Chapter 15: Shadows of the Past
The rebel base nestled deep within the ruins of Old Aetheris was far from comforting. Stone walls, chipped and dark with time, framed the narrow hallways that twisted like veins beneath the mountain. Echoes whispered through the halls, voices of the past—or maybe just the wind.
Chris sat on a crate, a half-eaten apple in hand and a thousand-yard stare in his eyes. Damian stood across from him, arms crossed, head tilted back against the cold wall. Neither had said a word in nearly an hour.
"So," Chris finally muttered, voice dry, "any chance this ragtag rebellion has better food than old apples and questionable soup?"
Damian didn't smile. "You could always hunt your own. With that sword of yours that you barely know how to use."
"Ouch." Chris squinted. "That's fair. But ouch."
A whistle echoed down the corridor. Then footsteps—urgent, armored.
A young rebel burst through the archway. "Incoming scouts. Three riders approaching fast. Not ours."
Damian's entire demeanor changed. In a flash, he had his cloak on, face shadowed, and dagger at the ready. "Could be bounty hunters. Or worse."
Chris jumped to his feet. "Worse than bounty hunters?"
"Yes," Damian said grimly. "Them."
They reached the lookout tower just in time to see three figures descending the northern pass. Even from a distance, Damian's eyes locked onto one in particular—the broad-shouldered man leading the charge, wearing black armor carved with sigils long outlawed by the empire.
Chris watched Damian's face drain of color. "You know him."
"He trained me," Damian said quietly. "Commander Lucan."
---
The rebels fortified the base. Traps were set. Weapons drawn. Everyone prepared for battle, but Damian seemed elsewhere.
Chris found him kneeling before a candle-lit altar in one of the ruined chambers, staring into a single flickering flame.
"You alright?" Chris asked, approaching cautiously.
"No," Damian admitted. "He's not here for the relic. He's here for me."
Chris sat beside him. "What did he do to you?"
Damian's voice was slow, haunted. "He made me a killer. Took in orphans, trained us like dogs. We were weapons, not children. I was the best. I was his star. And when I tried to leave… he burned the others."
Chris's breath caught. "Gods… Damian."
"This rebellion isn't ready for him," Damian said. "But I have to face him. I have to end this."
Chris gripped his hand. "Then I'm going with you."
Damian looked at him, fear in his eyes. "If he gets to you—"
"Then he'll regret it."