Chapter: Ashes of the Blaze
The flames had finally died.
After hours of frantic effort, the forest fire was smothered—nothing left but the scent of charred wood and ash hanging heavy in the air. The camp, once echoing with sirens and panicked commands, had quieted. Slaves slumped where they stood, collapsing into exhausted sleep across the damp forest floor. Soldiers moved like shadows, patrolling the perimeter, their eyes still sharp despite weariness.
Sam, too, had fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber. His body throbbed from the brutal labor, his back still aching from the lashes. For now, he slept without dreams. Without fear.
But peace, in these woods, never lasted long.
(Poor Sam. Even in sleep, fate was sharpening its claws.)
Elsewhere in the camp, Garrik was still moving—sleepless, tense, and determined. He hadn't rested before the fire, hadn't stopped during it, and wasn't about to now.
