Chapter - 26

Chapter: Flames Beneath the Skin

The shriek of the siren ripped through the camp like a blade through flesh—jarring, sudden, and loud enough to split the night in two. 

Garrik ran full tilt, boots pounding the hardened dirt, breath caught between gasps and curses. Around him, guards spilled out from tents, half-armed and wild-eyed, weapons clutched in sweaty hands.

He skidded to a stop at the gate and grabbed the nearest guard by the collar.

"You—speak. What the hell's going on? Why the alarm?"

The young man nearly dropped his spear. "S-Sir! There's fire! In the forest—just beyond the ridge, near Lieutenant Kadran's tent."

Garrik's blood ran cold. "A fire?"

"We think it's a diversion. The enemy might be nearby."

For a moment, Garrik just stared, his pulse thundering in his ears. Then he shoved the guard away. "Get back to your post. Keep your eyes sharp."

And he ran—faster now—his mind reeling with dread. He didn't even know why he cared. But something deep in his gut twisted.

Inside Kadran's tent, the air was thick—swollen with the weight of heat, sweat, and the anticipation of violence.

Moon lay motionless where she had been dropped. Her body, ghostly pale, was sprawled across the fur rug, hair tangled like silver vines across the floor. Her eyes were open, glassy, but vacant. Only the shallow rise of her chest betrayed the breath still inside her.

Kadran loomed above her—bare-chested, skin slicked with sweat. His hand hovered near her hip, breathing steady, savoring the illusion of control. He lowered himself and pressed his lips against hers—slow, possessive.

She didn't kiss him back.

Her mouth hung slack, unresponsive. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and vanished into her hair.

Kadran's brow twitched. He brushed a finger down her cheek, but she didn't flinch. She didn't move at all.

Moon had stopped resisting—not out of submission, but shock. The blow had already landed—Kadran's words still echoed in her mind: Your family's dead. Torn apart. I watched them scream.

It had broken something inside her. Shattered it, quietly, completely.

"She's finally broken," Kadran whispered, a twisted smile curling his lip.

The lamplight flickered across her bare skin. Her silence only stirred his hunger more. He reached again, fingers sliding slowly toward her hip—

BWAAAAAAAM.

The siren wailed again, louder now, cutting straight through the tent.

Kadran stopped cold.

His hand froze mid-motion. His jaw tightened. Then, with a snarl, he shoved Moon aside like discarded cloth. She fell limply to the floor.

"What in the abyss is it now?" he snapped, storming toward the tent flap. "Who dares ruin my night?"

He threw the canvas open.

Smoke curled in the air beyond. Guards raced through camp, shouting orders, dragging slaves from their sleeping mats. Buckets clanged. Chaos reigned.

And then—Garrik.

The sergeant ran hard, eyes wild, and halted just in front of the lieutenant.

Kadran's gaze locked onto him, and silence fell between them like a blade. He stepped forward until Garrik could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Well?" Kadran asked, dangerously quiet. "This had better be more important than what you just interrupted."

Garrik swallowed. "Sir. A fire has broken out—deep in the forest. It's close. Very close to your perimeter. We believe it may be intentional. Possibly a diversion."

Kadran said nothing for a long moment. The air between them felt like it might shatter.

Then he exhaled slowly. "Good."

Garrik blinked. "Sir?"

"Let's assume it's a threat," Kadran said. His tone turned sharp. "Mobilize. Every slave is to form a bucket line from the river. I want them moving water until their feet bleed."

"Yes, sir."

"Assign guards to oversee them. No slacking. If any try to run—slit their throats and bury them in the ash."

"Yes, sir."

"The rest of our men?" He turned, scanning the tree line. "Establish a perimeter. Lock the camp down. No one gets in or out unless I say."

"Understood, sir."

Without another word, Kadran turned back toward the tent, disappearing into the flickering lamplight within. Garrik stood for a heartbeat longer, jaw clenched, then turned to the guards rallying nearby.

"Move!"

He snapped to three soldiers without hesitation.

"Doe—wake the slaves. All of them. Drag them if they don't move."

"Tellis—form the water line. Prioritize the younger ones. Keep them running."

"Marn—gather the rest of the guard. Form a net. Anyone without armor doesn't breathe long."

They saluted and scattered.

Within minutes, the camp churned like a hive struck by fire. Buckets were hauled. Orders barked. Shackled bodies staggered into formation beneath torchlight. Panic twisted in the air like smoke.

Garrik turned his eyes once more toward the tent, where Moon still lay inside.

She hadn't moved.

He looked away.

There was no saving her now.

Not from this.

Not from him.

And certainly not from a world where fire was the only thing that ever got anyone's attention.

Kadran turned away from the line of commands he'd just barked and glanced over his shoulder at his tent—at the dim figure lying unmoving within the lantern-lit space.

His jaw clenched. That moment had been stolen from him. The fire, the siren, the disruption—it all reeked of enemy maneuvering. He wouldn't forget it.

He snapped his fingers at the nearest guard, a thick-armed man barely holding his spear steady.

"You," Kadran growled, voice low and coiled with threat. "Take the girl—Moon. Put her back in her cell."

The guard hesitated, blinking. Kadran took one step forward, and that was enough.

"Carefully," he added, tone like ice. "If I find a scratch more on her skin, or if she vanishes from her cell…"

He leaned in, his eyes burning into the soldier's skull.

"…your head will be rotting on a spike by dawn. Understood?"

The man straightened so fast his bones cracked. "Y-Yes, Lieutenant. Right away."

"Good. Lock her in. Post two men outside. She doesn't eat, drink, piss, or sleep without a guard knowing."

With that, Kadran turned, eyes cutting toward the ridge.

He wanted height. He wanted vision. He wanted control.

Without another word, he began ascending the slope beyond the camp, boots crunching through charred leaves and loose dirt. Smoke stung his eyes, but he welcomed it. The burn reminded him he was alive, that the world was still fightable.

As he climbed, his mind raced—not with fear, but calculation. Fire near his perimeter. Enemies bold enough to strike this close. Could be rebels. Could be worse.

He'd find out soon enough.

And when he did… someone would pay.

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📢 Author's Note 📢

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