Chapter 7 Dae
Dae
Tonight's meal was shitty. Maybe it was a good thing we were running low and the portion was small.
Tilton grumbled beside me. “That rutting scout group has yet to return. Useless, incompetent mouth-breathers.”
“Seems game is getting further and further away.” I looked toward the direction of that depthless lake, obscured by the rest of the camp and copse of trees beyond the walls. The darkness that seeped from it infected these woods.
Even after a few years, I hadn’t fully adjusted to the looming presence.
Still, members of this camp were continually chomping at the bit for their opportunity to enhance their powers for a chance at that all-consuming magic.
The power here was undeniable, like a drug every person who joined the cause chased after.
As much as the others longed for the glory, I knew fear lingered beneath their skin—could smell it on them.
Laying low was the strategy I’d chosen when I’d willingly surrounded myself with people more venomous than snakes.
I didn’t need stolen magic to tear anyone limb from limb if they got in my way.
My natural abilities gave me a tactical edge, one I wasn’t sure I was entirely grateful for this far north. My senses were always on edge.
“They should be tossed in the Black Pool upon their return. Be of use for something, at least. Maybe once it gets its fill, it’ll start blessing us with its power again.
” Tilton raised a single finger and touched his forehead before returning to whittle the wood in his hands, the shape starting to resemble a bear.
Curled strips of wood flew into the fire with every harsh stroke of the blade.
He was getting antsy, we all were. Hunger does that to people.
I hummed as a way to remove myself from the scintillating conversation.
Not one heart among the hundred or so stationed here held warmth—including mine.
Rising to my full height, I silently dismissed myself from the few gathered for a pitiful meal before setting off for my tent.
Irritation lined almost every face I passed along the way, magically jacked up men and women battling life-threatening hunger.
The Order couldn’t be foolish enough to expect us to survive this way for much longer.
We were far from thriving. Most who came here sought freedom from magical oppression, but fleeing potential persecution for guaranteed starvation was not a better alternative.
No one even knew what our end goal was. The Order continually made grand statements that led us to believe change was coming, like they knew exactly what our future would hold and we just needed to put our trust in them.
Unwavering loyalty and never-ending patience, like the good little rebellion soldiers we were.
Though I didn’t know exactly what they had in mind, I knew that when The Eleven accomplished whatever it is they sought, Myelle would undoubtedly see retribution in the form of carnage.