Time was the one luxury Kirion could no longer afford.
The sting of betrayal had hardened into grim resolve. Soria had crossed every boundary—abducting their daughter, weaponizing the past, and casting doubt in the only relationship Kirion had left untouched by war. Now, he needed more than strength or skill—he needed people. Resources. Loyalty.
And he needed them fast.
The resistance's main council room buzzed with muted tension. Once a place of spirited strategy and camaraderie, it now felt like a war room on the edge of collapse. Maps of known government black sites glowed against the far wall. Satellite feeds flickered. Kirion stood at the head of the table, eyes scanning the room.
"Two days ago," he began, voice calm but cutting, "my daughter was taken. Not by force—but by a manipulation deep enough to make her question everything she believed in. And make no mistake, she's now in a government compound."
Murmurs rose. A few exchanged worried glances. Others leaned in.
"Kirion," said Juno, the tech operative and logistics head, "we're already stretched thin. If we hit a black site without exact coordinates—"
"This isn't a negotiation," Kirion interrupted. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm assembling a strike team."
"You're asking us to risk everything for a personal mission."
"No," Kirion replied coldly. "I'm asking you to risk everything for our future. Because if they can turn her, they can turn anyone. And if they get access to her knowledge, her networks—we lose the digital front. We lose the war."
Silence.
Finally, an older man with grizzled eyes and a scar curling across his jaw stood. "I'll go," he said. "Name the target, and I'll breach the walls myself if I have to."
Kirion nodded.
The dam broke.
One by one, hands rose. Not because they trusted the plan—there was no plan yet—but because they trusted him. Kirion had led them through fire and ruin. He had never asked for anything personal—until now.
Within the hour, a covert task force had been formed. Codename: Echo Reclaim.
They assembled in the hangar beneath the mountain: veterans of the civil resistance, elite medics, former agents turned rebels, and a new generation trained under Kirion's own hand. The air was thick with tension, but not fear—determination.
"We're heading for Site Delta-7," Kirion announced, projecting a holographic map. "One of their most secure underground black sites. It's not just a prison—it's a lab. They've used it to break some of the brightest minds we've ever lost."
Juno added, "We've intercepted partial communication strings suggesting increased activity there—classified Level Red. That usually means a high-value asset's been brought in."
His daughter.
"Extraction will require layered infiltration—one team through the upper vents, one through the supply tunnels, and the core group through a fake prisoner delivery. I'll lead the last group."
"You sure that's smart?" someone asked.
Kirion's eyes narrowed. "No. But it's necessary."
He looked across the room, his gaze lingering on faces—some he'd led for years, others barely adults. All willing to follow him into a shadow most never returned from.
"We're not just rescuing a girl," Kirion finished. "We're reclaiming what they tried to steal: our future, our fire, and our fight."
As the resistance prepared to move, a storm brewed outside—lightning striking the edge of the valley. A fitting omen.
This wasn't just a rescue mission.
It was war.