The Signal Fire of Counterattack

CLARA

The Detention Center was officially a mess.

Guards were sprinting through the hallways like they’d forgotten to turn off the stove, and I could hear the lovely sound of things being pulverized through the walls.

I stared down at the chaos from my Private Room, trying to look composed while my world turned upside down.

"So, is it true? Has Owl actually shown up?" I asked.

A gust of cold wind caught my pink-blonde hair, making it sway in what I assumed was a very dramatic, cinematic fashion.

"It appears so," replied Guin, the man who’d basically become my shadow. "The guards were just making a massive scene about finding Owl a moment ago."

"I see..."

If that was the case, Owl was in a world of trouble.

Common sense told me not to get involved. I mean, getting caught up in a localized riot isn't usually on the 'how to survive' checklist. But on the other hand, if I missed this window, there might not be a next time. I had to make a choice—for the sake of the Oriana Kingdom, and for all the members of the Royalist Faction who were foolish enough to put their faith in me.

"What do you think our move should be?" I asked the group gathered around me.

Naturally, they immediately started shouting over each other.

"We have to save Owl and get out of here! We can finally link up with the rest of the Royalist Faction’s forces!"

"Are you insane? We don't even know if Owl is actually on our side! We should wait and see!"

"The security is paper-thin right now! If we don’t move now, when the hell will we?!"

"Going off on a whim is a great way to get us all executed!"

Their faces were turning various shades of red as they argued. It was a real highlight of my day.

"We need to be cautious," Guin said, cutting through the noise with his usual 'voice of reason' act. "Owl’s identity is a total mystery. Even if we managed to save them, actually escaping the Detention Center in the middle of this isn't exactly a walk in the park."

Everyone’s eyes pivoted toward me.

"Princess Clara, what’s the call?"

Oh, great. Everyone’s looking at me for the answer.

My heart did a painful little squeeze. I scanned their faces, trying to gauge the mood. The 'let's not die' faction seemed to have the numbers. And honestly, I got it. This wasn't a video game; there were no do-overs. If we messed this up, we were finished.

Moving impulsively was a low-percentage play. I knew that.

But—.

If I let this chance slip by, would there ever be another one? We were currently living in the palm of Doem’s hand. For all I knew, we’d be sent to the guillotine by breakfast tomorrow. Did we really have the luxury of waiting for the 'perfect' moment? Did they not realize that 'next time' probably wasn't coming?

I looked down, feeling that gross, cold sweat start to seep into my palms.

Maybe everyone had just gotten too used to being prisoners. When we first got here, we actually had a sense of urgency. Now? We were just picking out the most comfortable spot on the floor. The Royalist Faction didn't have the luxury of being picky anymore—at least, that’s what I thought.

But—.

I looked at their faces again. The cautious crowd was still the majority. These guys had way more experience than me, a mere fifteen-year-old girl who was basically a figurehead. Surely their collective wisdom was worth more than my gut feeling, right? Besides, if I ignored them, the whole Faction might just split apart.

I’m probably the one who's wrong, I told myself. Everything will be fine as long as I just do what everyone else wants...

"I... I think we should—"

"—Princess Clara."

A voice cut me off. It belonged to a middle-aged guy with a sunburnt, unrefined face.

"Listening to people is all well and good. But the moment you start living just to please them, you're finished."

His voice was husky and lacked any sort of noble grace, but it had a warmth to it that hit me right in the nostalgia.

"Bart..."

He was the gardener. I’d known him since I was a kid. He didn't know the first thing about politics or high-stakes warfare; his only talent was making the palace gardens look pretty.

But his words poked a hole right through my insecurities. I’d developed this nasty habit of reading the room because I had zero confidence. I was scared. I just wanted to cling to someone else so I wouldn't have to be the one to fail.

"Hey, gardener! Shut your mouth, you're being rude!" Guin snapped, glaring at him.

"Stop it," I said. "He’s one of us."

"One of us? This guy is useless. He’s just a gardener."

"Exactly. He’s just a gardener, which means he didn't even have to be here. But Bart followed me anyway. He actually trusted me."

"So what? A gardener's opinion is just background noise."

"Guin, that’s enough. I said stop."

I stared Guin down. He was the first to blink.

"...My apologies," he muttered.

"It’s fine. I know you’re just looking out for us."

I took a breath and thought about what I actually needed to do. I remembered the old days—running through the palace gardens with Bart and my older sister.

If Sister were here, she wouldn't be overthinking this.

"We’re saving Owl and joining the fight," I declared. "We’re betting everything on this one shot."

I looked at Bart, and the old man was actually smiling.

"That’s the spirit," he said. "Everyone followed you because they trust you, Princess Clara. Right, boys!?"

"Hell yeah, we did!"

"We’ve been sitting on our hands for too long. Let's break some stuff!"

They all stood up in unison. Then, they started peeling back the fake walls of the room to pull out weapons they’d hidden away. Someone handed me a sword.

I didn't actually know how to use it, but hey, it completed the look.

"Alright," I said, feeling a surge of something that wasn't just terror. "Let’s raise the signal fire of counterattack."

And just like that, the boring routine of the Detention Center was over.