MORTAL FREEDOM

 The air in the rebel camp was heavy with silence, broken only by the crackling of the small fires scattered around the site. The recent battle had left scars on everyone both visible and unseen. Jayce stood at the edge of the camp, staring out into the woods. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, his hands trembling slightly from exhaustion. The once bustling camp now felt like a graveyard, and the weight of it all pressed down on his shoulders like an unbearable burden.

The rebels had done what they could to bury their fallen comrades and even the scouts they had slain, but the act brought no peace. The dirt over the graves was still fresh, a reminder of just how much they had lost. Jayce's heart ached as he thought of Elias, his lifeless body cradled in his arms, and the promise he had made to himself. I'll find you, Wilson. And when I do, I'll make you pay for everything.

But Wilson wasn't the only one on his mind. Somewhere out there, his sister Sara-fin was in enemy hands or worse. The thought made his jaw tighten, his fists clenching at his sides. He couldn't let it end like this. Not while there was even a shred of hope that she could be saved.

THE SEARCH FOR SARA-FIN AND WILSON

For days, Jayce had sent small search parties into the woods, armed with nothing but rifles, pistols, and the barest hope of finding a clue. Each time, they returned empty-handed. Frustration boiled beneath Jayce's calm exterior, but he refused to let it show. Instead, he threw himself into organizing the next search, scouring maps and strategizing potential routes.

"Jayce," one of the rebels, a stocky man named Gorge, approached him cautiously. "We've been at this for days. There's no sign of them. Maybe… maybe it's time to let it go."

Jayce turned to him sharply, his voice cold. "Let it go? My sister is out there, and Wilson" He stopped himself, taking a breath. "We can't just move on. Not yet."

Gorge sighed, glancing back at the rest of the camp. "You're not the only one who's grieving. We've all lost people. But we can't keep chasing ghosts while we're sitting ducks here. The Ministrians could strike again at any moment."

Jayce's chest tightened. He knew Gorge was right they were vulnerable, especially after the losses they had suffered. But the thought of abandoning Sara-fin felt like a betrayal.

"We'll regroup after this next sweep," Jayce said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "But we're not giving up."

MEMORIES OF FATHERLY ADVICE

As Gorge walked away, Jayce found himself remembering the conversation he had with his father, Mr. Brian, just a few hours earlier. He had gone to his father's cabin seeking guidance, though he wouldn't admit it aloud.

Inside, the air had been thick with the smell of pipe smoke. Mr. Brian sat at his worn wooden desk, his rugged face illuminated by the dim glow of a lantern.

"You're pushing too hard, son," his father had said without looking up. "I understand why you're doing this, but you need to know when to stop."

Jayce bristled at the words. "Stop? You want me to give up on Sara-fin? On Wilson? How can you say that?"

Mr. Brian leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with both weariness and wisdom. "I'm saying we have to be smart about this. Charging headfirst into danger doesn't bring the dead back, and it doesn't save the living either. You need to think of the people still here, the ones looking to us for leadership."

Jayce shook his head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "You don't understand"

"I do," his father interrupted, his voice firm. "More than you know. I've had to make hard choices for the sake of this rebellion, and I've made sacrifices I'll never forget. But I've also learned that you can't carry all of this on your shoulders alone. You'll break, Jayce."

The memory lingered as Jayce stared at the woods. His father's words made sense, but they didn't dull the ache in his chest or the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

CONFLICT IN THE CAMP

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the tension in the camp reached a boiling point. Rebels huddled around small fires, their voices low but sharp with frustration. The lack of progress in finding Sara-fin and Wilson had taken its toll, and the mood was turning sour.

In the middle of the camp, a group of rebels gathered, their voices louder than the rest.

"This is ridiculous," a wiry man named James said, gesturing wildly. "We're following Jayce around like he's some kind of king, but he's not even the leader! Why are we risking our necks for his obsession?"

A few rebels murmured in agreement, emboldened by Bran's outburst.

"He's just a kid playing soldier," James continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "He cries over his dead boyfriend like a baby and expects us to follow his every command?"

Laughter rippled through the group, but it was harsh and mocking. James raised his hands dramatically, imitating Jayce's sobs. "Oh, Elias! Why'd you have to die? Boohoo!"

The mocking laughter was cut short as Jayce lunged from the shadows, his dagger flashing in the firelight. His fist collided with james jaw, sending the man sprawling.

"You shut your mouth!" Jayce snarled, his voice trembling with rage.

James scrambled to his feet, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Or what? You'll cry some more?"

The words ignited something primal in Jayce. He lunged again, his dagger aimed recklessly. James tried to block, but Jayce's blade caught him across the throat. Blood sprayed across the dirt as james fell, clutching his neck and gurgling helplessly.

The camp fell silent, all eyes on Jayce as he stood frozen, and his dagger dripping red.

"I… I didn't mean to," Jayce stammered, his voice barely audible. "It was an accident. I didn't"

But the damage was done. The rebels closed in around him, their faces a mix of shock and fury.

JAYCE ON TRIAL

The rebels dragged Jayce to the center of the camp, their hands gripping his arms tightly. His protests were ignored as they forced him to his knees, his dagger confiscated and tossed aside.

"Mr. Brian!" one of the rebels shouted. "Come out here! Your son has killed one of our own!"

Jayce's father emerged from his cabin, his face unreadable as he approached the gathered crowd. His gaze flicked to Bran's lifeless body, then to his son, who knelt in the dirt, blood smeared across his hands.

"Jayce," Mr. Brian said quietly. "Tell me this isn't true."

"It was an accident," Jayce said quickly, his voice shaking. "He was mocking Elias, and I just… I lost control."

Mr. Brian closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "You let your anger get the better of you. Again."

The rebels around them began shouting, their voices overlapping in a chaotic storm of accusations and demands.

"He murdered one of us!"

"He's reckless!"

"He doesn't deserve to be here!"

Mr. Brian raised a hand, silencing the crowd. He looked at Jayce for a long moment, his expression filled with disappointment and sadness.

"You've made this harder than it needed to be," Mr. Brian said finally. "But we can't afford division right now. If we're going to survive, we need to stand together."

"What are you saying?" one of the rebels asked.

"I'll decide Jayce's fate," Mr. Brian said firmly. "But not here. Not like this. Everyone, go back to your tents. I'll speak with him alone."

Reluctantly, the rebels began to disperse, though their anger and distrust lingered in the air.

FATHER AND SON

When the crowd had gone, Mr. Brian knelt in front of Jayce, his eyes searching his son's face.

"You've put me in an impossible position," he said quietly. "Do you realize that?"

Jayce looked away, his throat tightening. "I didn't mean to kill him. I just… I couldn't stand what he was saying."

"Words are just words, Jayce," his father said. "But actions have consequences. You've made a choice tonight, whether you intended to or not."

Jayce's hands trembled. "What are you going to do?"

Mr. Brian sighed, his shoulders heavy with the weight of leadership. "For now, nothing I decide tomorrow".