CHAPTER 2: Firebrand Oath
Two days after the ambush – Camp Firebrand, Gravenmarsh Foothills
The smell of roasted barley and wet leather hung heavy over Camp Firebrand. The loot from Hollow Teeth had been divided, boiled, eaten, and cheered over—but not all were celebrating.
Kael sat beneath a leaning pine, sharpening his dagger on a riverstone. His cloak was still wet. His hands, still blistered from rain and blood. He hadn't slept—not really.
Myrren crouched beside him and handed over a piece of dried meat. "You know they've started naming you."
"I already have a name."
"Not that kind." She smirked. "One boy calls you Ironblood. Another says you're the Wolf of Ashmark. Dren's been telling anyone who'll listen that you took five men with your bare hands."
Kael said nothing. He kept sharpening.
"They want a king," Myrren added. "Or a god. You're giving them neither. That's going to confuse them."
He looked up at her. "Do you think I should play god?"
"No." Her smile faded. "But gods get followed. You? You're just getting obeyed. There's a difference."
Across camp, a fire cracked. Dren was showing a group of new recruits how to gut and burn a noble's uniform. He treated it like a sport, laughing as the boys spit on imperial sigils.
Kael watched them. Most were fresh—freed conscripts, younger sons, and wild-eyed dreamers looking for purpose. Few of them had ever bled. Fewer still had ever bled for someone else.
"How long before they start calling themselves rebels?" he asked.
Myrren shrugged. "You tell me. We don't even have a name yet. Just a banner, some legends, and a handful of hills."
Kael nodded slowly. Then he stood.
"Gather the command," he said. "All of them. And bring the boy."
"The boy?" she asked.
"The conscript. The one who recognized me."
---
An hour later, at the fire circle
Dren, Myrren, Thessa, and seven other senior fighters stood in a half-ring around Kael. The freed conscript—barefoot, shivering—knelt at the center.
"What's your name?" Kael asked him.
The boy hesitated. "H-Horin."
"How old are you, Horin?"
"Fourteen."
Kael turned to the others. "This boy knew me. Knew my banner. Why?"
"Because you're famous now," Dren offered. "The Empire's trembling in their gold-lined boots."
"No," Kael said. "Because the people remember Ashmark. They remember what the Empire did. They remember silence—and now they hear something else."
He gestured to the banner beside him—his scorched blade wrapped in red.
"We are not just thieves. We are not rabble. From this day, we are The Iron Rebellion. Not for gold. Not for vengeance alone. But because iron doesn't bend when it remembers the fire."
The circle was still.
Thessa grunted. "Sounds better than 'the Ashmark lot.'"
Myrren leaned in and whispered, "You're starting to sound like a king."
Kael gave no reply.
He turned to Horin and offered a knife. "You've seen what they do to boys like you. Will you fight?"
Horin swallowed hard. Took the blade.
"I will."
And with that, the Iron Rebellion gained its youngest soldier—and its first name.
---
Meanwhile…
Velvrahn Citadel – Arelthein's Southern Embassy
Lord Serek of House Arelthein dipped his quill and smiled as the news reached him. The convoy destroyed. The captain dead. A new banner risen.
He turned to his attendant. "Send word to our agents in the Free Cities. Tell them the storm begins in the north—but it will flood the coasts if we guide it well."
"And the High Crown?" the attendant asked.
Serek's smile sharpened. "Let them panic. We'll profit either way."