The forest swallowed them.
Thick pine.
Twisting roots.
Snow-stained moss.
No path.
Only instinct.
Aren rode at the front.
Lysa beside him.
Caelis behind.
Edric brought up the rear.
No one spoke much.
Silence kept hearts steady.
By nightfall, they reached a ruined watchtower.
Cold stones.
Cracked walls.
A single fire burned.
"This will do for now," Aren said.
Men dismounted.
Weapons laid on walls.
Horses hobbled.
Lysa inspected the perimeter.
"Two days before scouts find us," she said.
"Maybe three," Caelis added.
Aren stared at the horizon.
Greyhaven was gone.
Everything he had known.
Edric broke the silence.
"We have allies," he said. "Minor lords. Some merchants. Hidden ships."
"Few," Aren replied. "And all risky."
"But enough," Edric insisted. "If you want to strike back."
Aren nodded slowly.
Strike back.
Not for the crown.
Not yet.
For survival.
For revenge.
For a kingdom beyond kings and princes.
Night deepened.
The wind howled through broken windows.
Tom appeared from the shadows.
"You called me?" he asked softly.
Aren smiled faintly.
"Stay close. Watch. Learn."
Tom nodded.
Eyes wide.
Courage growing.
By dawn, the exiles prepared to move again.
Supplies packed.
Horses fed.
Plans set.
They rode into the wild.
Unknown.
Untamed.
Unforgiving.
And the first seeds of Aren's own power began to take root.