### Chapter 14 – A Flicker of Defiance
The nights in Draeven had grown longer, or so it seemed to those who lived in constant fear. Patrol torches burned like watchful eyes, and the sound of marching boots haunted every alley. Yet in the cracks between terror, something fragile began to stir.
Rennick crouched in the shadows of a broken shrine, watching as Liora led a small band of survivors—no more than ten men and women, gaunt and scarred. They were not warriors; they were bakers, masons, a crippled soldier with one arm. Yet tonight, under Rennick's plan, they would become the first defiant whisper in Draeven's silence.
Their target was modest but symbolic: a grain storehouse near the southern walls, guarded lightly compared to Kael's armories. Food had become a weapon of control—Selara ensured the poorest were starved to keep them compliant. If the rebels could steal supplies and smuggle them into the starving districts, hope would have a taste.
The strike was swift, desperate, and almost too easy. Liora slipped a dagger into the throat of the first guard while Rennick signaled the others to move the sacks of grain. Within moments, the rebels had vanished into alleys, carrying bread instead of blades.
For the first time since Draeven fell, children went to sleep with full stomachs. Whispers spread through the districts, timid but glowing: *The Crimson Hand still lived.*
But hope is fragile in a city ruled by monsters.
By dawn, Kael knew. His silver eyes scanned the bodies of his dead guards, his hand brushing the crimson stain of spilled grain. He said nothing at first, but those closest to him felt the storm beneath his silence.
Selara stepped through the storehouse, her smile cold, her dagger tracing the grooves of a broken door. "They think theft makes them free," she whispered. "They believe bread is rebellion."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Then let us show them what rebellion costs."
The response was not immediate. It was calculated. That evening, the citizens of Draeven were summoned to the plaza.
A family was dragged forward—an old man, his daughter, and two small children. They had eaten the stolen bread. Their crime was not fighting, not stealing, but simply surviving.
Kael stood before them, his silver gaze sweeping the crowd. "You think mercy hides in shadows. You think bread bought with treachery will free you." He lifted the old man by the throat, his voice cold as steel. "But your lives belong to us. And your hope is a lie."
Selara took one of the children in her arms, stroking her hair almost tenderly. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she slit the girl's throat. Blood stained her gown as she smiled sweetly at the horrified crowd. "Obedience," she said, her voice carrying through the plaza, "is sweeter than bread."
The executions that followed broke more than bodies—they shattered the fragile hope that had dared to bloom. By nightfall, the whispers of rebellion were choked by silence, drowned in fear.
From the shadows, Rennick and Liora watched, hearts burning with fury and grief. Their small victory had been met with horror beyond what they imagined. Yet even as tears stained Liora's face, Rennick's voice was steady.
"We lit a spark," he whispered. "And sparks can spread, no matter how much blood they drown in."
Above them, on the balcony of the palace, Kael and Selara watched the city sink deeper into terror. The air stank of blood and fear, and for them, it was intoxicating.
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