chapter 7 Embars of destruction

The wind shifted as the night grew colder, and the distant wail of the sea, now muffled by the hills, seemed to carry with it an ominous promise. The air felt heavy, as though the land itself was waiting, holding its breath for the storm to come.

I could feel the tension thickening between us, an invisible thread connecting me to Darius, taut with the weight of unspoken words. He hadn't moved or said much since his cryptic admission, but his silence spoke volumes. He was lost in his own thoughts, his mind turning over things I couldn't begin to understand. He had seen the true face of the Grand Master, seen what was at stake—and I wasn't sure if that made him dangerous, or if it made him something far more unsettling.

I let my gaze drift over the ruins of the village, noting the skeletal remains of its once-thriving life. Vines curled up the walls of the cottages, creeping through shattered windows, their green tendrils choking the life from the stone. Nature had taken back what men had abandoned, but it felt wrong somehow, as though even the earth itself had been tainted by time. It reminded me of the war we were fighting—a conflict that had dragged us far from our homes, into places we were never meant to be.

I drew my knees up to my chest, pulling my cloak tighter. "How much further can we run?" I asked quietly. "There's only so much ground to cover before we're cornered."

Darius didn't answer immediately, his expression unreadable in the firelight. I watched as he rolled a small piece of parchment between his fingers, his eyes focused not on the paper but on some distant point far beyond the ruins. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost contemplative.

"As long as the Templars think they're in control, they'll keep sending men to hunt us. But that's their mistake. They underestimate us because they think we're driven by the same things they are—ambition, greed, the thirst for power."

He paused, his gaze shifting to meet mine. "But you and I are different. We don't fight for control, Elara. We fight to end it."

I blinked, processing his words. It was a sentiment I could almost agree with—almost. But the way he said it, with such conviction, left me wondering what it meant for both of us in the long run. What would we become if we succeeded in bringing the Templars to their knees? And what would we be willing to sacrifice to achieve it?

"You make it sound like a righteous cause," I said, though my voice wavered with doubt. "But even if we win—what then? What do we rebuild from the ashes of all this destruction?"

Darius' eyes hardened slightly, his expression darkening. "We don't rebuild, Elara. We leave the old world behind. We burn it to the ground."

The fire crackled between us, its heat licking the air, but his words chilled me. The implication was clear—there would be no rebuilding, no peace, no lasting order. There would be only the continuation of a war that had already ravaged so much, only the scorched remains of everything that had come before.

I felt the weight of that thought, a hollow, gnawing sensation settling deep within me. It wasn't what I had imagined when I first joined the rebellion. I had thought we were fighting for something greater, something worth saving. But now... now it felt like we were caught in an endless cycle of violence, with no end in sight.

"Do you ever wonder what it will take to break the cycle?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper.

Darius looked at me, his gaze unreadable, before he stood abruptly and began to pace, his boots scraping against the stones. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tight. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice colder than the wind that swept through the village.

"It takes everything, Elara. Every piece of us. Every piece of them."

His words hung in the air like a shadow, and I couldn't help but feel the gravity of them. Was this what it had all come to? An endless exchange of lives, ideals, and sacrifice until nothing remained but a smoldering ruin?

I shook my head, standing up with sudden resolve. "I won't become like them. I won't burn everything to the ground just to watch it turn to ash."

Darius stopped, his back to me, and I could feel the weight of his gaze even without seeing his face. When he finally turned, there was no anger in his eyes, no resentment. Only a quiet, almost sad understanding.

"You don't have to," he said softly. "But in the end, the world will burn anyway. It's not about whether we want it to happen—it's about who gets to control the flames."

I swallowed hard, the truth of his words sinking in. I didn't want to be part of this, not the way he was, not with that cold determination in his eyes. But I didn't have a choice, did I? I had made my decision the moment I joined him on that cliff, the moment I set the first fire.

"We'll burn it," I said, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. "But we'll make sure it's for something worth saving."

Darius gave a single nod, his expression unreadable once again. Then, without another word, he turned away and began to pack up their few supplies, as if nothing had passed between us at all.

The fire crackled, the flames dancing in the cold wind. And in that moment, I knew one thing for certain—we were on the verge of something much bigger than we had ever anticipated. Whatever came next, we would face it together. Whether that was a victory or an end, I could no longer say. But for now, there was no turning back.