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The night had unfolded perfectly at first, the attack swift and efficient as Gale and his team moved like shadows through the enemy camp. Their strategy was flawless—surprise, precision, speed. The enemy was caught off guard, their defenses crumbling with each silent strike. But just as Gale was beginning to feel the weight of success settle in, the tide began to turn. A shout broke through the night, sharp and urgent, followed by another. More soldiers, more torches, flooding the camp. They had been prepared, just not for this attack. But they’d adapted quickly, rallying in a way Gale hadn’t anticipated. It didn’t take long for the enemy to realize that their attackers weren’t an isolated strike—they were a full force, more organized than they’d thought. Gale’s heart began to race. He turned to give orders to his team, but the sudden surge of enemies, now pouring out of the trees and from hidden vantage points, threw them into disarray. Arrows rained down from the shadows, and his own group of attackers was scattered, forced to retreat into the thick woods surrounding the camp. “Stay together!” Gale shouted, trying to stay calm as the sounds of the battle escalated around him. The black cloak he wore whipped behind him as he dashed through the trees, his bow still slung over his back but his arrows useless as the chaos unfolded. A shout came from one of his teammates, followed by a harsh cry. Gale whipped around, his instincts kicking in, but before he could reach them, another wave of soldiers emerged from the forest, cutting off his path. The fight was no longer silent, no longer efficient. It was a desperate scramble—strikes made in panic, hurried movements that lacked precision. He could see his team faltering, one by one, taken down by the superior numbers and the sudden overwhelming force the enemy had thrown at them. Gale’s breath came heavy as he tried to regroup, trying to find a way out. But the ground was thick with enemies now, the air heavy with the sounds of metal clashing and men shouting. It was clear: they were losing. This wasn’t just a failed mission—it was a complete rout. His eyes flicked across the field. His team was scattered. The mission had gone from an elegant strike to a desperate attempt at survival. A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him back into the line of fire. Gale swung his head around to find one of the enemy soldiers closing in on him, a dark grin on his face. Gale’s hand immediately went to his dagger, but it was too late. A sharp blow to his side sent him reeling, his breath catching in his throat. He stumbled backward, trying to regain his balance, but the pain in his side spread like wildfire. He could feel the blood starting to soak into his cloak, warm and sticky. His bow was still slung over his back, useless now. His body, though trained for combat, was growing sluggish with the weight of the fight slipping from his grasp. He staggered, feeling his knees weaken, and before he knew it, he was surrounded. The overwhelming number of enemies closed in, blocking every exit, every escape. His heart pounded in his chest, the reality of failure crashing down like a wave. His vision blurred, the edges of his sight darkening as he tried to stand tall, to fight, but he was too drained, too outnumbered. And then, with his breath ragged, his resolve breaking beneath the weight of the battle, Gale’s shoulders slumped in defeat. The words left his mouth, barely above a whisper but loud enough to pierce through the chaos around him. "I... I surrender." |
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Kayla slept, slowly drifting into a nightmare |
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The weight of Gale's surrender hung in the air, but beneath it, the old scars and the memories of months spent in the king's torture chambers stirred in the back of his mind. His body was a map of past agony—bruises, cuts, burns, and marks that told the tale of the suffering he had endured at the hands of a sadistic king. The constant threat of pain, the unrelenting cruelty, had shaped him into the fighter he was. But even so, there were moments when the pain lingered, not as an open wound, but as something deeper, more insidious, that never truly healed. As the enemy soldiers bound him tighter, Gale couldn’t help but feel the old, familiar weight of ropes around his wrists, the memory of being shackled to stone walls for days on end, the bitter taste of blood and sweat filling his mouth as the king’s men had broken him down, again and again. His heart raced for a different reason now. It wasn’t just the fear of what was to come—it was the flashbacks that made every second feel suffocating, like he was back in the dungeons of the king's fortress, bound and exposed. He could feel the pressure of the cold stone against his skin again, the harsh voice of the torturer as he had been made to endure endless hours of pain, each moment designed to strip away his will. The king, ever cruel, had wanted to see him broken, to see him suffer. But Gale hadn’t given him that satisfaction. No matter how much they had tried, no matter how deep the scars had run, Gale had clung to the one thing that kept him from completely slipping away—the promise that he would escape. And escape he had, fleeing into the night like a shadow, with nothing but the memory of pain to drive him forward. As the enemy soldiers pulled him through the camp, dragging him toward the heart of their stronghold, Gale couldn’t help but notice the familiar tightness in his chest. That old panic—the one that came with the memory of chains, of being at someone’s mercy, trapped in a place where hope was nothing more than a fleeting thought. His muscles tensed, his breath shallow, but he pushed it all down. He had survived worse. And though this situation was grim, it was nothing compared to what he’d endured in the dungeons of the king. "Get moving," one of the soldiers barked, shoving Gale forward. The rough treatment snapped him back into the present, and he resisted the instinct to lash out, knowing that fighting back now would only make things worse. The captain, the one who had led the enemy soldiers, watched with detached amusement as Gale stumbled. The captain had no idea who Gale really was, what he had endured—he only saw him as another captured enemy, a prisoner to be paraded before the rest of the army. But Gale had more than just the physical scars to contend with. It was the lingering fear that gnawed at him—the fear that he would be back in a cage again, subjected to the same tortures. The fear that somehow, in this moment, he was back in the hell he’d escaped from. And for a split second, that old terror crawled up his spine. But Gale wasn’t the man he had been months ago. His time in captivity had been brutal, but it had forged him into something harder, something stronger. The king had wanted to break him, to make him forget who he was, but Gale had never been good at giving up. When the captain glanced back at him, a cocky smirk playing on his lips, Gale lifted his head. The captain’s gaze met his, but there was something different in Gale’s eyes now—something sharp, something that wasn’t there before. He was no longer the broken man who had stumbled away from the king’s torture. He had been forged in fire, and now he was the one holding the heat. "I’ve survived worse than this," Gale muttered, his voice rough but steady, a trace of defiance slipping through. He wasn’t sure if the captain heard him, but it didn’t matter. Gale wasn’t talking to the captain. He was talking to the memories, to the fear that clung to him like a shadow. The soldiers moved him forward, pushing him roughly toward the center of the camp. But every step he took, every moment he spent under their watch, brought him closer to the realization that he was still free. He wasn’t broken. Not yet. And no matter how many times they tried to chain him, they couldn’t undo what he had become. Gale had escaped the king’s torture once before. And though his body ached, though his mind flickered with old fears, he knew one thing for certain—he would escape again. The memory of the king’s chambers, the sound of chains rattling against stone, could not keep him down forever. He wasn’t a prisoner anymore. He was a survivor. “I’m still here,” Gale whispered to himself, the words almost a promise, a reminder. “And I’ll get out of this. I always do.” And though the camp was swarming with enemies, though the weight of his capture pressed down on him, that quiet resolve kept the fire inside him alive, burning. It was only a matter of time before the moment came to strike back. And when it did, the captors who thought they had won would realize, too late, that Gale was not a man to be kept in chains for long. |
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Kayla woke early the next morning, expecting Gale to be there. She frowned slightly when she didn't see him. She grabbed a couple daggers and placed them on her hip like they usually were before going out of the tent and walking around the town. She walked, feeling more and more stranded with every step, as she looked nonchalantly for him. She grew more and more worried as she walked back to the camp. She could go looking for him, but maybe he would come back soon. She sighed and went back into the tent, sitting on the cot and waiting for him. |
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Gale broke free from the chaos, running through the fortress halls, his hands still bound. The noise of guards shouting was distant, but the fight left him with no time to hesitate. In the scramble, a blow landed, something sharp striking him, and he was suddenly covered in red. He didn’t stop, pushing forward, letting the adrenaline carry him. Finally, he reached the woods and kept running until the camp appeared in the distance. Alone, he slowed, breathing heavily, the weight of his escape heavy in the air. His clothes were soaked, and the night was eerily quiet as he stood there, just a few steps away from the chaos he’d left behind. His face and body stained red,his legs gave out,him collapsing with a quiet thud as the moon rose. The morning dawned,the rest of his team gone. |
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Kayla stood to go looking for him again, the dagger on her hip once more, and she began searching the woods. She saw a bloody figure and approached warily. Once she recognized him, she ran to him. "Shit, Gale." She said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder |
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He began stirring at her voice,looking up and scrambling back when he saw her,their was a look in his eye,both fear and defiance.The only reason for his reaction was the flashbacks. |
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Kayla quickly pulled her hand away. "Gale, it's me. Calm down." She said quietly, softly |
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He slowly stood,eyes not leaving Kayla.Gale swalloed,looking around and realizing there were only his footprints. "Their dead,all of them.All 15 of them are dead." He says quietly,eyes flickering down the path. |
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Morning Showers then Cooling
