Page 7 of Wrath

I wanted to stab her.

Ryland placed his hand in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The shadows surrounding the limb were cool to the touch, but his palm felt warm. Comforting. Familiar.

I couldn’t blame these people for being frightened and cautious. For years, I was just like them. Nightmares were my enemies, and nothing anyone said would change that. They had killed my parents and my…

I swallowed heavily.

I didn’t want to think about S. Doing so would make everything that happened in Aaliyah’s castle all the more real.Even still, bile burned my throat, and an almost insidious fear tiptoed up my spine.

Instead of focusing on that, I took in my surroundings.

Tents and makeshift huts were scattered across the clearing, with large banners emblazoned with symbols of the resistance fluttering in the wind—an eagle clutching a broken sword. At least it wasn’t my face. I would kill everyone here if that were the case.

The air was thick with the smell of smoke from campfires and the sound of hammers striking metal. A blacksmith’s forge was set up at the edge of the camp, where weapons—swords, daggers, and spears—were crafted and repaired, the metal gleaming in the sun.

Nearby, a group of warriors were practicing in a makeshift ring, sparring with wooden staffs and training swords. A shooting range had been built beside that, but it was currently empty. I imagined guns were more difficult to procure than swords or knives.

The camp was a hive of activity, with people constantly moving: scouts returning from missions, messengers delivering important information, and rebels tending to their gear.

I noticed immediately that the camp seemed to be divided into sections, each dedicated to a specific task. A small area was devoted to housing, the “buildings” patched together with scrap metal, torn plastic, and scavenged fabric, creating a patchwork of decrepit hideouts.

Another section was set up for healing, where injured rebels received care from skilled mages and apothecaries, their tents lined with medicinal plants and potions.

There was a communal space where food was prepared—a mix of hard, rustic fare and wild game caught by the rebels themselves. There was no security guarding the food, which was piled high in an open tent. I realized it was becauseeveryone heretrustedone another with their lives. Implicitly and unconditionally.

Considering I only truly trusted seven people—maybe nine, if you included B and Mali—that was a foreign concept.

Natural defenses surrounded the camp—thick brambles and dense trees made it difficult for outsiders to approach without being noticed, and the lake provided a natural barrier on the other side. Watchful sentries kept a keen eye out for any signs of danger from guard towers made of woven branches and rope positioned at strategic points. I spotted a few traps in the woods—no doubt designed to alert guards to any surprise attacks.

Despite its rough appearance, there was an underlying sense of unity and purpose in the camp. The rebels, varied in age, race, background, and species, were united by a common cause—the overthrow of the tyrannical regime that had suppressed them for far too long. Every face in the camp told a story of hardship and defiance, and though the challenges ahead would be immense, there was a palpable sense of hope in the air. This was a place where the people fought for freedom, where every act of rebellion was a step toward a better world.

I just prayed they weren’t making a mistake putting their faith in me.

Me.

The same girl who once laughed so hard she started excessively farting.

The same girl who scratched her leg on a windowsill when she was ten years old and had just stolen bread from a bakery.

The same girl who murdered countless nightmares over the years because she’d wrongly assumed they were all inherently evil.

God, how was I supposed to lead these people?

B was waiting for us in front of the largest tent, standing side by side with a rather familiar woman. It took me a moment to place where I knew her from.

“Davia, correct?” I tentatively asked, studying her bronze skin and dark curls pulled away from her face in a tight ponytail.

She was the woman who had escorted us to the Forest of Monsters and Beasts. The tiny human woman was bedecked from head to toe in armor that gleamed in the sun. Actual, honest-to-god armor. I didn’t even know such a thing still existed.

“Liberator.” She bowed her head reverently.

“It’s good to see you, kid.” B clapped me on the shoulder, and warmth blossomed inside of me.

I’d missed him. Fiercely. I’d just seen him, but it felt like it had been years. Centuries, even.

I didn’t know if I would consider him a father figure. He looked after me, yes, but he wasn’t the one who’d brought me into the fold and trained me as a child. That distinction belonged to A, the older leader of the resistance who passed away years ago.

B reminded me of…an uncle, one who protected and looked after me but was firm when necessary. I would always hold a great deal of love and respect for him.

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