**Corporal Garrick Thorne's Log, Supplemental**
**Rothguard, Occupied City recording**
**37 days after Rothgard's Fall**
Old oaths cut deeper than steel.
Elandor Swiftveil moved like a shadow through the crowded market streets, his patched cloak blending with the press of bodies. The knot-mark on the barrel had been unmistakable—three interlocking lines pierced by a single straight slash. Only the most loyal guards of the old Rothguard Royal Guard had ever known that code. Seeing it here, now, after weeks of desperate fighting in the woods, sent a surge of fierce hope through him. If Captain Garrick were alive and inside the city, then Princess Jasmine might still live as well. He had to find an opportunity to make contact without drawing the eyes of the patrols that prowled every corner.
He followed at a careful distance as the broad-shouldered man and the woman walked side by side like any ordinary couple. They rounded a corner into a narrow alleyway between two weathered warehouses, the space dim and cluttered with empty crates. Elandor slipped in after them, heart pounding with anticipation. Strong hands seized him instantly. His body was slammed against the rough stone wall, an arm locked painfully behind his back. The cold muzzle of a pistol pressed firmly to his temple. The woman's voice was soft but iron-hard.
"Who are you?" Mira demanded. Elandor did not panic. His breathing remained steady as he spoke the old Elvish challenge code in a low, clear whisper. "Sylvara en'rothgar thalor?" Garrick's grip eased a fraction. He answered in kind, the phonetic Elvish rolling off his tongue with the ease of long practice. "Rothgar thalor sylvara en'kith." Recognition flashed in Elandor's eyes. Relief flooded his voice as Garrick released him and stepped back. "Captain Garrick… by the ancestors, it is you. I saw the knot-mark and thought my eyes deceived me. Where is Princess Jasmine? How did you return to us?"
Garrick's face softened with recognition as he studied the elf more closely. "Elandor Swiftveil. My old lieutenant from the Royal Guard. I thought you fell in the first assault on the keep." Elandor rubbed his shoulder, a faint smile breaking through the tension. "I almost did. I escaped into the woods with a handful of the loyal guard. We have kept the resistance alive in the forests—hit-and-run strikes on their supply lines, smuggling messages and weapons to the scattered loyalists."
Garrick glanced at Mira, who had lowered her pistol but kept it close. "This is Mira Calder. She's with me." He offered no further explanation, his voice firm yet urgent. "We can't talk here. The streets have ears. We're meeting the rest of my squad at the Silver Anchor in the central market district. Follow us. Stay close, stay silent. We'll speak when it's safe." Elandor's eyes widened with questions, but he gave a single, sharp nod, understanding the need for caution. "Lead the way, Captain."
The three slipped from the alley and merged back into the flow of foot traffic, Garrick and Mira maintaining their cover as a weary couple while Elandor trailed a careful distance behind. The weight of unspoken news hung between them—the King and Queen of Rothguard were still alive, heading the resistance deep in the woods—but Garrick held his tongue. Answers would come only when they were safely behind the tavern's walls with the full squad.
The Silver Anchor waited ahead, its weathered sign swaying above the crowded square. For the first time since crossing the gate, Garrick allowed himself a faint spark of hope. The resistance was not broken. And now, with old friends and new allies, the fight for Rothguard was truly beginning.