What do we do now?" Aespa asked.
A bar in the tense border village had been cleared out for the meeting. Emily, Aespa, Asher, and several soldiers from other divisions were present. A map of the area lay on the round table in front of them.
Emily studied the map.
She had chosen this village deliberately. It was the most strategic point north of the border. Other villages had more livestock. What would General Sarah do with goats, sheep, or oxen?
She examined every side of the village and mentally completed her checklist. Scouts were settled in the forest. Soldiers were stationed in the meadow, and more watchtowers had been erected. The troops were ready. They slept with swords in hand. Emily had ordered the bows and arrows to be checked. Twice.
Her mind was spinning with countless thoughts. She reviewed them all, one by one.
Everything was in place.
---
Sarah was waiting for Finnick in a remote corner of the palace late at night. He hadn't shown up the last time. She had arrived early just to be alone in the garden for a while.
She placed her hand on the dagger at her waist. It was hidden, invisible to the eye—but she could feel it. It was her brother's dagger. The only thing she had left of him.
Every time she touched it, she thought of the dagger's past. That past twisted something deep inside her, making it hard to keep the confident smirk on her face.
Her brother had never used the dagger to attack. He hadn't used it to kill or to bully. Not to start wars or to be a part of them.
He had only used it to protect.
To shield people from oppression, to stop wars, to keep the innocent far from bloodshed.
That dagger was pure. It had seen blood, soaked in it—but it was pure.
She had tainted it.
She had done everything her brother tried to stop.
She had oppressed, she had killed innocents, and she had started wars.
"I'll cleanse you," she thought.
"I'll undo everything I've done. I'll make sure the same things never happen again. I'll make you clean again."
Her brother's path was the exact opposite of hers. He had known that, and raised her accordingly.
But Sarah would no longer use that as an excuse.
No matter how much it clashed with her nature, she would walk his path.
Footsteps echoed.
Moments later, Finnick appeared.
Even in the darkness, his golden hair glowed. Hair like sunlight, under which rested sharp green eyes that completed him.
He was tall, broad-shouldered.
He always carried two axes crossed on his back.
The soldiers joked that he even slept with them.
No one believed it.
Except Sarah.
And Finnick did sleep with his axes.
"Am I late?" he asked.
To the king—and the army—Finnick was just a soldier. Or so it seemed.
Sarah knew the truth.
She wasn't foolish enough to hand all the power to the king. She had soldiers planted across the army and divisions, secretly loyal to her. They made up a hidden unit. A division of people who despised the kingdom's system, and the king himself.
Every single one of them had been wounded—physically or emotionally—by the king or his forces.
They all wanted change. They all wanted order.
Some wanted revenge.
Some wanted peace.
Finnick was one of the latter.
Sarah was not.
Finnick Odair was the commander of this secret division.
"No, I came early," Sarah said. Finnick's face eased.
A moment of silence followed. Finnick looked straight at Sarah, but her eyes were fixed on the moon.
"Is this about the coming battle?" he asked.
Sarah had deliberately delayed preparations, giving the Wilde Kingdom—especially their new general (what did they look like?)—as much time as possible to get ready.
"Partly, yes. Partly, no," Sarah answered. Another silence fell.
---
Finnick looked at her closely. She was talking, but her mind wasn't truly there.
He knew her well enough to recognize that this went deeper than war.
She was thinking about something—and the answers, it seemed, were hidden in him.
"Finnick..." Sarah began. "What are you loyal to?"
Finnick paused. He didn't answer right away.
He wanted to save his country.
He wanted peace for the people.
He didn't want to see any more dead children.
He wanted a country where the sun rose golden, not black.
King Arthur couldn't bring that.
He couldn't either.
But General Sarah could.
He opened his mouth, took a deep breath to speak—
"No." Sarah interrupted before he could say anything.
Finnick froze. She was looking at him differently.
No—she was reading him.
"The one you're loyal to... it's not me." General Sarah finished.
Finnick realized he had to go deeper.
Why was he loyal to General Sarah?
What made her different from Arthur?
It wasn't her personality.
Not her morals, either.
In fact, when compared—King Arthur looked like a saint next to her.
So what was it?
Their goals.
Finnick took a steady breath.
"I'm loyal to the path you walk—and to the future you're trying to reach," he said.
General Sarah's eyes didn't change. Not one flicker.
As if Finnick had said nothing at all.
She simply looked away, let her gaze drift across the flowers and grass.
Another silence.
"After the coming war, I won't return." she said.
Finnick froze.
Was she going to die?
No—she wouldn't die unless she wanted to.
No one could kill her but herself.
Would she choose to die?
"H...How?" Finnick managed to ask.
Sarah looked directly at him.
"While I'm gone, all authority is yours," she continued.
"Don't let them feel my absence. Don't let it drag morale down.
Turn crisis into opportunity.
Let anger guide your hands—not weigh down your feet."
Finnick didn't know what to feel. What to say. What to think.
And Sarah's expression didn't change.
No emotion. No hesitation.
She just looked at him.
Listened.
"Of course, General Sarah." he said.
He didn't say no.
Why didn't he say no?
He let loyalty take the lead—curiosity came second.
Sarah slightly—ever so slightly—frowned.
Then gave a small nod and looked back at the moon.
Somehow, Finnick knew he had said the right thing.
Done the right thing.
They stood there. Still.
The conversation was crawling forward, uncomfortable in its pace.
Finnick wasn't sure if he should speak—or stay silent.
His mind was flooded.
Leaving? Not returning? Dying?
Why?
But he wouldn't ask.
He couldn't.
She couldn't die.
Not her.
Not the person they all needed.
She was victory.
Her presence meant glory.
Her presence meant triumph.
Her absence meant certain defeat.
So he stayed silent.
He asked for permission to leave—and walked away.
A weight settled in his chest like an ox.
He didn't know what to think.
He chose not to question.
Not to doubt.
He chose to trust.
He chose to obey General Sarah.