Shattered in the Flames

Flames roared through the camp, a wall of heat and chaos swallowing the night. Lysander stumbled back, her torn cloak clutched tight, the bindings beneath a fragile shield against Damon's stunned gaze. His sword dripped with Linus's blood, the trainer's body crumpled at his feet, his final word—You're—hanging like a noose between them. Shouts and steel clashed around them, the herd scrambling as shadowy figures—helots, armed and feral—surged from the dark. Her heart pounded, a frantic rhythm drowning the screams. He saw. He knows.

Damon's eyes locked on hers, wide and searching, the firelight glinting off the bindings peeking through her ripped cloak. "Lys," he breathed again, voice cracking over the din, "what—?"

A spear whizzed past, grazing his shoulder, and he spun, slashing at a helot charging from the smoke. Lysander ducked, instinct kicking in, and grabbed Linus's dagger from the dirt, its hilt slick with his blood. "Move!" she shouted, shoving Damon toward the camp's center, where Felix bellowed orders amid the fray. Questions could wait—survival couldn't.

They ran, weaving through the chaos—boys clashing with helots, tents collapsing in flames, the air thick with ash and panic. Her leg screamed, the cut from the ravine splitting wider, blood soaking her calf. Her back wept from the lashes, each step a jolt of fire, but she gripped the dagger, slashing at a helot who lunged from her left. The blade sank into his arm, a wet crunch, and he fell back, howling. She yanked it free, bile rising—Another kill—but pushed forward, Damon at her side.

"Felix!" Damon yelled, spotting the trainer near a burning cart, his sword a blur as he cut down two attackers. The herd rallied around him, a ragged line of red cloaks, but the helots pressed harder, their numbers swelling from the shadows.

"Form up!" Felix roared, his scarred face smeared with soot. "Hold the line—or die!"

Lysander joined the fray, her dagger no match for swords but quick in her hands. She parried a thrust, ducked a swing, her smaller frame a fleeting advantage in the chaos. Damon fought beside her, his blade a storm, shielding her from a helot's axe. Blood sprayed, hot and coppery, and she flinched, the memory of Pyrrhus's fall twisting her gut. This is my fault. If Gaius had orchestrated this—if Linus's lunge was his doing—her secret had sparked this carnage.

A horn blared, sharp and urgent, and the helots faltered, some retreating into the dark. Felix drove his sword through a straggler's chest, then turned, panting, his eyes sweeping the herd. "Count off!" he barked. "Who's left?"

Names rang out—Thales, Kratos, others—fewer than before. Lysander's voice joined them, low and steady, "Lysander," praying it held under Felix's scrutiny. Damon followed, "Damon," his tone clipped, his gaze flicking to her, heavy with unspoken words.

Gaius emerged from the smoke, whip in hand, his tunic blood-streaked but his grin intact. "Lost a few, did we?" he drawled, stepping over a helot's corpse. "Weak bleed out fast." His eyes locked on Lysander, glinting with malice. "Some survive too long."

She tensed, the binding scrap he'd found flashing in her mind. He sent Linus. He's behind this. Her grip tightened on the dagger, but Felix cut in. "Shut it, Gaius. Secure the perimeter. We march at dawn—cliffs or bust."

Gaius smirked, coiling his whip, and stalked off, barking at Thales to follow. Lysander exhaled, shaky, but Damon grabbed her arm, pulling her aside as the herd dispersed to salvage what remained. His touch burned, his face a storm of confusion and fury.

"Talk," he demanded, voice low, trembling. "Now. Linus saw something—those bindings—what are you hiding?"

Her chest seized, the lie crumbling under his stare. Smoke stung her eyes, the camp's chaos a distant roar. "It's nothing," she rasped, yanking free. "A scar—I cover it. You're seeing ghosts."

"Ghosts?" He stepped closer, towering over her, his bloodied hand hovering near her cloak. "I saw them. Felt them—back in the ravine. They're not bandages, Lys. They're—" He stopped, jaw clenching, as if the word girl hovered on his tongue but couldn't break free. "Tell me the truth. Please."

Her breath hitched, tears pricking despite her fight to hold them. He's begging. The boy who'd shared bread, fought for her, bled for her—he deserved it. But the truth was a death sentence—hers, maybe his. "I can't," she whispered, voice breaking, too soft, too raw. "Not here."

His face crumpled, hurt cutting deeper than any blade. "After everything—after I killed for you—you won't trust me?" He turned away, shoulders rigid, then spun back, voice a growl. "I won't let Gaius have you. But I can't protect you if you keep me blind."

"Damon—" She reached for him, but a shout cut her off—Felix, waving them over. The moment shattered, and he stalked ahead, leaving her reeling. He's slipping away. The thought was a knife, twisting deeper than the helot's spear.

They joined Felix near the cart's smoldering remains, the herd a battered knot of survivors. "Cliffs at dawn," he said, voice grim. "Helots hit us hard—means they're bold. We'll root them out or die trying." His eyes flicked to Lysander, lingering. "You're still standing. Good. Don't falter now."

She nodded, mute, Gaius's threat echoing—You'll break, or I'll break you. The cliffs loomed in her mind, a gauntlet of rock and wind, a test she couldn't outrun. Damon stood silent beside her, his distance a chasm wider than the ravine.

*************

Dawn broke gray and cold, the camp a ruin of ash and blood. The herd marched, a ragged line snaking through the valley, their bare feet pounding the earth. Lysander's leg throbbed, her back a furnace of pain, but she kept pace, Damon a shadow at her side. His silence was a wound, his stolen glances a question she couldn't answer. Gaius led the front with Felix, his whip slapping his thigh, Thales trailing like a loyal hound.

The cliffs rose ahead, sheer and unforgiving, their peaks lost in mist. Felix halted them at the base, a narrow path winding up—a death trap of loose stone and drop-offs. "Up and over," he barked. "No food, no rest till we hit the top. Fall, and you're gone."

Lysander's stomach growled, hunger a clawing beast, but she gritted her teeth, starting the climb. Rocks slid underfoot, her bloody hands slipping on jagged holds. Damon climbed beside her, his strength a quiet rebuke to her faltering grip. Halfway up, a pebble bounced past—then a rumble shook the cliff. She froze, looking up as a boulder crashed down, aimed straight for her.

"Move!" Damon shouted, shoving her aside. The rock grazed his arm, tearing skin, and he grunted, clinging to the ledge. She grabbed his wrist, pulling him steady, their breaths mingling in the mist.

"Thanks," he muttered, eyes meeting hers—soft for a heartbeat, then hard again. "You're still hiding."

She looked away, guilt choking her, and they climbed on, the herd thinning as boys slipped, some screaming into the abyss. Gaius watched from above, his grin a beacon of malice. He did that. The boulder wasn't chance—it was him, pushing her to the edge.

At the summit, they collapsed, a battered handful under a leaden sky. Felix counted—ten left, including her and Damon. "Passable," he grunted, but Gaius stepped forward, whip unfurling.

"Not quite," he said, voice dripping with glee. "One more test." He pointed at Lysander. "You. Fight me. Now."

Her heart sank, exhaustion warring with dread. "Why?" she rasped, standing, dagger still in hand.

"Because I say so," he sneered, cracking the whip. "Prove you're worth this air—or bleed out here."

Damon surged forward, sword raised. "She's—he's half-dead, you bastard—"

"Stand down!" Felix snapped, shoving him back. "His fight."

Lysander nodded, shaky but resolute. No choice. She faced Gaius, dagger trembling, his whip a coiled threat. He lashed out, fast and brutal, the leather slicing her forearm. She hissed, lunging, but he sidestepped, cracking the whip again—her shoulder this time, blood welling. The herd watched, silent, Damon's fists clenched white.

She ducked the next strike, closing in, and slashed at his leg. The dagger nicked him, a thin red line, and he roared, whipping her across the chest. The blow tore her cloak, the bindings beneath fraying, and she stumbled, clutching the fabric. Not now. Gaius paused, eyes glinting—he'd seen it, the shape beneath.

"Soft," he taunted, circling. "Too soft." He lashed again, aiming for her chest, but she rolled, the whip grazing her back. She sprang up, desperation fueling her, and drove the dagger into his thigh. He bellowed, dropping to a knee, and she kicked the whip from his hand, panting over him.

"Enough?" she growled, voice low, praying it held.

Felix stepped in, nodding. "Enough. You're done, Gaius."

Gaius glared, blood pooling, but his grin didn't fade. "For now," he spat, staggering up with Thales's help. "I'll have you yet."

She turned away, trembling, the herd's eyes on her torn cloak. Damon approached, slow, his face a storm. "Lys," he said, voice breaking. "That wasn't a bandage. I saw—"

A horn blared, cutting him off—distant, urgent. Felix spun, squinting into the mist. "More helots," he growled. "Coming fast."

The herd scrambled, but Gaius's laugh echoed, chilling her. "Run, runt," he called, limping away. "You can't hide forever."

Damon grabbed her, pulling her toward the line, but his eyes burned with questions. The helots closed in, shadows in the fog, and as steel clashed, her secret hung exposed—seen, not spoken, a truth that could end her before the enemy did.