Arcane: Red Sands

---------the Present, Bel'zhun's underground.--------

The sound of ragged breathing filled the air as the rebels carried Kahlira through the twisting tunnels that led to their hidden sanctuary. The faint light of oil lamps illuminated the jagged walls, casting flickering shadows over the exhausted group.

Kahlira was pale, her once-determined expression softened by fever. The stump of her wrist, hastily bandaged in the chaos of battle, bled sluggishly despite their efforts to stop it. Her breaths were shallow, her head lolling against Tarek's shoulder as he held her steady.

"Keep moving!" Tarek barked, his voice hoarse but firm. "We're almost there."

The rebels obeyed, their steps quick but careful. They knew these tunnels like the backs of their hands—dug generations ago, long before the Noxians came—but even here, they didn't feel safe.

Finally, the narrow passage opened into a larger cavern, their hideout carved into the sandstone. The room bustled with activity, the faint hum of whispered conversations and the clatter of makeshift tools filling the space.

"Clear a table!" Tarek ordered, nodding toward a crude wooden slab near the far wall.

A young rebel scrambled to obey, brushing away scattered supplies. Tarek lowered Kahlira onto the table as gently as he could, though her face twisted in pain at the motion.

"Hold on," Tarek muttered, his voice low enough that only he could hear. "We need you."

Behind him, another rebel whispered a quiet prayer, the words trembling on his lips. "Blessed sands, protect her. Shelter her. Give her the strength to rise again."

"She's burning up," said Lira, the closest thing the rebels had to a healer. The older woman's hands trembled as she inspected Kahlira's wound, peeling back the bloodied cloth.

"How bad is it?" Tarek asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

Lira's lips pressed into a thin line. "It's bad. The cut's clean, but infection's setting in."

Tarek swore under his breath, running a hand through his sweat-matted hair.

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The hideout felt more like a refugee camp than a rebel base. Families huddled together under thin blankets, their faces hollow with hunger. Children clung to their mothers, their wide eyes darting nervously at every sound. The rebels themselves weren't much better off—scarred and weary, their uniforms patched and stained.

In another part of the cavern, the grieving had begun. Women clutched one another, their faces buried in each other's shoulders as they wept. Children sat huddled together, their eyes wide and filled with tears they didn't yet understand how to shed.

A young boy approached one of the grieving women, tugging at her sleeve. "Where's Papa?" he asked, his voice trembling.

The woman turned, her tear-streaked face twisting with anguish. She pulled the boy into her arms, holding him tightly as if she could shield him from the truth.

Tarek watched from a distance, his chest tightening at the sight.

14 rebels had died in the ambush. fathers, sons, brothers, sisters. Fourteen voices silenced forever.

The stolen supplies were being distributed throughout the cavern, rebels working quickly to sort through the crates of food and water. For the first time in weeks, the air was filled with the scent of fresh bread.

Children tore into the loaves with wide eyes, their faces lighting up with joy. Mothers cradled bowls of porridge, their hands trembling as they spooned the precious food into their children's mouths.

 A young boy ran past him, clutching a piece of bread as though it were a treasure.

A teenage girl stood near the fire, carefully rationing water from a dented canteen. Her gaze was determined, her posture steady despite the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Tarek watched them in silence, his heart heavy. They had hope—but for how long?

The quiet was broken by a woman's wail, her voice rising in anguish. "He's gone! My husband's gone!"

Tarek turned to see her crumpled on the ground, clutching a tattered scarf to her chest. Another woman knelt beside her, trying to offer comfort, but the grieving widow pushed her away.

"Why him?" she sobbed, her voice raw. "Why did he have to die?"

Tarek felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. He wanted to say something, to offer some kind of solace, but the words wouldn't come.

One of the rebels approached him, his expression grim. "What now, Tarek? Without Kahlira, what do we do?"

Tarek ran a hand through his hair, his gaze distant. "We survive," he said finally. "We keep our people fed. We keep them safe. And when Kahlira gets back on her feet, we'll be ready to fight again."

The rebel nodded, though his worry was plain.

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Back at the table, Kahlira stirred, her lips moving faintly. Lira leaned closer, straining to hear.

"She's dreaming," Lira said softly.

Tarek stepped forward, his brow furrowing. "What's she saying?"

"She's calling out for her brother," Lira replied. "For her parents."

Tarek's jaw tightened. He knew Kahlira's story—how the Noxians had taken everything from her. Her family, her home. This rebellion wasn't just her mission; it was her life.

The rebels gathered as Tarek stepped into the center of the room. The weight of their gazes pressed down on him, but he stood tall.

"We've lost too much," he began, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "Fathers, brothers, friends… They fought for us. For a future where our children don't have to live in fear. And we won't let their sacrifice be for nothing."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, faint but growing stronger.

"They believed in us," Tarek continued. "And now it's our turn to believe. To hold the line. To carry this fight forward until Kahlira can lead us again."

The rebels nodded, their expressions grim but resolute.

As Tarek stepped down, Lira approached him, her expression softening. "You gave them hope," she said quietly.

Tarek shook his head. "Hope's not enough. Not without Kahlira."

Lira placed a hand on his arm. "You'll keep them together until she's ready. That's what matters."

Tarek didn't respond. He turned back to the table where Kahlira lay, his jaw tightening.

"I'll keep us alive," he said finally. "That's all I can do."