Page 18 of Unravelled
Tharion shifted slightly, his voice low but certain beside her. “Our tent should be ready. There’ll be a meal waiting.”
Mira didn’t answer right away. Her body ached, her heart even more so. But his words, quiet, practical, grounding, eased something in her. She nodded and let him guide her towards the exit.As Mira stepped out of the tent, she stopped short. Torvyn was waiting.
He stood just beyond the firelight, arms relaxed at his sides, posture calm but purposeful. His expression was soft, but there was something resolute in it. He didn’t speak. Just looked at her. And in that look, she felt the concern and the pride from days ago.
She stepped toward him. As soon as she was close, Torvyn pulled her into a firm embrace. She didn’t resist. She let herself lean into him, surrendering the tired weight of her grief and all the strength she’d spent holding it together. Tharionstood nearby, his arms folded. But after a moment, he shifted his stance and quietly turned away, giving them the space they needed.
"This is what we’re fighting for, Mira," his voice in her ear. "This is why the rebellion matters." Torvyn released her. "There are so many more towns like this," he continued, his tone heavy. "Places that are barely holding on." He sighed. "The raids hit them harder every day. Food is running out, trade is a distant memory, and they don’t have enough hands to rebuild. We’re not just fighting for survival. We’re fighting for the chance to rebuild, to give towns like this a future."
Mira took a deep breath, her fingers brushing away the remnants of her tears. She nodded, a flicker of fire reigniting in her eyes.
"You’re right," she said quietly but firmly. Torvyn offered her a faint smile. She stepped back, her gaze sweeping over the tent where Samir rested, then to the ruins of the town square, where survivors clung to what little they had left. She turned back to Torvyn, her voice low. "Where do we start?"
He looked at her, a glint of pride in his eyes, “Meet me tonight,” he whispered. “Behind the granary, once the others have turned in.”
???
Mira followed Torvyn through the skeletal remains of the town, her breath coming fast as they weaved through the wreckage. His grip on her hand was firm, guiding her over fallen beams and shattered stone as they put as much distance between themselves and the granary as possible.
Shadows stretched long in the fading light, casting jagged shapes against broken walls where windows once framed laughter and life. Now, those homes stood silent, their stories buried beneath soot and ash. They ducked beneath a collapsed archway, moving low as charred beams jutted from the ground like blackened ribs. The scent of smoke clung to the air, thick and acrid, but the fires had mostly burned out, leaving only ruin in their wake.
Once Torvyn was sure they weren’t followed, he led her to a small cottage on the outskirts of town. It had fared better than most. Its walls still stood, though the roof had been burned away, exposing the empty sky above. Smoke curled lazily from a smoldering hearth fire within.
They entered quietly. Inside, the dim light cast flickering shadows along the stone walls. A handful of townsfolk huddled close around the hearth, their faces hollow with exhaustion and fear. Mira’s chest tightened. These people, these survivors, were all that remained of a place that should have been thriving. Someone stepped forward. Mira froze.
"Brahn?" The name barely escaped her lips, a whisper of disbelief. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
Brahn was the principal chef at the palace. He had spent years crafting elaborate dishes, serving meals fit for royalty and nobles alike. His hands shaping feasts that were praised and envied. Overseeing preparations and barking orders to apprentices. He was always in the kitchens, ensuring every meal met the court’s impossible standards. He never left the palace.
And yet… he stood near the fire, his dark eyes sweeping over the group before speaking.
“This isn’t the end of our story. Not if we refuse to let it be.” His voice grew stronger, each word deliberate. “We’re not just fighting to endure this. We’re fighting to rebuild what was taken. To forge something stronger than what they’ve tried to destroy. We fight for the future.”
Mira watched from the doorway. This wasn’t the Brahn she thought she knew, the one with boyish charm and the easy going demeanor that she saw with her brother. This Brahn was calculating, persuasive and every bit a leader.
“Look around you. This is one town, one among so many, but the story isn’t unique. You’ve heard. The raids grow fiercer every week and it feels like we’re losing more than we can bear, yet the Crowned Betrothed does nothing,” a low murmur stirred among the gathered.
It began as breath, but grew. Anger. Agreement. Determination. He let it swell before he spoke again. “Even what we brought today…” His voice dropped just slightly, but the words struck harder for it. “It was siphoned from other allocations. Redirected. Quietly. By people I trust.” That drew stares and murmurs of disbelief. Tension thickened in the air like a coming storm.
“There’s no royal approval for this,” he said. A flicker of silence followed and for a heartbeat, Mira felt panic spike in her chest. A sharp, breathless jolt. “No decree. No signatures.” Brahn's voice deepened, quiet yet firm, each word laced with conviction. “We are not victims who will simply lie down and be forgotten. We are more than survivors clinging to what’s left. We are the hands of freedom. The ones who will rise from the ruin and forge something new, something stronger, something ours.”
He glanced toward the children huddled near the fire, his tone softening “We fight for them. For the chance to give them a life free from fear. For a tomorrow where they can dream of something greater than just survival.” The fear that had gripped the room began to fade, replaced by something quieter, but far stronger. Hope. Brahn straightened, his presence filling the small space as he finished. “This is not our end. This is where we begin again.”
A ripple moved through the crowd, not of noise, but of energy. Heads lifted. Shoulders straightened. The quiet murmur of agreement rolled forward Faces that had been slack with despair hardened. A man near the back straightened, his weathered hands clenched into fists. “For Freedom!” he called out, his voice cracking with emotion. The quiet murmur of agreement rolled forward like a tide reclaiming the shore. Hope. Not loud, but rooted, grounded. Real.
One by one, the villagers unfroze, not in haste, but with purpose. Someone returned to tend the fire. Another picked up a hammer, slinging it over their shoulder. A woman wrapped her child in a blanket and pressed a kiss to his forehead, her eyes no longer distant. They dispersed in pairs and trios, back into the square, back into the broken homes and makeshift shelters.
Brahn’s gaze swept over the dispersing crowd, steady and piercing, until it locked with them. Torvyn had barely smiled before Brahn stalked over, pulling him into a fierce kiss. For a fleeting moment, the weight of the destruction surrounding them lifted, replaced by the overwhelming shock of familiarity and relief. They pulled apart breathlessly, foreheads brushing, neither quite ready to let go. Torvyn's hand lingered at Brahn’s collar, and Brahn’s eyes searched his face.
Mira took a tentative step forward, her voice carrying quiet admiration. “That was a powerful speech,” she said, her gaze steady. “You’ve reignited their hope.”
Brahn's gaze shifted sharply to Mira. His expression darkened as he took her in. He turned back to Torvyn, his voice laced with disbelief. “You brought her here?”
“She’s ready,” Torvyn said quickly, stepping between them. “She can help us.”
“Help us?” Brahn’s laugh was bitter, almost hollow. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake here, Torvyn? What could she cost us if you’re wrong?”
Mira stiffened. “If you have something to say about me, say it to me,” he shot back, her voice sharp.
