The rebel camp in the mountains buzzed with cautious optimism in the days following their victory. Despite the weight of recent losses, the destruction of Mordain’s vanguard and supply lines gave the fighters a spark of hope they hadn’t felt in years. Fires burned low as people shared quiet conversations, sharpening blades, and tending to the wounded.

  But for Alric, there was no rest.

  The dagger sat heavy in its sheath at his side, a constant reminder of the power he wielded—and the cost of using it. The whispers of Maltheron and the other Echoes lingered in his mind, no longer just an occasional intrusion but an ever-present hum at the edges of his consciousness.

  He stood on a rocky outcrop overlooking the camp, his gaze fixed on the valley below. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the jagged peaks in hues of gold and crimson. Behind him, Kaelion appeared in spectral form, his arms crossed and his golden eyes unreadable.

  “You’ve been brooding for hours,” Kaelion said. “Even a prince needs sleep, boy.”

  Alric didn’t turn to face him. “I can’t sleep. Not after what happened.”

  Kaelion raised an eyebrow. “If you’re talking about the battle, you should be proud. You routed a force twice your size, crippled Mordain’s advance, and gave the rebellion a chance to breathe. That’s no small thing.”

  “It’s not the battle,” Alric said, his voice tight. “It’s the voices. Maltheron, the others—they’re always there now. Whispering, pulling at me. I can feel them, Kaelion. Like they’re… waiting for me to slip.”

  Kaelion’s expression darkened, his stance shifting. “You’re not wrong. The more you use our power, the stronger the connection becomes. And the more they’ll test you.”

  “Why?” Alric demanded, spinning to face him. “What do they want from me?”

  Kaelion hesitated, his golden eyes narrowing. “Each Echo has their own agenda, their own purpose. Maltheron thrives on manipulation—he’ll twist your thoughts until you don’t know what’s yours and what’s his. Others will test your strength, your resolve. They’re bound to you, Alric, but they’re not your allies. Not all of them.”

  Alric’s hands clenched into fists. “Then how do I stop them? How do I keep them from taking over?”

  Kaelion’s voice softened, though his tone remained firm. “You fight. Every day, every moment. You hold onto who you are, no matter what they throw at you. And you listen to me, boy. I’ll guide you, but only if you trust me.”

  Alric stared at him, the weight of Kaelion’s words settling heavily on his shoulders. “You said the bloodline chose me,” he said. “Why? What makes me different from all the others?”

  Kaelion’s expression softened, a flicker of something like pride crossing his face. “Because you’re stronger than you think. And because, whether you believe it or not, you have the heart of a leader. The Echoes may push you, but they can’t break you—unless you let them.”

  The next morning, Iridia called a meeting of the rebel leaders. They gathered in a makeshift war room—a cave hollowed out from the mountainside, its rough walls lit by flickering torchlight. A crude map of the region lay spread across the central table, marked with charcoal lines indicating the positions of Mordain’s forces and the rebels’ strongholds.

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  Iridia stood at the head of the table, her sharp blue eyes scanning the group. Alric sat to her right, his arms crossed as he listened. The other leaders—grizzled fighters, former soldiers, and a handful of village elders—watched him with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion.

  “The victory at the pass bought us time,” Iridia began, her voice steady. “But it won’t last. Mordain’s forces are regrouping, and it won’t be long before they strike again. We need to decide our next move—and fast.”

  A burly man named Jorik, one of the senior fighters, leaned forward, his thick arms resting on the table. “We’ve got momentum now,” he said. “We should press the advantage. Hit another of their supply lines, keep them off balance.”

  A younger man, barely more than a boy, shook his head. “We’re spread too thin as it is. If we overextend, we’ll lose everything we’ve gained.”

  The room erupted into argument, voices clashing as the leaders debated the best course of action.

  Alric watched in silence, his mind turning over the possibilities. Kaelion’s voice echoed in his thoughts, sharp and commanding.

  “This is your moment, boy. Speak up. Show them who you are.”

  Alric took a deep breath, then raised his hand. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him.

  “We need more than just a strategy,” he said. “We need unity.”

  Jorik snorted. “Unity? That’s easy to say when you’re sitting on a throne—oh, wait. You’re not.”

  The comment drew a few chuckles, but Alric ignored them. He met Jorik’s gaze, his voice calm but firm. “You’re right. I’m not sitting on a throne. But I’ve fought beside you, and I’ve bled for this cause. I’m not asking for loyalty because of my name. I’m asking for it because I believe we can win—if we work together.”

  Iridia raised an eyebrow, a flicker of approval crossing her face. “What’s your proposal, then?”

  Alric stepped forward, pointing to the map. “Mordain’s forces are strong, but they’re not invincible. They rely on supply lines, strongholds, and fear to maintain control. We’ve already shown we can disrupt that. If we hit their smaller outposts, rally the villages to our side, and build our strength in the mountains, we can turn this rebellion into a true army.”

  A murmur ran through the room as the leaders considered his words.

  Jorik frowned. “Rally the villages? That’s easier said than done. Most of them are too scared of Mordain to risk defying him.”

  “Then we give them a reason to fight,” Alric said. “We show them that Mordain’s not invincible. That we’re not just a ragtag band of rebels—we’re a force to be reckoned with.”

  Iridia nodded slowly, her sharp gaze sweeping the room. “It’s a gamble. But if it works, it could turn the tide.”

  She looked at Alric. “You’re the one who started this fire, prince. Are you ready to see it through?”

  Alric met her gaze, his jaw set. “I am.”

  As the meeting dispersed, Alric lingered in the cave, staring at the map. His mind was a whirlwind of plans and possibilities, but beneath it all was a nagging sense of unease.

  Kaelion appeared beside him, his golden eyes serious. “You spoke well today,” he said. “But words alone won’t win this war.”

  “I know,” Alric said quietly.

  Kaelion studied him for a moment before speaking again. “The Echoes are stirring. You felt it during the battle, didn’t you? Their pull. Their whispers.”

  Alric nodded. “Maltheron was stronger this time. He almost… broke through.”

  Kaelion’s expression darkened. “He’s testing you. They all are. And the more you rely on their power, the harder it will be to hold them back.”

  Alric’s gaze hardened. “Then I won’t let them in. I’ll use their power when I have to, but I won’t lose myself to them.”

  Kaelion’s mouth twisted into a grim smile. “You say that now. But there will come a time when the line between you and us isn’t so clear. Be ready for that moment, boy. Because it will define who you become.”

  Alric clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. “I’ll fight them. I’ll fight all of them if I have to. But I won’t let them take me.”

  Kaelion nodded, his golden eyes burning. “Good. Because the war inside you may be just as important as the one out there.”

  As Kaelion faded, leaving Alric alone in the flickering torchlight, the weight of his journey pressed down on him.

  The rebellion had begun, but the road ahead was long and bloody. And somewhere in the shadows of his mind, the Echoes waited.