telltale twitch of a shoulder before a swing—flashed through my mind as I dodged and struck back.
The camp around us burned higher and hotter, smoke and chaos filling the air. Soldiers were shouting, Arya was screaming my name from somewhere in the distance, but all I could see was the black flame insignia on his chest.
I ducked under a wide arc of his blade and slammed my hilt into his helmet. He staggered, and I drove my sword into the gap at his hip.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the Hand laughed again, though his voice was strained now. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me close, his visor inches from my face.
"You'll make it interesting," he hissed. "When Sigma comes for you."
Then he shoved me away and disappeared into the smoke, melting back into the chaos as reinforcements closed in.
I stood there, chest heaving, my blade still dripping his blood.
Arya grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the ridge.
"Come on!" she yelled. "We've got to go!"
We scrambled up the ridge just as the camp behind us erupted into a full inferno, the flames licking at the night sky.
Gavin waited at the top, his expression grim but approving.
"You held your ground," he said. "Good. But next time, you finish the job."
I nodded silently, my chest still burning from the fight.
As we disappeared into the swamp, the black flame camp burning behind us, I thought about the Hand's words.
When Sigma comes for you.
He was right about one thing.
This was only the beginning.