Chapter 100 – Shadows at the Edge of War
The forest floor was wet beneath their boots, moss softening their steps as they moved through the night. The air carried the faint metallic tang of iron—the scent of the human army camped ahead. Their fires burned in the distance like a field of stars, spreading across the valley floor beyond the treeline.
Lyria crouched low, her bow strung, eyes narrowing as she counted the watchfires. "Dozens. No—hundreds. Their numbers are more than we feared."
Varik knelt beside her, his blue hair catching the pale moonlight. He didn't speak immediately, only traced the camp's perimeter with a calculating stare. His demeanor was cold, methodical, but there was a sharp intelligence in his silence.
At last, he murmured, "Not hundreds. Thousands." He gestured toward the sprawling formation of tents, wagons, and banners. "Look closely. Each row of fires marks a unit. Infantry to the south, cavalry to the west, siege engineers in the center. And their supply wagons… heavily guarded. They plan for a long campaign."
Lyria's jaw tightened. "Then Kael was right. They mean to starve us, grind us down."
Varik's lips curved into something that was almost a smile, though it held no warmth. "If they think us prey, then they will choke on our bones."
They slipped closer, using the cover of shadows. From the ridge above the valley, they could see it all: soldiers drilling in tight formations even at night, horses stamping impatiently near the cavalry lines, smiths hammering at makeshift forges that rang through the camp. The air reeked of sweat, smoke, and boiled rations.
And at the center stood a grand pavilion, marked with the sigil of the human kingdom—a golden lion clawing at the sun.
"That will be their commander," Lyria whispered. "Cut off the head, the body flounders."
Varik shook his head. "Not yet. Strike too soon, and they come hunting us like cornered wolves. We bleed them first."
They descended into the darkness of the camp's outskirts, avoiding the patrols. Varik moved like a shadow himself, unnervingly precise, his steps silent, his eyes always darting toward weaknesses. Lyria followed, her instincts sharp but tempered by her years at Kael's side.
Their first target was the supply lines. Varik gestured for silence, then crept toward a wagon piled high with sacks of grain. With a flick of his hand, icy blue flames licked across his fingertips. The sacks caught fire soundlessly, frost spreading before it melted into flame. The result was subtle—smoke rising slow, easy to miss until it was too late.
Lyria shot an arrow, her aim perfect. The flaming shaft buried itself into another cart. In moments, chaos rippled through the southern supply quarter. Soldiers shouted, rushing with buckets of water, their orders muddled as two wagons collapsed into burning heaps.
"They'll go hungry for days," Varik murmured, pleased.
But as they retreated into the shadows, he broke the silence with a question that caught Lyria off guard.
"So… tell me. You and Kael. How far has it gone?"
Lyria stiffened, eyes narrowing. "This isn't the time."
Varik smirked faintly. "There is always time, when the night hides us. You are his shadow, his right hand. And Druaka—my sister—she is close to him as well. Tell me, elf: have you shared his bed?"
Her lips parted, the directness of his words almost making her falter. But she steadied herself. "That is none of your concern."
Varik's gaze sharpened, though his tone remained calm. "It is my concern if my sister's heart is involved. Druaka has suffered much. She hides it well, but I see the cracks. And now, she looks at Kael as though he is the fire that keeps her warm. If you have already bound yourself to him, then where does that leave her?"
Lyria's heart thudded. She thought of Druaka's laughter, of her fierce eyes, of the way she and Kael had begun to circle each other like two storms destined to collide. She thought of the teasing, the awkward jokes, the long nights when Kael had held her close.
At last, she whispered, "We… share something. But Kael's heart is wide. Wider than mine alone can hold. Druaka knows this. I… know this."
Varik studied her, his expression unreadable. "Strange. In the villages of old, such things would be seen as weakness. Yet here, it binds you closer together." He tilted his head, almost curious. "Do you truly not despise her for it? For touching what you first claimed?"
The elf's jaw tightened, but she did not flinch. "Druaka is not my rival. She is my sister now, in all but blood. If she loves him, then I will not stand in her way. What Kael chooses, I will honor."
Something flickered in Varik's eyes—perhaps respect, perhaps disbelief. "Hmph. Strong words. But I will hold you to them, elf."
Before Lyria could answer, a horn blared from the human camp. The two froze, eyes snapping toward the sound. A patrol was sweeping closer.
"Move," Varik hissed.
They darted into the shadows, weaving between tents and supply lines. As they went, they loosed sabotage like seeds: ropes cut on siege engines, saddles tampered with, barrels of water poisoned with herbs that would sicken the men but not kill.
By the time the horn quieted, the camp was already a minefield of hidden sabotage.
At the edge of the forest, Lyria finally exhaled, her chest heaving. She glanced at Varik, who stood tall and composed, his breath even.
"You're skilled," she admitted. "Cold. Calculating. But skilled."
Varik's smirk returned, faint and sharp. "And you are honest. Honest enough that I believe you. Perhaps Kael was right to trust you. Perhaps."
As they vanished into the trees, leaving behind the chaos of their handiwork, the bond between them was no longer one of suspicion—but of reluctant respect.
And though neither would admit it aloud, both felt the shadow of Kael between them, binding them to a single fate.