Chapter 22: A High-Stakes Mission

The next day, Nyra and the rebels gathered around a worn map of the city. It was already sunset when they all arrived. Braxton had scouted the convoy route, and the plan was simple but risky: intercept the weapons shipment while it was in transit, take what they could, and destroy the rest. The convoy would be heavily guarded, but if they timed the attack right, they could catch the Empire off-guard.

"The convoy moves tonight," Braxton said, his eyes sharp. "It's got at least a dozen soldiers guarding it, but I found a weak spot in their patrol. If we strike fast, we can hit them before they can call for reinforcements."

Nyra looked around the room, seeing the determination in the rebels' faces. Myk, of course, was already raring to go. Tyrn was quieter, but his bow was ready. Even Revin, though still cautious, nodded his approval.

"This is our chance," Nyra said, her voice steady. "We take this convoy, and we strike a blow that the Empire won't forget."

***

The night was dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds as The ship arrives at the dock and began unloading supplies onto wagons. Nyra and her team moved through the outskirts of Halthor. The air was heavy with anticipation, every step measured, every breath held in check. They had to be ready.

Nyra crouched low behind a cluster of rocks, the others gathered around her. Myk, tense with energy, shifted his grip on his sword. Tyrn, his eyes sharp and focused, scanned the horizon for any sign of movement. The only sound was the faint rustling of wind through the trees.

"We hit them hard and fast," Nyra whispered, her voice barely audible. "No mistakes."

Myk grinned, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. "I'll take the lead. Once we hit the first guard, it'll be chaos."

Nyra nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. The plan was simple: hit the guards, disable the wagons, take the weapons, and get out. But nothing was ever as simple as it seemed.

Moments later, the sound of wagon wheels creaking in the distance reached them, accompanied by the low murmurs of Imperial soldiers. The convoy was approaching, a string of heavy wagons loaded with crates of weapons, surrounded by a dozen armored soldiers.

Nyra's pulse quickened. This was it.

"Now," she whispered.

Tyrn was the first to move, his bow already in hand. The first arrow flew silently through the air, striking one of the guards in the throat. The man crumpled without a sound. Another arrow, another guard down. The rest of the team moved swiftly, Myk charging forward with a roar as his sword cleaved through the first line of soldiers.

Chaos erupted.

The remaining guards shouted in alarm, drawing their weapons as they tried to organize a defense. But the rebels were already upon them, their attack swift and brutal. Nyra darted forward, her sword flashing in the moonlight as she parried a soldier's strike and drove her blade into his chest.

The wagons rattled as the horses panicked, the soldiers trying to control the animals while fending off the rebels. Nyra's heart raced as she fought, every muscle in her body burning with the effort. The air was thick with the clash of steel, the grunts of effort, and the sharp cries of pain.

"Get to the wagons!" Nyra shouted over the noise, her voice hoarse. "Take what you can!"

Myk and a few others surged toward the wagons, throwing open the crates to reveal gleaming weapons—swords, spears, and bows, all meant for the Empire's soldiers. They worked quickly, pulling out as much as they could carry while the rest of the rebels fought off the remaining guards.

But then, from the corner of her eye, Nyra saw movement—reinforcements.

"Imperial soldiers!" Tyrn shouted, his bow snapping another arrow into the darkness. "More are coming!"

Nyra's stomach lurched. They had planned for this, but the reinforcements had arrived sooner than expected. There was no time.

"Fall back!" Nyra yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Get the weapons and fall back!"

Myk was still at the wagons, his arms full of weapons as he swung his sword with the other hand, cutting down another soldier. Blood streaked his face, but he wasn't slowing down.

"We've got enough!" Nyra shouted. "Myk, let's go!"

Myk turned to her, but before he could move, an arrow grazed his shoulder, knocking him back. Nyra's heart leapt as she saw him stumble, the blood dripping from the wound. She sprinted toward him, ducking under the swing of a guard's sword as she reached Myk.

"Get up!" she growled, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. "We're leaving."

With the weapons in hand and the guards closing in, the rebels retreated into the night. The sound of Imperial soldiers shouting orders and clashing steel echoed behind them as they slipped into the shadows, their breaths ragged and their hearts racing.

***

Back in the rebel hideout, the mood was tense but victorious. They had succeeded again—they had stolen weapons from the Empire, crippled the convoy, and escaped with only a few injuries. But the cost was still heavy.

A few was severely wounded, and Myk's shoulder was bandaged, the arrow wound deeper than it had seemed. But they were alive. And they had struck a blow against the Empire.

"We got them," Myk said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "We hit them hard."

Nyra nodded, but her mind was already turning to what came next. She knew the Empire wouldn't take this lightly. Captain Idris wouldn't let this go unanswered. They had won a small victory, but the real battle was still ahead.

And Idris was coming for them.