The night was moonless, Draeven's skyline black against the faint glow of smoldering chimneys. Patrol torches bobbed along the streets like fireflies, each one a threat of steel and death.
Rennick crouched in the shadows of a crumbling wall, his hand raised to halt the rebels behind him. Marenya, Liora, Davren, and the young blacksmith Corin waited, their breaths shallow, weapons clutched tight. The plan was simple: slip into the western storehouse, take what food and arms they could carry, and vanish before Kael's patrols noticed. Simple plans, Rennick knew, rarely stayed simple.
"Two guards at the door," Rennick whispered. His voice was steady, though his heart hammered like a war drum. "Davren, circle right. Liora, left. Quiet."
Davren grinned his wolfish grin and disappeared into the dark. Liora melted into the shadows like smoke. Moments later, two muffled thuds echoed—a dagger finding its mark, a throat cut clean. The guards dropped without sound.
Rennick gave the signal. They slipped inside.
The air within was heavy with the scent of grain and iron. Stacked sacks of food towered along one wall; crates of weapons lined the other. Spears, blades, even bows—all stolen from the people, hoarded for Kael's soldiers.
Corin's eyes widened. "Gods above… with these, we could arm half the city."
"Load what we can carry," Rennick ordered. "Quickly."
They worked fast, filling sacks with bread, salted meat, and blades. Every creak of wood, every shuffle of grain felt like thunder in Rennick's ears. Sweat dripped down his spine as he scanned the shadows.
Then—boots. Heavy, rhythmic.
A patrol.
"Hide," Rennick hissed. They dove behind crates as the door groaned open. Lantern light spilled in, revealing six soldiers, their armor black and gleaming. At their head strode Captain Verrun, one of Kael's favored officers. A scar slashed across his cheek, his smile thin and cruel.
"Search the room," Verrun barked. "The queen says the rats grow bold. Let's see if they dare chew her stores."
The rebels froze. A soldier passed so close to Liora's hiding spot she could smell the oil on his armor. Marenya pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle her breath. Corin's grip tightened on his crude blade until his knuckles whitened.
One wrong move, and they were dead.
A soldier lifted a lantern, light spilling over the crates where Rennick crouched. His heartbeat roared in his ears—then, at the last second, Davren flicked a pebble across the room. It clattered against a barrel.
The soldier turned. "What was that?"
"Rats," Verrun sneered. "Always rats in this city."
The patrol moved on, their boots echoing, until finally the door slammed shut behind them.
The rebels exhaled as one, trembling with the weight of survival.
"We got lucky," Liora whispered.
"No," Rennick said, standing slowly. His face was hard, lit by the dim glow of the torch. "Luck doesn't last. From now on, we move smarter. Faster. Stronger. Or we won't live long enough to see Draeven free."
They shouldered their stolen goods and slipped back into the night.
Above, the black sky stretched endless, but in Rennick's chest, something fierce burned. For the first time, the Silent Flame had stolen from the crown—and survived.
And in the palace, Kael and Selara would soon learn that even sparks can start a fire.
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