CHAPTER 351: BREAKING OUT

The evening meal was winding down when it happened.

A messenger burst through the entrance, nearly eating dirt as he tripped over his own feet in his rush to reach Gorath. Blood dripped from a cut on his forehead, making him look like he’d been through a blender.

"Warchief! The eastern patrol—they’re under attack!"

Every warrior in the hall went dead silent. Melisa could’ve heard a pin drop.

"Speak clearly," Gorath commanded, his voice cutting through the sudden quiet.

"Ambush! Syux mages everywhere! Fire and lightning raining from the sky!" The messenger gasped for breath like he’d been running for miles. "Captain Drex is dead. They need reinforcements now!"

The hall exploded into chaos. Warriors grabbed weapons from racks along the walls, metal clanging against metal. Orders flew back and forth like angry birds.

[Holy shit. It’s actually happening. Either that or people are putting on one hell of a light show.]

"Blood Sister!" Gorath’s voice cut through the mayhem. "Take your squad. Hit them from the north flank."

Sirah was already strapping on her armor with the efficiency of someone who’d done this a thousand times. She turned to Melisa, her face all business.

"Stay in the tent."

"I will."

"If anyone tries to enter, scream. Someone will hear."

[Fuck that noise.]

But, outwardly, Melisa nodded.

"Be careful," Melisa said, trying to sound like a worried girlfriend instead of someone planning to bolt the second Sirah left.

Sirah laughed, the sound sharp and confident.

"Ha! I’m never careful."

Then she was gone, swept away in the tide of warriors racing to defend their territory. The hall emptied in less than two minutes, leaving behind only the old, the injured, and the concubines who looked confused as hell.

Melisa forced herself to walk calmly back to Sirah’s tent. No running. No suspicious behavior. Just a concerned woman going to wait for her warrior’s return.

[Act natural. You’re just a good little concubine, worried about your big scary girlfriend.]

Inside the tent, she paced like a caged animal. How long should she wait? Too soon and she’d run into stragglers. Too late and Sirah might come back to check on her.

"Let’s go."

Melisa spun around so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. Raven stood in the tent entrance like she’d materialized from the fucking shadows.

"Fuck! You scared me!"

"We don’t have much time."

"How did you even get here so fast? Did you teleport?"

"I’m good at what I do." Raven handed her a dark cloak that smelled like pine. "Put this on. Cover your hair."

Melisa threw the cloak over her shoulders. Her hands shook slightly, adrenaline finally kicking in.

"The guards?"

"Handled."

The casual way she said it made Melisa decide she really didn’t want to ask for details. Knowing Raven, "handled" probably involved some very permanent solutions.

They slipped out into the growing darkness. The camp felt wrong without its usual noise—too quiet, too empty. Like a body missing its heartbeat.

[This is it. This is actually happening. We’re going to get out of here.]

"This way," Raven whispered.

They kept to the shadows between tents, moving fast but careful. Every sound made Melisa’s heart jump into her throat. A cough from a nearby tent. The crackle of a dying fire. The distant cry of a night bird that sounded way too much like a scream for comfort.

[Almost there. Almost free. Just don’t fuck this up now.]

They’d made it halfway to the tree line when Raven froze like a statue.

"What—"

"Shh."

Footsteps. Coming closer. Casual, unhurried footsteps that meant whoever was walking hadn’t noticed anything suspicious yet.

They pressed themselves against a tent wall. Melisa held her breath until her lungs burned.

Two guards walked past, talking in low voices that carried in the still air.

"—seems weird, doesn’t it? Attack right when most of the warriors are here?"

"You’re overthinking. Syux dogs got lucky timing, that’s all."

They moved on, their voices fading into the distance. Melisa exhaled slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"Go," Raven hissed.

They ran.

---

{Sirah}

Miles away, Sirah led her squad through the forest at a dead sprint. The sounds of battle grew louder with every step—explosions, screams, the crackle of magical fire that lit up the sky like a second sun.

But something nagged at her. Something that felt wrong in her gut.

She slowed slightly, letting her warriors push ahead.

The timing. The location. Everything about this attack felt...

Off.

"Blood Sister?" One of her warriors glanced back, confused. "Problem?"

Sirah stared at the orange glow lighting up the sky ahead. She thought about Melisa’s nervousness at dinner. Her questions about the nim. The way she’d been too calm when Sirah left.

Too calm for someone whose life might be in danger.

[No. I’m being paranoid. She’s safe in the tent.]

But the feeling wouldn’t leave. It sat in her stomach like a rock.

"Keep going," she ordered. "I need to check something."

"But Warchief said—"

"I know what he said!" Sirah snapped, louder than she meant to. "Follow your orders. I’ll catch up."

Her warriors exchanged confused looks but obeyed. They disappeared into the trees, racing toward the battle and the promise of blood.

Sirah stood alone in the darkness, listening to the distant sounds of war.

[This is stupid. She’s in the tent. Safe. Waiting for me like a good girl.]

Another explosion in the distance lit up the sky, making the trees look like skeletal fingers. Her warriors needed her. The battle called to her blood like a siren song.

But that nagging feeling in her gut...

"Fuck."

Sirah turned around and ran back toward the camp, her armor clanking with each stride.

[If I’m wrong, I’ll look like an idiot. But if I’m right...]

She pushed harder, legs pumping, lungs burning. The forest blurred past in shades of black and gray. The camp appeared through the trees, too quiet, too dark.

Way too fucking quiet.

Something was definitely wrong.

[Nim mage... you better be in that damned tent.]

She hurried her step, trying to move as quickly as she could.