Chapter 8: Marek's Scheme

The camp was quiet under the shroud of night, the fires reduced to faint embers. Shadows flickered across the rows of tents, twisting and shifting with the breeze. Kael moved silently through the camp, his steps careful, his mind restless.

He had tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, Frenna's pale, bloodied face haunted him. And then there was the weight of the day: the failure of the hunt, the judgment in the others' eyes, and the way his father had stepped in to shield him—again.

Kael's gaze darted across the camp, his thoughts interrupted by the sight of a familiar figure slipping into the darkness. Marek.

Kael's stomach twisted as he watched his uncle move with quiet deliberation, his golden cloak catching the faint firelight. Something about Marek's movements unsettled him. He wasn't wandering; he had a purpose.

Without thinking, Kael began to follow.

The path led to the outskirts of the camp, where the tents were sparse and the fires burned low. Kael crouched in the shadows as Marek approached a large tent guarded by two Ember warriors. They stepped aside to let him pass, their stoic faces betraying nothing.

Kael lingered in the darkness, his pulse quickening. He crept closer, his ears straining as Marek's voice drifted from within.

"...Kael is young, untested..."

Kael froze, his breath hitching.

Inside the tent, Marek stood tall, his golden cloak pooling around him. The flickering glow of an oil lamp cast sharp shadows across his face as he addressed a group of elders seated before him.

"My friends," Marek began, his voice smooth and steady, "I do not come here to sow discord but to address the concerns that weigh heavily on all of us."

The elders exchanged uneasy glances. Kael recognized a few of them: Risa of the Ember Tribe, her piercing gaze locked on Marek; Jorek of the Stone Tribe, his weathered face etched with skepticism. They were leaders of influence, the kind whose voices carried weight in council decisions.

"Say what you mean, Marek," Risa said sharply. "We've had enough of whispers."

Marek inclined his head, his faint smile disarming. "Very well, Risa. Let us speak plainly. Kael is young, untested. You've seen it yourselves—his recklessness endangers not just his own people, but all of us."

Kael clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as Marek's words settled over the group.

"It is not his fault," Marek continued, his tone softening. "He is his father's son, and Talar has always been... indulgent when it comes to Kael. A father's love is a powerful thing, but it can also blind a man to his child's flaws."

Jorek frowned, leaning forward. "Talar has led us well for decades. Are you saying he's no longer fit to lead?"

Marek's expression became grave, his voice measured. "I am saying that Talar's wisdom may not extend to the question of Kael's readiness. Leadership is not just about bloodlines—it is about capability. Strength. Vision. Do we see that in Kael?"

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Risa broke it, her tone low and sharp. "The ceremonial hunt was a disaster. He nearly got those warriors killed. And this isn't the first time his impulsiveness has caused harm."

Marek nodded gravely, as though her words pained him. "I share your concerns, Risa. But this is about more than one failed hunt. The empire is pushing further and further into the desert. Their reach grows every day. The tribes cannot afford recklessness. We need strength and unity now more than ever."

Kael's heart pounded as the words sank in.

Jorek's eyes narrowed. "And what would you suggest, Marek? That we cast Talar and his son aside?"

Marek hesitated, carefully crafting his response. "I do not suggest anything so drastic. But perhaps... we need to be prepared. To consider alternative leadership, should it become necessary. For the good of the tribes."

Kael's breath came in shallow gasps as fury flared in his chest. He gripped the edge of the tent's flap, his knuckles white.

"They're talking about my father," Kael hissed under his breath.

Before he could act, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him back into the shadows.

"Kael, don't," Tayo whispered urgently.

Kael turned, his eyes blazing. "They're conspiring against him—against me!"

"I know," Tayo said, glancing toward the tent. "But storming in there won't help. You'll just give them more reason to doubt you."

Inside the tent, Marek's voice rose again, calm and insidious. "We must act in the best interests of the tribes. That is all I ask."

Kael's fury boiled over, but he let go of the tent's edge and stepped back, his chest heaving.

Tayo's grip on his arm loosened. "I know it hurts," Tayo said softly. "But we'll handle it. Not like this."

The sound of footsteps approaching made them both freeze. Kael turned to see Talar striding toward them, his staff tapping lightly against the ground. His father's gaze swept over Kael and Tayo, his expression unreadable.

"Go back to the tent, Kael," Talar said quietly.

Kael stiffened. "You knew about this?"

Talar's silence was answer enough.

"Of course you did," Kael muttered bitterly. "Always one step ahead."

"Go," Talar repeated, his tone firm.

Kael's jaw tightened, but he turned and walked away, Tayo falling into step beside him.

"They'll listen to Marek," Kael said, his voice low.

Tayo glanced at him. "They'll listen to your father, too."

Kael didn't respond. His anger churned, a storm waiting to break.

When they reached the edge of the camp, Kael paused and looked up at the stars. His fists clenched at his sides, his chest tight with frustration and helplessness.

"This isn't over," he muttered, more to himself than Tayo.

And deep inside, Kael knew he was right.