The morning after the attack arrived with an eerie stillness. The air inside the rebel enclave was heavy—not from silence, but from something unspoken. Something raw.
Fear.
Eli sat on the edge of the infirmary cot, hands bandaged, Threadlight faintly flickering under his skin. Mira stood nearby, arms folded tightly, her eyes darting toward the sealed entrance every few seconds.
Jericho paced, every motion sharp. Impatient. Controlled only by necessity.
Vega, however, sat quietly with a map spread across the table, eyes narrowed, calculating.
The team had gathered not just to tend to Eli—but to confront what his survival meant.
---
"They're going to keep coming," Eli finally said. His voice was tired, but steady. "A Proxy Blade doesn't just retreat. They regroup. They strike again."
Jericho didn't disagree.
"They sent V, which means someone powerful knows exactly who you are… and wants you gone before you figure it out."
Mira clenched her fists. "Then we make sure they can't."
Vega glanced up. "Not that simple. Proxy has eyes in every region. If we move too obviously, they'll track him again."
"So we sit and wait to die?" Eli asked, the frustration biting through his weariness.
"No," Vega said. "We train you properly. Fast."
---
The Scars Beneath
Later that night, Eli stood in front of a cracked mirror in the lower quarters. Shirtless, bruised, bandaged, he traced a finger over the burn mark on his shoulder—a reminder of V's blade grazing him.
Behind him, Mira appeared silently, holding a flask of cooled herb water.
"You're not just a target," she said. "You're becoming a symbol."
Eli didn't respond.
"You stopped V. No one's ever done that."
"I didn't win."
"You survived," Mira said. "That's step one."
She walked over and gently pressed the flask into his hand. Their eyes met in the dim light—hers calm, focused.
"You don't have to carry it alone."
He wanted to believe her. But part of him knew... the deeper he went, the more alone he'd become.
---
A New Strategy
The next morning, Vega unrolled a fresh map. Dotted across the landscape were red circles—Proxy stations. Each one a fortress.
"We can't strike them directly," Vega said, voice steady. "But there's one place they've overlooked."
Jericho raised an eyebrow. "The Ashvine Ruins?"
Vega nodded. "Proxy abandoned it years ago. But it has the one thing we need—Threadforged tech. If we get it, we gain an edge."
Eli stepped closer to the map. "Then that's where we go."
Vega glanced at him. "It won't be easy."
"Good," Eli replied. "I'm tired of easy."
---
Introducing a New Character: Cael
The council agreed to send a scout ahead. But when the doors to the war room opened next, it wasn't a typical rebel scout who walked in.
He was young—barely older than Eli—with dark bronze skin, sharp cheekbones, and silver goggles pushed up onto a messy mane of midnight hair. His clothes were a patchwork of mechanical plating and torn fabric.
"Name's Cael," he said with a crooked grin. "Heard you're looking for someone who doesn't mind waking a few ancient death machines."
Jericho frowned. "We asked for a scout, not a showman."
Cael shrugged. "I'm both. Plus, I've been to Ashvine. I know what's buried there."
Eli stepped forward. "And what's that?"
Cael grinned wider. "Something that can rewrite fate."