Chapter 11: Chains and Choices

The rebel woman's wrists were bound with coarse rope, her hands trembling from exhaustion. Dikun Silver marched her through the dimly lit camp, his grip firm yet absent of malice. Behind him, Joran and Eron flanked closely, their eyes scanning for any sign of further treachery.

The campfires cast long shadows across the tents. Soldiers murmured, their gazes lingering on the prisoner. Whispers spread quickly — a captured rebel, pulled from the flames of sabotage. Some wore grim satisfaction, others uncertainty.

"Think she'll talk?" Joran muttered.

Dikun's expression remained unreadable. "She doesn't need to talk. The fire already spoke for her."

Yet even as the words left his lips, doubt gnawed at him. The rebels had grown desperate, but the woman's defiance lingered in his thoughts. There was more to this act of sabotage than mere destruction.

---

Before the Captain

The heavy canvas of Captain Rhylen's command tent loomed ahead. Two guards pulled the flaps aside as Dikun entered, the rebel at his side. Rhylen stood over his war table, his face like chiseled stone beneath the flickering lantern light.

"Corporal Silver," the captain's voice was low and commanding. "Report."

"We caught her fleeing the scene," Dikun said, pushing the rebel forward. "She was responsible for the fire at the supply yard."

Rhylen's cold gaze settled on the woman. "A coward's act. One that endangered not only our supplies but the lives of our men."

The rebel met his stare without flinching. "Your soldiers burn villages and call it justice. We burn supplies and call it survival."

"Survival?" Rhylen's voice sharpened. "You lash out like starving dogs, biting the hand that might offer mercy."

"There is no mercy in the king's rule," the woman spat. "Only chains."

Dikun's jaw clenched. He had heard such words before, whispered in the shadows of villages like Orlen. But to speak them so boldly before a captain of the king's army? It was a death sentence.

"Give me a name," Rhylen demanded. "Who leads you?"

The woman remained silent.

"Speak, and your fate may yet be merciful."

Still, she did not answer.

The captain's eyes darkened. "Take her to the holding pit. She will remain there until her tongue loosens."

The guards seized her, but as they dragged her from the tent, she locked eyes with Dikun. There was no plea for salvation — only a lingering question.

Whose side are you truly on?

---

Conflicted Loyalties

Later that night, Dikun stood at the edge of the camp. The distant glow of the now-smothered fire had faded, but its embers still burned in his mind. The rebel's words echoed within him, challenging the certainty of his duty.

"You're thinking too much again," Joran's voice broke the silence as he approached. "That rebel got what she deserved."

"Did she?" Dikun countered. "She spoke of survival. Of a rebellion not born from greed, but necessity."

Joran scoffed. "And you believe her?"

"I don't know what I believe," Dikun admitted. "But I know this war is not as simple as we're told."

Eron, who had quietly listened, stepped forward. "It never is."

Dikun nodded. "I need to see her again. Before Rhylen breaks her spirit."

Joran frowned. "And what do you think she'll tell you?"

"The truth," Dikun said firmly. "Or at least her version of it."

---

The Holding Pit

The pit was a crude prison — a hole dug into the earth, lined with jagged rocks. A wooden grate sealed the opening, barely allowing the moonlight to seep through. Guards stood watch, their faces grim.

"Corporal Silver," one of them greeted. "The captain gave no orders for further questioning."

"I'm not here for orders," Dikun replied. "I'm here for answers."

The guard hesitated before stepping aside. Dikun crouched near the grate, his eyes finding the rebel woman below. She sat with her back against the dirt wall, her face streaked with soot and sweat. Yet even in her captivity, her spirit remained unbroken.

"You return," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Curiosity, or guilt?"

"Neither," Dikun answered. "I want to understand why you fight."

The woman's laughter was bitter. "You wear the king's colors. You'll never understand."

"Then make me," Dikun challenged. "Help me see what drives you to this."

For a long moment, the rebel said nothing. Then, with a voice laced in pain and conviction, she spoke.

"We fight because our children starve while your lords grow fat. Because the king's tax collectors take our grain and leave us with nothing. We fight because we are forgotten."

"And your leader," Dikun pressed. "Who is he?"

A flicker of uncertainty passed through her eyes. "He is not like your captains. He knows the burden we bear. He fights not for a crown, but for the people."

"His name," Dikun demanded once more.

She hesitated. But before she could answer, the sharp sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the night.

"Silver!"

Captain Rhylen's voice was cold, and the guards stiffened. The captain's imposing form emerged from the shadows, his eyes narrowed.

"Seeking sympathy from the enemy?"

"I seek the truth," Dikun replied steadily.

Rhylen's glare hardened. "The truth is simple. She is a traitor, and the rebellion will burn. Do not let her lies poison your resolve."

But as the captain turned away, Dikun couldn't shake the gnawing doubt within him.

What if the real poison had been the truth all along?

To be continued in Chapter 12: Choices in the Dark