chapter 8:-The Cost of Survival

The night pressed against them like a living thing, thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant, metallic tang of blood. Elara's breathing was ragged as she and Kael moved deeper into the forest, the shouts of the king's men fading behind them.

But they weren't safe.

Not yet.

The rebels had given them a task—find the missing scouts. Instead, they had found bodies. And now, the king's soldiers were hunting them.

Elara gripped Kael's hand tighter as they pushed through the undergrowth. Her heart hammered against her ribs, fear curling in her stomach like a coiled snake.

"They're still following us," she whispered.

Kael's jaw clenched. "I know."

Ahead, the trees thinned slightly, revealing a narrow stream. Kael led her across, boots splashing through the water. When they reached the other side, he pulled her behind a cluster of rocks and crouched low.

Elara pressed her back against the cold stone, struggling to quiet her breath. She could hear the soldiers now—closer than before. Their voices were low, tense.

"They went this way," one of them said. "Fan out."

Elara's pulse spiked.

Kael met her gaze and mouthed a single word.

Wait.

She nodded, forcing herself to stay still as the footsteps drew nearer.

A shadow passed just beyond the rocks.

Elara gripped her dagger, sweat slick on her palms. She barely dared to breathe.

The soldier hesitated, scanning the darkness. Then, after a long moment, he moved on.

Kael exhaled slowly, waiting until the sounds of their pursuers faded before turning to Elara. "We can't lead them back to the rebels."

Elara swallowed hard. "Then where do we go?"

Kael's gaze was unreadable. "We finish what we started."

They moved carefully through the forest, avoiding open spaces, keeping to the shadows. It wasn't long before they stumbled upon another body—one of the missing rebels.

Elara's stomach churned at the sight. His throat had been cut, his face frozen in a grimace of pain.

Kael knelt beside him, scanning the area. His expression darkened. "This was recent."

Elara wrapped her arms around herself. "Do you think there are more?"

Kael didn't answer. He didn't have to.

A low groan sounded from the underbrush.

Elara spun toward the noise, dagger raised.

A man lay there, blood staining his tunic, his breath shallow. One of the missing scouts. He was barely conscious, his fingers twitching weakly.

Kael was at his side in an instant. "Hold on," he said, pressing a hand to the wound. "Who did this?"

The rebel's eyes fluttered open, unfocused. His lips moved, voice barely more than a whisper.

"Not… soldiers."

Elara stiffened. "Then who—"

A sudden rustling in the trees made them freeze.

Kael's grip tightened on his sword. "We need to move. Now."

They carried the injured rebel as best they could, but every step felt like dragging dead weight.

Elara's arms burned from the effort, her breath coming in sharp gasps. "We're not going to make it back in time."

Kael cursed under his breath. "Then we make a stand."

They found a shallow ravine, half-hidden by thick foliage. Kael laid the wounded man down and turned to Elara.

"Stay behind me."

Elara wanted to argue, but there was no time.

The first attacker came from the trees, moving too fast to be one of the king's men. He was cloaked in darkness, his blade glinting as he lunged.

Kael blocked the strike, steel clashing against steel.

Another figure emerged from the shadows—then another.

Elara's grip tightened on her dagger. These weren't soldiers. Their movements were too precise, too practiced.

Assassins.

And they weren't after the rebels.

They were after her.

Kael fought like a man possessed. His sword flashed in the dim light, cutting through the air with deadly precision.

But they were outnumbered.

One of the assassins slipped past him, heading straight for Elara.

She barely had time to react.

The man's knife lashed out, aiming for her throat. She twisted away at the last second, the blade slicing through fabric instead of flesh.

She struck blindly, her dagger sinking into his side.

The assassin gasped, stumbling back.

Elara didn't stop to think—she wrenched the blade free and drove it forward again.

He collapsed with a gurgled breath.

She was shaking, her breath ragged, but there was no time for fear.

Kael dispatched the last of their attackers, his chest rising and falling with exertion. Blood dripped from his blade.

Silence fell over the forest.

Elara swallowed hard, wiping her dagger against the grass. "Who sent them?"

Kael's expression was grim. "Someone who knew exactly where we'd be."

Elara's stomach twisted. "That means—"

Kael nodded. "There's a traitor among the rebels."

They made it back to camp just before dawn, the injured scout barely clinging to life.

Dain was waiting for them. His expression was unreadable as he took in their state—bloodstained, exhausted, shaken.

"You survived," he said. "That's something."

Kael tossed a bloodied piece of cloth to the ground. "We found your scouts."

Dain's gaze flickered to the bodies they had brought back. He frowned. "And the ones who did this?"

Kael hesitated. "Not soldiers."

A ripple of tension passed through the rebels.

Dain's expression darkened. "Then who?"

Elara stepped forward, her voice steady despite the unease curling in her chest. "Assassins."

A murmur spread through the gathered men.

Dain studied her, then Kael. "And you think someone here gave them your location?"

Kael's jaw tightened. "No one else knew where we were going."

The silence was heavy.

Dain exhaled slowly. "If that's true, then we have a problem."

His gaze swept over the camp, sharp and searching. "A traitor among us."

Elara's hands clenched at her sides. They had barely escaped with their lives, and now they were walking into another kind of battlefield.

One made of whispers and knives in the dark.

The tension in the rebel camp was palpable.

After Kael's declaration of a traitor among them, silence had settled over the gathered fighters like a thick fog. No one spoke, but glances were exchanged, suspicion creeping into every corner of the camp.

Elara felt the weight of their stares as she stood beside Kael, her hands tightening into fists. She had been hunted before—by the king's men, by assassins—but this was different. These were supposed to be their allies.

And yet, one of them had betrayed them.

Dain was the first to break the silence. He crouched near the injured scout they had brought back, his sharp eyes scanning the barely conscious man's face. "Can he speak?"

Kael shook his head. "Not yet. He lost a lot of blood."

Dain exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Then we're left with speculation. Not ideal."

One of the rebels—a burly man with a scar across his cheek—crossed his arms. "You expect us to believe there's a traitor among us just because of a few dead scouts?" His voice was edged with skepticism. "What if it was just bad luck? Or a coincidence?"

Kael's eyes hardened. "Assassins don't work on coincidence. They knew where to find us. Someone told them."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some of the rebels exchanged wary glances, others tensed, their hands drifting toward their weapons.

Elara swallowed, stepping forward. "We don't want to accuse the wrong person," she said carefully. "But if we ignore this, we'll be walking into another ambush."

Dain nodded, his expression unreadable. "You're right. We need to root this out before it tears us apart."

He turned, scanning the rebels, his sharp gaze resting on each one. "But if there's a traitor here, they won't reveal themselves so easily. We need proof."

The scarred rebel scoffed. "And how do you plan to get that?"

Dain smirked. "By making them panic."