The journey toward Aria’s rebel camp felt longer than it was, every step weighed down by the pressure of what was at stake. The cool air, crisp and sharp, did little to lift the heavy fog of unease hanging over us. This wasn’t just a camp of fighters—this was a beacon of hope for those resisting the puppeteer’s tightening grip. But hope was fragile, and the rebels, no matter how strong, were standing on a precarious edge.