The dawn broke cold over the pine-shrouded hollow, a thin mist curling through the peaks as Kade Shen stood by the creek, the crude staff braced against his shoulder. The orb’s hum pulsed steady in his pack, a lifeline to Starfall’s legacy, while the forest whispered around him—alive, watchful, a refuge turned battlefield. Lila Mei sat against a pine ten feet off, her duster patched with blood and dirt, her wounded arm bound with a strip of her scarf. Her return last night—Ryle dead, her sticks cracked—had shifted the air, a truce forged in the dust of betrayal and the promise of Vane’s end.

Kade’s eyes traced her, the staff still in his grip—trust was a blade half-drawn, sharp but untested. Her words—to save you—clashed with the memory of chains, Ryle’s whip, the saber lost. Yet her arm bled fresh, her face carried the weight of a fight she’d barely won, and the fire in her eyes matched his own. Vane loomed a day east, the stronghold a fortress of steel and blood, and the orb’s power was his now—a weapon they’d wield together, or die trying.

“Plan,” Kade said, voice low, breaking the silence. He tossed the staff’s splintered end back to her, a gesture of intent. “Vane’s moving today—orb’s his key. We hit him first.”

Lila caught the wood, wincing as she shifted, her cracked rib still a ghost of pain. “He’ll be at the stronghold’s heart—main camp, deep in the canyon. Fifty men, maybe more, armed heavy—rifles, blades, a few cannons from raided towns.” She stood, slow but steady, brushing dirt from her sticks. “Ryle said he’s got a ritual—some damn fool idea to twist the orb’s power. Needs time, a circle—old Starfall rites he’s bastardized.”

Kade’s jaw tightened, the orb’s visions flashing—Jian’s fall, Vane’s laugh. “Then we don’t give him time. Get in, get the saber, stop him.”

“Easy to say,” Lila snorted, twirling a stick despite the ache. “Hard to do. Front gate’s a kill zone—guards, barricades. Tunnels are our shot—ones you slipped through. Narrow, but they lead inside.”

Kade nodded, memory mapping the dark—stone walls, rusted cages, the echo of his escape. “Worked once. Can again. How many with us?”

Her smirk faded, eyes meeting his. “Just us—unless you’ve got an army stashed. Found a few stragglers on the way—outcasts, drifters who hate Vane. Five, rough and ready, camped a mile south. They’ll follow if we lead.”

“Five,” Kade muttered, weighing it. “Not much.”

“Enough to stir chaos,” she said, stepping closer. “We sneak in, they hit the gate—draw ‘em out. Gives us a window to find Vane, grab the saber, break his damn ritual.”

He hefted the staff, testing its balance—crude, but it’d crack skulls. “Orb stays with me. If it’s power, we use it—turn his game on him.”

Lila’s gaze flicked to the pack, hesitant. “You sure? Crow said it shifts fates—Vane’s twisting it dark. What if it twists you?”

“Then I twist back,” Kade said, voice steel, the orb’s hum a vow in his blood. “Jian died for it—I won’t let Vane have it.”

She studied him, then nodded, a flicker of trust breaking through. “Alright. Your call.” She pulled her cracked stick, inspecting it, and tossed it aside, keeping the whole one. “Need a weapon—lost too much blood to dance bare-handed.”

Kade broke the staff over his knee, splitting it—three feet each, rough but sharp. He handed her half, a silent pact. “Good enough?”

“Good enough,” she said, testing its weight, a faint grin tugging her lips. “Like old times—me and a stick, you and a grudge.”

“No grudge,” he corrected, gripping his half. “Reckoning.”

Her grin faded to something softer—regret, maybe, or resolve. “Kade,” she said, low, “I meant it—saved you back there. Ryle’d have shot you dead. Had to play his game ‘til I could break free.”

He met her eyes, the staff steady, and saw truth—raw, jagged, but real. “I believe you,” he said, slow and heavy. “Don’t mean it’s square. You fight with me now—bleed with me—that’s what matters.”

“Fair,” she said, nodding once. “Let’s get your damn sword back.”

They moved south, the hollow fading behind, and found the outcasts by noon—a ragtag band huddled in a gulley, five hard faces scarred by Vane’s shadow. A wiry woman with a bow, a broad man with an axe, three others with knives and hate—drifters who’d lost kin, homes, hope. Kade laid it out—gate crash, chaos, no mercy—and they agreed, eyes glinting with vengeance. “We’ll bleed ‘em,” the woman said, nocking an arrow. “You get Vane.”

Dusk fell as they trekked east, the stronghold’s smoke staining the horizon—a fortress carved into the canyon, tents sprawling, torches flaring. Kade and Lila split off, circling to the tunnel’s mouth, its dark a familiar shroud. The outcasts took the ridge, ready to strike, and Kade gripped the staff, the orb’s hum a war drum in his chest.

“Ready?” he asked, crouching by the entrance, dust swirling.

Lila smirked, stick raised. “Born for it.”

A shout echoed—the outcasts hitting the gate, arrows flying, steel clashing—and Kade dove in, Lila at his flank, the tunnels swallowing them whole. The air thickened, damp and cold, the hum guiding them deeper—past crates, past chains, toward Vane’s lair. A guard loomed, rifle up, and Kade swung—staff cracking his skull, dropping him silent. Lila took another, stick shattering his knee, then his jaw, a dance of precision despite her wounds.

The cavern opened—braziers roaring, Red Talon swarming, and there, on a crude altar: the saber, its Starfall steel gleaming. Vane stood beyond, a towering figure in black, his face sharp and cruel—hawkish, scarred, eyes burning with greed. The orb’s twin pulsed in his hand, a dark mirror to Kade’s, and a circle of runes glowed red beneath him—ritual begun.

“Kade Shen,” Vane rumbled, voice a blade’s edge, grinning wide. “Jian’s pup—come to die like him.”

Kade gripped the staff, Lila tense beside him, and charged—reckoning unleashed.