Chapter 118: Akara ’The Witch’

Deep within the thick, jagged pine woods of the southern territory, hidden away from the capital and any decent pack, sat the Rogue Camp. It was a messy, sprawling place of rough leather tents, smoking fire pits, and makeshift wooden huts built out of raw timber.

Inside the quiet darkness of the largest hut, Akara sat cross-legged on the cold wooden floor. Her eyes were shut tight, her breathing slow and shallow as her mind roamed far beyond the walls of wood and cloth. Suddenly, her eyelids snapped open. Her dark eyes gleamed in the dim light.

"Huh... wow," she whispered to herself.

She stood up immediately, brushing the dust from her dark tunic. Stepping out of the hut, she merged into the bustling chaos of the camp. Dozens of rogues, unbound wolves, runaways, outcast fighters, and banished criminals, were scattered across the dirt grounds, sharpening rusted blades or tending to roasting meat. The moment they saw her, they scrambled out of her path, lowering their heads in fear. They knew who she was. They knew what she could do with a single spoken word.

Akara paid them no mind. She marched straight toward the massive command tent set up at the center of the camp and threw open the heavy flap.

Inside stood her brother, Varek, the Rogue King.

Varek stood tall over a rough wooden table, leaning his hands on the edges as he studied a large, hand-drawn map of the southern packs. His long black hair was pulled back loosely, falling over his broad shoulders, his dark eyes sharp as he mapped out their next move in his mind. It had been three days since they had gathered half their rogue forces and set up camp here in the south. Their original plan was simple: strike at the three major southern packs, seize their vast lands, and claim them as the foundation of their new kingdom.

Varek didn’t look up when the flap moved. "What is it Sister?" He knew it was his beloved sister without even having to look. "They are coming," Akara said, her voice smooth and heavy with her thick, rolling accent.

Varek’s head snapped up. His dark eyes locked onto hers. "What?"

"They are coming," she repeated, stepping closer to the table. "I saw them. The royals and their army are marching right now to take your head. The king boasted loudly that he would sever it himself."

Varek’s brow furrowed, his jaw clenching as he stared down at the map. "No... now is not the time for this. We need to take the southern packs first. Once we have their land and their resources, then we can face the crown. How are we supposed to fight an army out in the open when we haven’t even secured our base?"

Akara walked up to him. She reached out, placing both of her hands gently against her brother’s cheeks, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

"Calm down, my brother," she murmured, her voice dripping with absolute confidence. "Calm down. We can take them. You took their prince’s eye and left him bleeding on the ground, did you not? So we can take their army, too. First, we must defeat the crown. Once we have smashed their force and taken their leaders, the southern packs will bow before us without us having to lift another finger."

Varek stared at her, his pulse racing as her words sank into his head. "How are we going to defeat the royal army?"

Akara smiled, her thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. "Because my brother is strong. I know you can take them. And I will help you from the shadows... but the glory will be all yours." Varek breathed out a long, heavy breath, his eyes lighting up with ambition. "Yeah... yeah, you’re right. I can take them. We take their heads first."

"Come," Akara said, pulling her hands back. "Let us announce it to our people." They stepped out of the command tent into the gray afternoon air. A guard standing near the high wooden dais struck a heavy iron bell three times.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

The loud, ringing metal echoed through the trees. Within seconds, hundreds of rogues poured out from their tents and huts, crowding around the base of the wooden dais. They were ragged, scarred, and bitter, their eyes fixing on Varek as he stepped up to the edge of the platform as though he was their saviour.

Varek looked out over the crowd, raising his arms wide.

"The time has come!" Varek’s voice boomed across the clearing, thick with power. "This is the moment for you to finally stand up! For years, you have been hunted like animals! Cast aside by packs, treated like filth beneath the boots of nobles who have known nothing but luxury! This is your time to take revenge on the packs that abandoned you, and on the throne that has done nothing but feed the disgust against our kind!"

The crowd quieted, every eye glued to him as his words fanned the flames of their long-buried rage.

"They call us rogues!" Varek shouted, his fist clenching tight in the air. "They call us scum! But today, we march to prove that their precious crown is made of hollow glass! We will tear their kingdom down from its high horse, and we will build a world where no wolf is forced to starve in the dark!"

A deafening roar erupted from the rogues. Blades were thrown into the air, hands slammed against wooden shields, and wild, guttural howls echoed through the valley.

"Down with the crown!" a rogue yelled from the front row.

"Down with the crown!" the entire camp roared back, the chant shaking the very ground beneath their boots. Varek stepped back from the edge of the dais, his chest heaving as he turned to Akara. "How much time do we have before they reach us?"

"Sufficient time," Akara replied, watching the cheering mob with a calm smile. "They will be near the southern border by dawn. If we start marching now toward the high hills, we can meet them on the open grounds. That way, the blood falls on neutral dirt, and the lands we are about to claim for our pack remain undamaged."

Varek nodded sharply. "We will move now."

By the time the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, the rogue army was already on the move. Their original target, the southern packs, was left behind as they marched in a massive, dark column toward the high stone hills. When they reached the valley, Akara did not continue with them. Instead, she slipped away unnoticed, making her way up the steep, rocky slopes of the highest hill overlooking the plain. She sat down right at the dirt edge, crossing her legs as she stared down at the vast, open field below.

On the opposite side of the valley, emerging from the dark tree line, came the royal army, said to be made out of the strongest of Alpha’s.

The army was led by King Alaric and King Theron. Banners of the crown fluttered in the cold wind as armored horses and rank upon rank of trained soldiers swept out onto the grass. They had come to crush the rebellion once and for all and avenge the near-fatal attack on Prince Malric. Though neither king had ever been particularly close with the boy, he had to be avenged because the attack on his life was an absolute insult to the throne. They could not allow a rogue king and his witch sister to terrorize the packs they are supposed to protect without making an example of them. The stability of the entire empire was at stake.