The war table in the central command tent was broader now, lined with fresh maps and reinforced by thicker layers of silence. The mood was surgical—precise and cold—as General Odo and Commander Helda bent over the lines of Forun's twisting terrain.
"The Ember Line has taught us," Helda said, her tone devoid of the bitterness that still lingered in the air. "But now we teach back. No more pushing with brute force. We bleed them out—cut every supply, scorch every haven, dismantle them from within."
General Odo traced a gloved finger across the ranges near the southern cliffs. "Their strongholds are nestled deep. We strike fast and vanish faster. Mobilize three ghost units—strike teams trained for terrain disruption. No tanks. No columns. Just silent knives."
Helda nodded, sharp eyes on a highlighted cluster marked Kheran Ridge. "They're using the ridge for evac and scouting. If we sever it, we choke their vision. Force them to fight blind."
Odo folded his arms, face shadowed by the hanging lantern. "And I want their leader. Asa. Alive if possible. Dead if necessary. Either way, his people must see him fall."
They both understood what was at stake. Ember Line had been a stain, but stains could be washed out with fire—and the fire was coming. Greenland would not lose this war. Not under Odo's command.
Outside the tent, dusk coiled around the barracks like a tightening noose. Soldiers readied their gear with new resolve. The failure was a scar now, not a wound—sealed and burning.
But beneath the stir of activity and rising aggression, one man moved with the silence of intent. Gad.
---
Gad's quarters were tucked into the lower edge of the encampment, close enough to hear every drill shout, but far enough for silence to wrap around him like a second skin. His bunk was made, his gear lined up like any loyal Greenland soldier's. But beneath his pillow, hidden in the seam, was a scrap of fabric—dyed black, threaded with faint lines of ink barely visible.
He unfolded it slowly, the message half-written in a cipher only two men alive could decode: himself and his father, Asa.
Kheran Ridge – Watch South Movement – Odo shifts tactics – Shadow Units Formed.
His pen hovered. One wrong word, one traceable pattern, and it would all collapse. He glanced at the door, then at the surveillance corner. No blinking light tonight. Good.
Helda commands. Precision strikes. Morale rebuilding. My cover intact. Will disrupt when ordered. Await reply.
He drew the final glyph—an old Forun sigil that would burn into ash after two hours in air—and slipped the fabric into the hollow base of his mess tin. By morning, it would be passed to a scavenger posing as a cook's assistant, and from there, to the hills.
Gad sat back, staring at the flickering lantern above.
He had walked between fire and duty for so long he no longer felt the heat. But tonight, the burn reached deeper. The soldiers around him, some friends, others shadows… they were preparing for victory. And he was preparing to stop it.
Not for glory. Not for vengeance.
But for home.