The wind bit colder now that they were in the highlands. The sun dipped below the ridge, casting long shadows over the pine-strewn valley. Kaelus sat near the fire, eyes closed, fingers steepled, listening—not to the crackling wood or the low murmurs of men eating rations—but to the rhythm of movement around him. Every sound mattered. Every habit revealed something.
There were a hundred soldiers with him. Men who, though respectful, still looked at him with veiled uncertainty. He had seen it in their eyes that morning. He was fifteen. Barely a man in their eyes. But also two-star—something none of them could deny. And now, on the eve of battle, they waited to see whether that strength translated to leadership.
Kaelus opened his eyes. "Darius."
The large teen was seated near the edge of the firelight, carefully sharpening his spearhead. He looked up quickly, setting the whetstone down. "Yes, Young Master?"
"Walk with me."
They moved away from the firelight, boots crunching over scattered gravel. The trees thickened around them, and the cool mountain air turned sharp in their lungs. After a long silence, Kaelus finally spoke.
"You've probably wondered why I gave you command of twenty-five men."
Darius hesitated. "I… yes, I have."
Kaelus turned to him, eyes steady. "Some of the men questioned it. Even I saw it in your face—you weren't sure if you were ready. But I am."
"But I'm not even a one-star. I've never led in battle."
"That doesn't matter," Kaelus said firmly. "You see things. When we passed the ridge trail, you were the only one who noticed the loose rock above the path. If that had been a trap, we'd have been buried. When the scouts returned, you were already sketching the terrain from memory. No one taught you that."
Darius looked down, unsure what to say.
"My father didn't give me scouts or advisors for this mission," Kaelus continued. "He wants to see how well I can read men, how I assign trust. That includes you. I saw the way the other soldiers defer to you, even without qi. That matters."
Darius finally met his eyes. "You really believe I can do this?"
Kaelus smiled faintly. "No. I know you can."
For a moment, Darius stood still, his expression unreadable. Then he dropped to one knee, planting a fist against his chest. "Then I'll make sure your trust isn't misplaced, Young Master."
Kaelus nodded once. "Good. We move at first light. Get your men ready. Tomorrow, we remind these rebels that the mountains don't protect cowards."
They returned to the camp to find two soldiers standing at attention, one of them Kaelus had already taken notice of. A wiry man with unusually silent footsteps—almost unnaturally so.
"You," Kaelus pointed. "Your name?"
"Torvin, Young Master," the scout replied, standing ramrod straight.
"You move like a ghost. You'll scout ahead with two men of your choice, locate the best place to assault the gate from the eastern ridge, and report back before the moon hits its peak."
Torvin's eyes widened slightly, but he saluted without hesitation. "Understood."
Kaelus turned to the rest of the soldiers watching. "None of you were given orders by my father. He left you to me. I won't command by name or title—I command by result. The only reason I'm leading you is because I intend to win. If any man thinks he can't follow a fifteen-year-old, then leave now. I won't punish you."
No one moved.
A long moment passed before one of the older soldiers, a grizzled veteran with a heavy axe, stepped forward.
"Young Master," he said with a rough voice. "You reached two-star at fifteen. And I saw you hold your ground against three scouts without a scratch. I don't know what kind of man you'll be—but I'll follow you into this fire. That's enough for me."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the camp.
Kaelus gave a short nod. Then he turned to Darius and muttered, "Tomorrow we test more than steel. We test resolve."
Darius gave a grim smile. "We'll give them hell."
The moon rose. The scouts vanished into the trees. And Kaelus stood atop the ridge, watching the outline of the rebel stronghold below—dark, fortified, and unaware that a storm had already arrived.