Chapter 10: Payback

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over the quiet camp. The sounds of crickets filled the air, blending with the distant hoot of an owl hidden among the trees. A soft breeze rustled the fabric of the tents, carrying the faint scent of burning wood and damp earth.

Inside Xena's tent, the warmth of the dying fire flickered against the canvas walls. She laid wrapped in Borias' arms, their bodies tangled beneath the heavy furs. His steady breathing tickled her hair, his grip loose but still firm around her waist. The weight of his arm was grounding, a brief moment of stillness before the storm they were about to unleash.

Xena stirred first, blinking as she adjusted to the dim light. Her muscles ached—not from exhaustion, but from the tension that always came before battle. She exhaled slowly, her mind already changing to what came next.

Borias groaned slightly as she moved, his grip tightening before his eyes opened. He smirked, his voice thick with sleep. "You're always the first to wake."

Xena smirked back, running her fingers through his hair briefly before pulling away. "Somebody has to make sure we don't get too comfortable."

He huffed, rolling onto his back as she sat up. "Just admit you like lying here with me."

Xena chuckled lowly, standing to stretch. "Lying here won't win us a battle."

Borias watched her move, his gaze lingering before he sat up as well. "No, but it makes for a good way to pass the time."

She shot him a knowing glance before stepping toward the table, reaching for her armor. Borias finally pushed himself up, rubbing a hand over his face.

Xena sat on the edge of the wooden table in her tent, fastening the straps of her armor with steady hands. The leather hugged her torso, familiar and comforting, like a second skin. The battle ahead didn't make her nervous—nothing ever did—but there was a certain weight in the air, a heaviness that only came before a fight worth remembering.

The only thing that had ever made her nervous was giving birth. Facing armies, leading men into war, striking down anyone who stood in her way—those were things she knew, things she controlled. But bringing life into the world, feeling powerless in those moments, that was something else entirely.

Borias stood across from her, adjusting his bracers. The flickering torchlight played across his features, sharpening the strong angles of his face. He was already dressed for war, his armor worn but well-maintained, his sword resting within arm's reach. He hadn't said another word. Xena knew why. He was thinking about the village, about what they were about to do, about what it meant.

She finished with her armor and turned to him. "Regretting your decision?"

Borias scoffed, rolling his shoulders back. "No. Just thinking."

Xena smirked, stepping closer. "That's dangerous for a man like you."

He glanced at her, unimpressed, but there was amusement in his eyes. "If I recall, I'm not the one who had to do all the convincing tonight."

Xena tilted her head. "Oh, you were already convinced. You just needed an extra push."

Borias let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. "You always were good at getting what you wanted."

Xena leaned in, resting a hand on his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath his armor. "And yet, here you are."

He caught her wrist before she could pull away, holding her there for just a moment longer. His grip was firm, steady, but there was something else in his eyes—something deeper. He wasn't just here for the gold or the spoils of war. He had fought beside her before, but this time, it was different.

"I'll ride with you tonight," he said, voice low. "But when this is over, we talk about what happens next."

Xena studied him, the firelight reflecting in her sharp blue eyes. "Fine. When this is over." Satisfied, Borias loosened his grip, letting his fingers trail down her arm before he pulled away completely.

Xena reached for her sword, sliding it into place at her side. When she turned back to him, her smirk had returned. "Ready?"

Borias gave a single nod. "Always."

She stepped towards him, closing the small space between them, her hands coming to rest against his waist. She kissed him—slow, deliberate, as if sealing an unspoken promise between them. He didn't hesitate to return it, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her in. It was a battle in its own way—one neither of them would ever truly win.

She was the one to break away first, her lips barely brushing his as she whispered, "Let's go." Borias exhaled, still feeling the heat of her mouth against his, but he didn't argue. Together, they stepped out of the tent.

The camp was alive with movement—men sharpening their weapons, securing their armor, speaking in hushed but eager tones. The air smelled like smoke and sweat; the tension so thick it could be cut with a blade.

The moment Xena appeared, every pair of eyes turned toward her. Conversations stopped. Men straightened. She didn't have to speak to command their attention—she never did. She and Borias walked side by side toward the gathering warriors.

It was time.

Xena climbed onto a small platform, her piercing gaze sweeping over the gathered men. She stood before her soldiers, holding up a cloth bundle. Borias stood beside her, arms crossed, watching as she took control.

"You all know why we're here," she said, her voice carrying over the crowd.

"This village turned its back on us. They had the chance to stand with me, and they refused. Tonight, they learn what it costs to make that mistake." The men muttered in agreement, fists tightening around weapons.

Xena continued. "We do this clean. No unnecessary killing. We take their weapons, their food, their gold. We take what we need, and we burn the rest. If they fight back, we cut them down. If they try to escape, we make sure they don't."

She turned to Borias, then swept her gaze over the gathered men. One by one, she pointed at the warriors she wanted under his command. "You, you, and you—go with him. Take Phelon, Drax, Miras, and the rest of the riders from the southern camp. Your job is to raid their storage and take everything useful. Food, weapons, gold—if they have it, I want it in our hands before sunrise."

Phelon spoke up. "Commander, I would be more useful at your side. You need someone who can track anyone trying to slip past us. That's my strength. If I go with Borias, I'll be wasted on storage raids. You want this done right? Keep me with you."

Xena stared at him, her face unreadable as she considered his words. She knew he was right. Phelon had an eye for movement, a skill for spotting weaknesses. If anyone tried to escape, he would see them before they even realized they'd been caught.

She gave a small nod. "Fine. Stay with me. Herdon, you go with Borias instead."

She turned to the remaining men, her expression sharp. "The rest of you are with me. We block every exit. No one leaves that village unless I say so." The men listened closely, nodding as they took in the orders.

Borias finally spoke up. "No hesitation. No mistakes. We get in, we take what's ours, and we leave. Fast."

Xena scanned the men, making sure they were listening. "Stay in formation. Stick to the plan. If you get reckless, you put the whole raid at risk. I want this done clean and fast. No one acts without my word." The warriors stood ready, their anticipation thick in the air.

She unraveled the bundle, revealing a collection of intricately crafted masks—each molded into the faces of beasts. Wolves, jackals, and creatures with snarling teeth and hollowed eyes. The details were sharp, the painted features menacing.

She tossed the first mask to the nearest soldier. "Put them on."

The men hesitated for only a moment before obeying. One by one, they secured the masks over their faces, transforming into a pack of faceless, fearsome creatures. The sight alone would strike terror into anyone who saw them.

"These aren't just to scare them," Xena continued, her voice carrying through the camp. "The fire will spread. The smoke will choke the air. You wear these, you'll breathe longer than the ones who don't."

Phelon ran his fingers over the sharp ridges of his mask before sliding it on, adjusting the straps until it fit snugly against his face. He glanced around at the others, now faceless beasts in the night.

Borias remained unmoving, arms crossed. Xena turned to him, tossing a mask his way. He caught it but didn't lift it.

"You got a problem?" she asked.

Borias turned the mask over in his hands, smirking. "I don't need to hide behind a beast."

Xena took a slow step closer. "This isn't about hiding. It's about the fear you leave behind."

Borias exhaled sharply, then tossed the mask back at her. "Let them see my face. I want them to know exactly who burned their village to the ground."

Xena held his gaze, then shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She turned back to the others. "The rest of you, keep them on. When they look into your eyes, I want them to see the monsters they always feared in the dark."

The men nodded, their transformed faces making them look inhuman under the flickering firelight. Xena tightened her own mask, the carved wolf's face molding to her features. Her grip tightened on her reins. "Mount up. We ride now."

The order was met with an immediate surge of movement. Soldiers swung onto their horses, torches flaring to life in the dark. Borias climbed onto his horse beside her, adjusting his grip on the reins. He shot her a glance, smirking slightly. "Try to keep up."

Xena smirked right back. "Try not to fall behind."

With a sharp pull on the reins, she spurred her horse forward, leading her men into the night. Borias followed at her side, his half of the warriors right behind him. The pounding of hooves filled the night air as they moved towards Potidaea, towards fire, towards payback.

Xena rode at the front, her posture rigid, her mind already deep in the battle before it even began. The village sat in the distance, quiet and unsuspecting. As they neared the village outskirts, Xena lifted her fist without looking back. The entire army stopped at once, their discipline holding firm. Borias, at her side, exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around his reins.

Xena scanned the terrain, her eyes sweeping over every possible escape route. She counted each alley, each side path, each weak point that needed sealing.

Then, she moved.

Her fingers flicked in a precise motion—three taps against her thigh, then a point to the right. The men closest to her understood instantly. They rode away into the night.

A quick twist of her wrist sent another group toward the far left, disappearing into the tree line. Their job was simple—no one would leave this village unless she allowed it.

Borias watched her work, his own hand resting near his sword hilt. Another flick of her fingers, and she signaled to the last small group—the ones who would cover the fields behind the village, the most obvious escape route. They nodded, slipping into the darkness without hesitation.

Now, the village was surrounded. The only path left open was the one Borias would soon charge through. Xena turned her head slightly, her gaze meeting Borias'. She gave him the smallest nod.

It was time.

The night was silent, except for the distant hoot of an owl and the occasional whisper of wind rustling through the trees. The village of Potidaea laid in peaceful slumber, unaware of the storm about to descend upon it.

Borias sat tall in his saddle, his grip firm on the reins as he surveyed his men. They waited just outside the tree line, their weapons drawn, their torches ready. The anticipation in the air was thick, every breath filled with the weight of what was coming. He could feel it in his bones—this night had been a long time coming.

His eyes swept over the gathered warriors, ensuring they were ready. Then, with a sharp nod, he gave the first command.

"The storage is past the well, behind the butcher's shop," he said in a low, firm voice. "That's where they keep their food and weapons. We hit that first. Take everything. If it slows you down, leave it. We only take what we can carry."

The men grunted in acknowledgment.

"The rest of you," he continued, "start sweeping through the houses. Take the gold, anything of value. But no unnecessary killing." His tone darkened. "That comes later." He turned his head toward the village, his jaw tightening. The tavern was his. That was where his unfinished business rested.

Borias lifted a hand. The warriors leaned forward, ready. The stillness of the village shattered the moment Borias let out a deafening war cry. It cut through the night, a signal of destruction.

Hooves thundered against the dirt as Borias and his men surged forward. The quiet shattered into chaos as warriors tore through the village, their torches casting wild shadows against the wooden houses.

Inside, people stirred at the sudden noise, some groggy with sleep, others already pushing up from their beds, fear prickling at the edges of their consciousness.

Then came the first screams.

Doors flew open. Women clutched their children, dragging them into corners, their hands covering tiny mouths to muffle their cries. Some peeked out through windows, their breath catching at the sight of armored men tearing through the streets, swords gleaming under the moonlight.

A mother pressed her back against the wall, her heart hammering as she watched a group of riders storm past her home. She tightened her grip on her son, whispering soft, desperate words against his hair.

Another woman, too terrified to move, stood frozen in her doorway as Borias' men galloped by, their torches illuminating their masked faces. She gasped, slamming the door shut, her hands shaking as she threw the latch in place. But deep down, she knew it wouldn't hold.

The younger men of the village weren't as quick to run. Some grabbed what little they had—rusted swords from their fathers, dull axes from the tool sheds. They wouldn't let their homes burn without a fight.

Borias barely spared them a glance as he rode past. They were nothing but dust beneath his horse's hooves. His focus remained on the tavern.

He pulled the reins sharply, bringing his horse to a halt just outside the building. The door burst open, and there he was—the same old fool who had once turned him away. The tavern keeper's face drained of color the second he saw him.

Borias smirked. "Didn't think you'd be seeing me again, did you?"

The old man squared his shoulders, gripping a wooden club in his trembling hands. "You have no right—"

Borias rolled his eyes before his boot swung out, catching the man hard in the chest. The tavern keeper flew backward, crashing onto the floor like discarded rubbish.

"Take everything," Borias barked.

His men wasted no time. They stormed into the tavern, overturning tables, ripping open cabinets, snatching up every bit of gold and silver they could find. Coins spilled onto the floor, tankards crashed to the ground, shattering into pieces. One of the men yanked a necklace straight off a barmaid's neck before shoving her aside.

The tavern keeper groaned, struggling to push himself up, but Borias pressed his boot against the man's back, pinning him down.

"You always were a fool," Borias said, watching as his men stripped the place bare. "You should have been more generous."

The old man gritted his teeth. "You're a coward," he spat.

Borias let out a low chuckle. "Am I?" He reached for a torch, the flames dancing hungrily at the tip.

The tavern keeper's eyes widened. "No—" Borias tossed the torch onto the counter.

The fire caught instantly, spreading across the dry wood like a living creature, devouring everything in its path. The scent of burning ale filled the air as bottles burst, feeding the flames. Within moments, the entire front of the tavern was engulfed. Borias stepped back, watching as the fire crawled up the walls, reaching the ceiling. The old man's cries were drowned out by the roar of the flames.

Borias turned to his men, his voice sharp. "Burn it all." Torches flew through the air, smashing against rooftops. Flames burst to life, devouring homes, chasing away the darkness of night.

Across the village, his other men were still raiding the storage, hauling sacks of grain onto their horses, stacking weapons onto carts. The entire town was crumbling beneath their hands. Borias took in the destruction, the chaos, the fire reflecting in his eyes.

Gabrielle stirred in her sleep, her body turning under the thin blanket. Something was wrong. Even in her half-conscious state, she could feel it—a deep unease, like the air itself had changed.

Then she heard it.

Distant at first, a low rumble. Voices, the crackle of fire, the sharp clash of metal. It was a sound she knew all too well—chaos. Her eyes flew open. The room was dark, with only a sliver of moonlight slipping through the wooden shutters. She held her breath, listening.

Another sound—louder this time. A scream.

She shot up in bed. "Lila." Her sister was already awake, sitting up on her cot, her wide eyes staring at the door.

"Gabrielle," Lila whispered. "Do you hear that?" Gabrielle nodded and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her heart pounding.

"Something's happening." Lila scrambled to her feet and rushed to the window. She pushed the shutters open just a crack and sucked in a sharp breath.

The village was burning.

Flames stretched toward the sky, devouring rooftops. Shadows moved through the streets—men on horseback, their torches casting long, eerie shapes against the walls. People ran in every direction, screaming, clutching their loved ones, dragging whatever they could carry.

Lila's hands trembled as she slammed the shutters closed. "Gabrielle, we have to go. Now." Gabrielle was already moving, grabbing her cloak and throwing it over her shoulders.

"Where are Mother and Father?"

"I don't know," Lila said, panic tightening her voice. "They might already be out. We—we have to get out of here." Gabrielle grabbed Lila's hand and tugged her toward the door. The moment she pushed it open, thick smoke filled her lungs, stinging her eyes.

The street was chaos.

People ran past their home, stumbling, coughing. A woman fell, clutching her child to her chest as a soldier yanked a bag from her grasp. A man tried to fight back, only to be struck down with the blunt end of a sword.

Gabrielle tugged Lila towards the back of the house. "We need to grab what we can and run," she said.

Lila hesitated. "How do we know where it's safe?"

"We don't."

Gabrielle ducked inside, snatching up a small satchel and stuffing it with whatever she could reach—bread, a waterskin, a small pouch of coins. Her hands shook as she tried to fit more, but Lila grabbed her wrist.

"There's no time," Lila urged. "We have to go." Gabrielle hesitated. She looked around while her arms overflowed with more than she could carry.

Lila's voice snapped her out of it. "Now, Gabrielle!"

Gabrielle let go of what she couldn't hold and rushed after Lila. But instead of running toward the hills, Lila turned toward the center of the village.

Gabrielle caught her arm. "Where are you going?"

Lila yanked her arm free. "Mother and Father—they were probably at the tavern." Gabrielle's stomach twisted. She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, a woman rushing past caught their attention.

"Don't go that way," the woman cried, gripping a child against her chest. Her face was streaked with soot, her breathing ragged. "The tavern is gone—completely up in flames. If you want to live, run to the river."

Lila turned pale. Gabrielle grabbed Lila's wrist, pulling her forward as they pushed through the panicked crowd. Smoke thickened in the air, stinging their lungs with every breath. The fire roared behind them, devouring everything in its path.

Lila stumbled, her foot catching on a loose stone. Gabrielle tightened her grip, yanking her upright. "Keep moving!" she gasped.

The streets were chaos—villagers crying out, children wailing, the clash of metal ringing out as those who dared to fight back were cut down. Flames swallowed rooftops, turning the sky an angry shade of orange. The heat pressed against their backs, urging them to run faster.

Gabrielle's heart pounded. She couldn't think, couldn't process—there was only the path ahead and the need to get out before it was too late. A loud crack split the air as one of the buildings collapsed, sending a rush of sparks and burning wood into the street. The heat kissed at their heels, pushing them forward.

Lila clutched Gabrielle's arm. "We have to get to the river," she choked out, her voice raw.

Gabrielle nodded, her grip tightening as they ran. Their home was gone. Their village was falling. There was no time to think about what they were leaving behind—only the desperate need to escape.

The flames roared higher, but they didn't stop. They couldn't.

Xena crouched low, hidden behind the thick brush at the edge of the village. Screams rang out between the sharp clash of steel and the distant shouts of men giving orders.

She had split from Borias long before they reached the village, leading her half of the warriors through the dense trees and around the outskirts. They had cut off every possible escape route, ensuring that by the time the villagers realized what was happening, there would be nowhere left to run.

Now, she watched, waiting for the right moment.

A sudden scream from the village caught her attention. A young man tried to fight back, swinging wildly at one of Borias' men. The soldier barely reacted, sidestepping the attack before slamming the hilt of his sword into the villager's head. The man crumpled to the ground.

Xena barely spared it a glance. The weak fell first. The rest would come soon enough.

She motioned forward, her men pressing further into the village. The others could deal with taking whatever they wanted. Xena's focus was control.

A woman sprinted out from one of the burning houses, dragging a child by the arm. Xena watched as she stumbled toward the wheat fields, hoping to slip through unnoticed. Phelon stepped forward, but Xena raised her hand again.

"Let them go," she ordered.

Phelon hesitated, then stepped back.

Xena's gaze followed the woman until she disappeared into the trees. The woman didn't look like she had much anyway. Xena moved with steady purpose through the smoke-filled air, her boots crunching against the dirt. The fires raged behind her, consuming Potidaea piece by piece, but she didn't stop to admire the destruction. She had work to do.

The first checkpoint was at the river's edge, where a group of her men had positioned themselves along the narrow crossing. A handful of villagers were already there, their faces pale, their clothes smudged with soot. They clutched each other, whispering prayers, hoping to slip past unnoticed.

Xena scoffed. Foolish.

One of her soldiers turned to her as she approached, nodding in greeting. "They've been trying to get through," he said, jerking a thumb toward the trembling group.

Xena's gaze swept over them, then she spoke, her voice sharp. "No one gets past without being searched. I don't care if it's a child, an old woman, or a priest. If they want to leave, they give us everything of value."

The soldier grinned, gripping the hilt of his sword. "And if they refuse?"

Xena didn't even blink. "Kill them." The men chuckled, entertained by the casual way she said it, as if it were nothing more than an afterthought. Because to her, it was. She turned away without another word, leaving them to do their jobs.

The next block-off point was at the northern trail, a well-worn path leading through the trees. Another group of her warriors stood there, checking each villager who approached. A woman sobbed as one of the men ripped the necklace from her throat, while another clutched a small pouch of coins so tightly her knuckles turned white. Xena stepped forward and the soldiers straightened at her presence.

"They've been giving us trouble," one of them said, kicking a man who was still on his knees. "This one tried to hide his gold in his boots." Xena's eyes flicked down to the man, his lip split, his breathing ragged. He looked up at her with a silent plea.

She crouched in front of him, tilting her head slightly. "Did you think we wouldn't check?" she asked, her tone almost amused.

The man swallowed hard, his hands trembling. "Please... it's all I have."

Xena sighed, standing up. "Then I guess you have nothing now."

She nodded once, and before the man could beg further, one of her soldiers drove a blade into his chest. He gurgled, eyes wide with shock, before collapsing onto the dirt. Xena didn't spare him another glance.

She continued along the perimeter, stopping at every block-off point, ensuring her men were following orders to the letter. At each one, she reminded them: No one passed without giving up their valuables. No exceptions.

By the time she reached the final post near the rocky hillside, her soldiers had already gathered a sizable pile of goods—rings, coins, food, even small tools that might be worth something later. They grinned as they held up their loot, eager for her approval.

Xena nodded once, pleased. She cast a glance toward the heart of the village, where Borias and his men were moving exactly as planned. The storage buildings were being emptied, the stolen supplies packed onto carts. The tavern was long gone, now reduced to smoldering rubble.

Borias himself stood near the ruins, watching the flames dance in the sky. Even from a distance, Xena could see the smirk tugging at his lips.

Good. She turned away, satisfied.

Gabrielle and Lila ran as fast as their legs could carry them, their lungs burning from the smoke thickening the air. The night was filled with screams, the crackle of fire, and the sound of hooves pounding against the dirt. Every shadow felt like a threat, every corner a potential trap.

Lila clutched Gabrielle's hand, her grip tight, almost painful. "The river—" she gasped between breaths. "We have to—get to the river."

Gabrielle nodded, unable to waste breath on words. The escape route was just ahead. If they could reach it, they could slip past the chaos, disappear into the darkness.

But when they rounded the bend, their hope shattered.

A line of warriors stood between them and freedom, their faces obscured by masks. Gabrielle skidded to a halt, nearly pulling Lila down with her. Lila's chest heaved as she stared at the men blocking their path. "No," she whispered.

One of the soldiers walked closer, his sword resting casually over his shoulder. "Going somewhere?"

Gabrielle stepped protectively in front of Lila, her hands shaking. "Please," she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. "We just want to leave."

The soldier chuckled. "That so? What do you have to offer?"

Lila's brow creased. "What?"

Another soldier lifted a pouch of stolen coins from his belt, shaking it lightly. "You want to pass? You pay."

Lila stiffened. "We don't have anything." The men exchanged amused glances.

"That's a shame," one of them said. "Guess you're not leaving, then." Gabrielle's heart pounded. She glanced behind them, but there was nowhere else to go. Running back into the village would be suicide.

"Look," Gabrielle started, trying to keep her voice calm. "We're not a threat. We just want to—"

"Did I say you were a threat?" the soldier cut in. "No, but that doesn't mean you get a free pass." Lila's face flushed with anger, and she took a step forward, but Gabrielle yanked her back. The last thing they needed was to provoke these men any further.

One of the soldiers reached for Gabrielle's cloak, smirking. "If you don't have gold, maybe you've got something else to offer."

Gabrielle jerked away from his grasp, her skin crawling. "Don't touch me."

The soldier chuckled, stepping in closer. "Come on now, don't be ungrateful. You want out, don't you?" His fingers trailed down her arm, lingering too long.

Lila's breath came fast and shallow, her entire body stiff with fury. "Let us through."

Another soldier, broader than the first, let out a slow laugh. "We decide who gets through." He stepped behind Lila, his hand sliding over her waist before openly grabbing her breast. Lila gasped, twisting away, but he only grinned.

Gabrielle's stomach twisted. "Stop it!" she shouted, shoving the man's arm away from Lila.

The first soldier stepped even closer to Gabrielle, his breath hot against her skin. He brushed her hair aside, lowering his mouth to the curve of her neck. His lips dragged over her skin, slow and deliberate, his stubble scraping against her.

Gabrielle recoiled, twisting away. "Get off me," she spat, shoving against his chest.

The soldier let out a low chuckle, gripping her wrists. "Feisty."

Gabrielle yanked her arms free and swung at him, her palm connecting hard against his jaw. The sound of the slap cracked through the air.

The soldier's amusement vanished.

His expression darkened. Before she could move, his hand flew across her face, striking her hard. Pain burst through her skull as her head snapped to the side. The force of the hit knocked her off balance, her vision blurring. She stumbled, the world tilting, and before she could catch herself, she hit the ground hard.

The dirt was cold against her skin, but the soldier was on her before she could move. His weight crushed her, pinning her to the earth, making it impossible to breathe.

"You shouldn't have done that," he growled, pressing his forearm against her throat.

Gabrielle choked, gasping for air. Her hands clawed at his arm, but he didn't budge.

Then his other hand moved.

She felt the rough tug of fabric as he yanked at her skirt, the sound of tearing cloth loud in her ears. The night air hit her naked skin, and panic slammed through her like a bolt of lightning.

No. No. No.

Gabrielle thrashed beneath him, kicking, struggling, but he was too strong. His fingers trailed down her stomach, rough and slow, his touch almost lazy—like he had all the time in the world.

She gasped, her body locking up in terror as his fingers slid between her legs, touching her in a way that made her stomach twist. She tried to scream, but his free hand clamped over her mouth. The soldier groaned as his fingers pressed against her, feeling, exploring, spreading her open.

Tears burned at the edges of Gabrielle's eyes.

"No need to be shy," he murmured, his fingers sliding inside her while his other hand fumbled with his belt buckle. "You'll like it if you stop fighting."

Gabrielle's breath hitched. This wasn't happening. Not here. Not like this. Lila stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat as she watched in horror. Her hands trembled at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She wanted to move, to scream, to do anything—but fear rooted her to the spot.

Gabrielle thrashed beneath the soldier's weight, her muffled cries pressing against the palm clamped over her mouth. The soldier didn't pay attention to anyone else, his focus entirely on the woman beneath him, his fingers still teasing, still exploring.

Lila's stomach churned. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Every second stretched into eternity, every sound—the rustle of clothing, Gabrielle's muffled struggles, the soldier's low hum of satisfaction—scraped against her nerves like a blade.

Then, as if suddenly remembering she was there, the soldier glanced up. His smirk widened when he saw her standing there, shaking like a leaf.

"Oh, don't worry," he said, his fingers still moving against Gabrielle's exposed skin. "You're next."

Before he could yank his pants down, a sharp whistle sliced through the night. The soldier on top of Gabrielle froze, his hands still gripping her thighs, his breath hot against her skin. The others immediately straightened, their playful amusement vanishing as they turned toward the sound.

Gabrielle's chest heaved, her body trembling beneath the weight of the man pinning her down. She followed their gaze, her vision blurred with panic and tears.

A figure emerged from the shadows.

"Stop."

The voice was cold, steady, filled with command. The soldiers instantly stiffened. The man on top of Gabrielle hesitated, his fingers twitching against her naked skin.

Gabrielle turned her head toward the voice, her breath catching in her throat.

A warrior clad in dark armor stood at the edge of the firelight, a mask obscuring all but a pair of piercing blue eyes. Unlike the others, this one didn't carry the same arrogance or bloodlust. There was something different—something far more dangerous.

The masked figure stepped forward, gaze sweeping over the scene. A long silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Then, finally, she spoke.

"Let them go." The man hesitated.

"But, Commander—" he started.

Xena's head snapped toward him. "Did I stutter?" The finality in the voice sent a shiver through the air.

The soldier still on top of Gabrielle clenched his jaw, his hands lingering on her a moment too long before he finally pushed himself up. Gabrielle gasped as he moved away, scrambling to cover herself, pulling what remained of her skirt back over her legs. Her body shook violently, but she forced herself to her feet, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts.

Lila rushed to her side, gripping her arm. "Gabrielle—"

Gabrielle didn't let her finish. She grabbed her sister's hand and bolted past the soldiers, not daring to look back.

If she had, she might have seen the way the masked warrior watched them go, unmoving, their gaze lingering long after the sisters disappeared into the night.

Once the sisters were gone, Xena turned her attention back to the soldier who had dared to question her command. The soldier adjusted uneasily but held his ground.

"Commander, I—"

Xena struck him. It was quick—too quick for him to react. The back of her hand cracked across his face, sending him stumbling. The others remained silent, watching as he caught himself before falling.

"You dare question me?" Xena's voice was cold, sharp as a blade.

The soldier swallowed hard, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. "I—" Another blow. This time, a vicious punch to his gut. He doubled over, gasping.

Xena grabbed the front of his armor and yanked him up, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You want satisfaction? You find it on your own time. You hesitate again when I give an order, and you won't have anything left to satisfy yourself with."

The soldier paled, his breath still ragged from the punch.

Xena shoved him back, and he hit the ground hard. The other men stood stiffly, not daring to move. Xena looked at each of them, her voice low but carrying.

"Anyone else feel like questioning me?"

Silence.

She smirked, satisfied. "Good." Then, without another glance at the fallen soldier, she turned and disappeared into the night.

Borias rode through the smoke and embers, his men trailing behind him as they neared the storage building. Flames painted the sky a deep orange, the air thick with the scent of burning wood and charred flesh. The village was in ruins, just as planned.

As he approached the storage, he slowed his horse, scanning the scene. His men had done their job well—barrels had been cracked open, sacks of grain spilled across the dirt, crates shattered and emptied. There was nothing left of value.

"Burn it," Borias ordered.

One of his men immediately stepped forward, torch in hand. The flame crackled as it met the dry wood, spreading quickly. Smoke billowed into the night sky, joining the inferno that consumed the rest of Potidaea.

Borias inhaled deeply, taking in the destruction around him. That's what they get, he thought. For their weakness. For their arrogance.

His gaze swept over the burning village, but then it landed on the last house still standing. His breath caught.

He knew that house.

It was the place his son was born. The memory rushed back—Xena in labor, her screams cutting through the night, the moment they first held Solan in their arms.

A soldier moved toward it, torch in hand, ready to bring it down like the rest.

Borias' hand shot out. "No," he said firmly.

The soldier hesitated, glancing back at him.

"We've completed our mission," Borias said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Let it stand."

The soldier didn't question him further. He nodded and stepped back, leaving the house untouched as the rest of the village burned around it. On the other side of the village, Xena watched as her soldiers began retreating, their mission complete. She gave the final signal. "Clear out!" she ordered.

Her men mounted their horses, the last of them slipping into the shadows, leaving nothing behind but devastation.

Xena turned her horse toward Borias, meeting him at the edge of the ruined village.

They sat on their horses, side by side, watching the destruction they had caused. The fire raged, the last screams had faded, and all that remained was the crackling of wood and the occasional collapse of a burning structure.

Then, just as Xena was about to pull her reins and ride away, something caught her eye.

A figure.

A lone figure walked through the flames.

Her breath caught, her fingers tightening around the reins as she watched them move, the fire bending unnaturally around them, as if the flames themselves dared not touch them. The shape was unmistakable—cloaked in darkness, moving with slow, deliberate purpose.

Xena's heart pounded. She was frozen, unable to look away as the figure drew closer.

"Xena," Borias' voice cut through the haze. He reached for her arm, his grip firm. "What are you doing? Come on!"

She blinked, snapping back to the present. Without another word, she pulled her reins, turning her horse sharply.

And together, she and Borias rode off into the night, leaving the burning village—and the figure behind them.