Nocthyrn, Lumithar 18, 528 EK

  In the capital of the Aurelion Kingdom, Kaelithar, the waning-season air wrapped the city in a damp breeze that carried the briny scent of the rivers around Aurelion and the wet-earth smell that sank to the bone. The sky was blanketed by fast-moving gray clouds, hanging low, sometimes letting a fine drizzle fall before clearing for a brief while. Lightning occasionally forked across the horizon, followed by thunder that rolled between the cliffs of the Aurel Mountains. The roar of river rapids below the city mixed with the faint patter of rainwater leaking between roof tiles. Kaelithar rose proudly atop its cliffs, surrounded by green valleys that turned into a thin sea of mist when the rain eased. The whole city was guarded by high ash-gray stone walls, glistening wet from the recent shower. A great arched iron gate stood firm, carved with winged lions that looked solemn under the dim glow of magical lanterns. The cobbled streets were slick, dotted with shallow puddles that mirrored the bluish light of the slow-blinking lanterns.

  In the palace hall, great candles trembled under a gentle gust that slipped through gaps in the stained-glass windows. The scent of melting wax mingled with the metallic smell of decorative shields on the walls. King Roland Aurelion sat upon his throne, his gaze sharp as he studied Commander Kaelus’s face. “You must go to Brightwater,” his voice was heavy, ringing like struck metal through the wide chamber. “Escort Duchess Eveline back safely.”

  Kaelus stood tall, clad in a simple dark-blue cloak with no heraldry or family crest. His frame was solid and towering, the toughness of a soldier forged by battlefields rather than titles. His eyes were dark blue, nearly black, like an untouched deep sea, holding countless tales of war. Golden-blond hair was neatly combed back, though faint gray strands at his temples bore mute witness to the many campaigns he had endured. At the corner of the hall, Duchess Eveline stood graceful, a deep-blue mantle wrapping her slender form. Her golden-blond hair fell softly, glimmering faintly in the candlelight. Her eyes were clear blue — as pure as a sky seldom seen in storm season — yet they held a depth of secrets. A faint scent of dried roses and cinnamon drifted from her, adding an aura of elegance that was not merely visual but tangible. She was no mere noble; the firmness in her gaze marked a true leader, tempered not by luxury but by the trials of time.

  When Kaelus stepped from the hall, the storm wind swept his face, carrying the salt of the rivers and the smell of damp earth. The air was cold, like a whisper of memories from battlefields he had left behind. The heavens above Kaelithar were somber, though occasional gaps in the clouds revealed a faint star before the veil closed again. Kaelus drew a deep breath, feeling the chill fill his lungs, a reminder of the last breaths of foes he had felled. The fastest route from Kaelithar to Brightwater passed through the forest, though that path was known for its risks. The route forced them through dense trees still wet from the rain. The forest felt alive — leaves brushed by wind, bird calls in the brief lull after rain. The ground was muddy, slick in places, but where the clouds thinned sunlight sometimes pierced through, creating a mosaic of light on the damp forest floor. Danger did not always come from monsters or dark things; humans, with their greed and ambitions, were often deadlier. Bandits lurked in the shadow of trunks, watching with hungry eyes. Since the death of King Aric Valterion I, chaos crept into every corner of Aurelion. His son, Kaelric Valterion, now seated on the throne, cared more for conquest than for maintaining order. Behind his throne, Queen Lythienne whispered, stoking an ambition that burned far beyond mere enemies.

  Kaelus and Duchess Eveline began their journey with the breath of the waning-season wind as witness and their footprints in the mud as proof that even in lands that seemed peaceful, shadows always watched, waiting for the right moment to strike. Kaelus rode to escort Duchess Eveline with nine of his men and a carriage driver. Nine soldiers rode their horses, while Kaelus’s mount was led by one of his men because Kaelus himself sat inside the carriage with Duchess Eveline. When preparations were complete, they departed. Hurried to deliver the council’s decisions to her husband, Prince Darius — King Roland’s son — Eveline instructed Kaelus to lead their party along the quickest route through the forest. This wood was not a lair of monsters nor as perilous as Tenebris or the Eldernwilds. Eveline, thrust into the ducal role by her father’s death, had to assume leadership of Brightmare as the sole surviving line. Whether she wanted it or not, she had to govern Brightwater, aided by her husband Prince Darius, younger than her.

  Inside the gently swaying carriage, Duchess Eveline exhaled long, her eyes drifting to the small fogged window. A fine mist dampened the distant earth, sketching erratic patterns on the glass, while the creak of the carriage wheels over stone set a melancholic rhythm to the journey. The aroma of wet earth mingled with the faint scent of a nearly spent candle, creating a damp yet warm atmosphere within. Each jolt of the wheels over a rock felt like a quiet beat of the unspoken tension. The drizzle grew heavier, drumming on the carriage roof with an uneven, soothing yet unsettling cadence. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of wet wood seeping from the carriage’s aged floor and panels. The faint scent of leather upholstery growing damp crept in, mingled with the thin metallic tang from the hilt of Kaelus’s sword, cool in his hand. He sat upright, his posture echoing the tension of a soldier always ready, though outwardly composed. His eyes were keen on the passing water trails on the glass, as if he sought meaning in the relentless droplets.

  “I fear things are getting worse,” Eveline said softly, her voice nearly swallowed by the rain. Her slender fingers traced the fogged edge of the window, a motion like trying to wipe away the anxiety clinging to her mind. The glass’s chill bit her fingertips, reminding her of the cold reality of politics that surrounded them. “Valterion forces enter our lands more often. The trade routes that were once safe are now dangerous,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper almost lost in the roar of rain. She turned to Kaelus, looking at him with a gaze sharper than before. There was a flash of resolve in her eyes beyond the worry of a leader. The look pierced, searching for truths she might not wish to hear. “What do you think? You’re more often on the front lines. Do we still have time before everything truly falls?”

  Kaelus exhaled slowly, as if trying to relieve a burden from his chest. His breath blended with the rain’s thunder outside, forming an unspoken harmony. His eyes scanned Eveline’s face, trying to read whether that question came from despair or a last fragile hope. “Time is something we never have enough of,” he replied, his voice deep and steady, echoing softly in the cramped carriage. “But as long as we still breathe, there is still a chance.” Silence followed, broken only by the rain. Eveline turned her gaze back outward, watching the woods darken with the slow descent of dusk. The smell of wet leaves seeped through a tiny window crack, a cold note threading the carriage’s stillness. “I don’t want to see Brightwater fall,” she murmured, her words nearly drowned by the intensifying rain.

  Kaelus nodded, his eyes still fixed on the outside. His stare was sharp, yet there was calm in it, as if he kept secrets deeper than military strategy. “Then we will ensure it does not happen,” he answered, brief but resolute, his voice blending with the rain’s rhythm on the roof. The words were simple, yet carried the weight of an unspoken vow: to protect, to endure, to fight until the last breath. “If Prince Varian Valterion were still alive, we might not be sitting here,” he added finally, his tone steady. Each word rolled heavily with the distant thunder. “We have already fallen. Kaelric can be steered to an extent, but Varian…” He shook his head slowly, his gaze dark like a night-shadow spreading across the carriage wall. “He is the war itself.”

  Eveline tightened her fingers in her lap, feeling the chill of her gloves still damp from the earlier drizzle. “So you think we still have hope?” Kaelus met her eyes. The lantern’s dim glow in the carriage corner danced in his dark-blue irises. “I think we have opportunity, not hope. Hope is something you hold without certainty. Opportunity… is something you can make.” A pause. Outside, thunder cracked far beyond the horizon like the peal of a sky that never quite calmed. Wind carried the scent of wet earth and leaves that had been whipped by the earlier storm through the carriage’s tiny gap. “Kaelric moves faster than we expected,” Eveline said, her voice hoarse as if the words stuck. “If we don’t find a way to stop him, Brightwater will fall soon.”

  Kaelus tapped his knuckles on his knee, the rhythm matching the gentle beat of the carriage wheels over the muddy road. His gaze pierced the darkness beyond the glass, analyzing the swaying silhouettes of trees. “Brightwater is a crucial bulwark, but not the only one. Valderin still stands to the west as our main port city and the quickest route to Thalesson, though it's often cut by Valterion forces. But if Brightwater falls, our trade with Eldarion and the dwarves of the Greystone Mountains will be severed, and our borders will grow fragile.” Eveline inhaled deeply, damp air filling her chest. “That is my fear.” She looked straight ahead, her stare sharp as a hidden dagger. “I will not let that happen.”

  Kaelus leaned back against the carriage bench, his voice quieter, laden with unspoken past burdens. “If you are willing to do whatever it takes to hold it, then we may have a chance.” Day leaned toward night. Eveline’s breathing deepened, steadier now, as if she steeled herself against the shadows of fear lurking in her mind. This time there was no doubt in her eyes — only blazing resolve.

  Suddenly a voice from outside broke the silence. “Sir, My Lady, something seems to be following us.” Kaelus’s heartbeat remained steady, though tension crept into his thoughts like the cold night settling on skin. He raised a hand, signaling them to stay calm. “What—an animal, a monster, or a sentient folk?” “Looks like a monster, Sir.” Duchess Eveline gripped her seat’s arm tightly, her nails leaving faint marks in the leather. “A monster? Is it dangerous?”

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  Kaelus stepped out of the carriage; the dusk air bit his face, heavy with the smell of damp earth and decaying leaves. The earlier rain had left the road rutted and heavy under the horses’ hooves. He narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce the dark. Then the stench hit him — foul and tangy, like carrion left to rot under the sun. Shredder Rats. The giant beasts emerged from the brush, their matted coats glistening in the fading light, oily and streaked with mud. Their red eyes glowed with hunger, long, slobber-coated fangs protruding from twitching muzzles, emitting a nauseating stench like meat soaked in swamp water. Kaelus counted at a glance — nine of them; enough to turn this journey into tragedy if they did not act fast.

  Kaelus drew an Ilvorn stone from his pouch, feeling its cold, rough surface in his palm, the pulse of its magic beating faintly, waiting to be unleashed. “Ready your weapons,” he said, voice calm yet commanding, cutting through the taut silence. “Those with fire Ilvorn, be ready to light them.” The soldiers hurried to draw their stones. The Ilvorn’s dim glow blinked alive, casting an orange sheen across their drawn, tense faces. The faint firelight reflected sweat on their brows, the dusk chill still pricking their skin. Some gripped sword hilts too tightly, palms damp, fingers trembling slightly, as if their fear wanted to leap free. Kaelus fixed them with a cold look; his dark-blue eyes were like a sea swallowed by dusk. “Remember, Duchess Eveline’s safety is paramount. They’re only rats — big and vicious, but still rats. Don’t panic.”

  A young soldier swallowed, eyes widening as a Shredder Rat sniffed the air and let out a low growl; its sharp teeth shone wet. The creature’s breath steamed slightly into the humid dusk like smoke off smoldering embers. Kaelus drew his blade — the metallic whisper as it left the scabbard sounded like a death hiss. He raised a hand, giving the signal. “Now! Crush them!”

  Fire erupted from the Ilvorn, igniting the creeping darkness like falling stars burning the dusk. Bright orange light danced across the soldiers’ determined faces. Three of the giant rats were instantly roasted, their fur burning, their screams shrill and piercing, filling ears with agonized peals as the air grew heavy with the smell of cooking flesh. But six did not flee. They leapt forward, red eyes reflecting the flames with a ferocity that defied description. Their claws scraped the sod, leaving trails of mud and blood.

  Kaelus cleaved at one that lunged toward him; his sword sliced through its throat with a hoarse ripping sound, like dry skin being torn. Black blood sprayed the ground, thick and iron-scented, spattering in chaotic patterns across the wet earth. A soldier behind him screamed as a rat bit through his leather sleeve, fangs tearing flesh and spilling bright blood in a stark stain beneath Ilvorn light. “Don’t let them bite you!” Kaelus shouted, his voice a rolling thunder that swept fear aside. He kicked the carcass at his boots, its hot blood still dripping, and pivoted toward the next attacker. He held his Ilvorn aloft; the stone flared, burning the air around it, sending out heat that stung bare skin in the cold dusk. Flames surged forward, blasting into the remaining pack. Dazzling light cleaved the gathering dark, silhouettes of the creatures writhing and thrashing in the blaze, their cries tearing the brief stillness. Kaelus wasted no motion. He lunged with his blade, plunging it into the belly of a remaining beast. The swing was swift, decisive, splitting its flesh with a wet, repulsive sound.

  The rats fought back with savage snarls, their claws raking the sod and splashing bloody mud as they dodged human strikes. One leapt toward Duchess Eveline, eyes fixed on an easier prey. A soldier tried to intercept, but the Shredder Rat’s teeth pierced his wooden shield, leaving a great gash and blood dripping from the creature’s fang. Kaelus did not hesitate. He charged; his steps were steady, and he threw his sword — the blade spun through the air, glinting under Ilvorn light before embedding itself squarely in the rat’s eye. The creature thrashed once, then fell with a heavy thud, its last breath escaping in a thin hiss.

  The clash lasted only minutes, but to them it felt endless. When the final rat fell, its neck charred and body twitching in the last embers, silence returned. The only sounds left were ragged breathing, a blend of blood, smoke, and wet soil on the wind, and the slow drizzle of dusk rain as if the sky were trying to wash away the night’s blood. Kaelus drew a long breath, letting the cold air full of muddy decay fill his lungs. The scent carried the faint trace of iron — blood not yet dry on their battlefield. He looked toward the carriage near the blackened pile of burned Shredder Rat carcasses. Duchess Eveline remained inside, pale but her blue eyes still sharp, like a knife honed in darkness.

  Eveline inhaled deeply, trying to steady a heart still pounding like a war drum in her ribs. She watched Kaelus inspect his men — his gaze cold, measured, checking each soldier’s condition like a leader accustomed to loss. Eveline stepped out of the carriage; her shoes met ground still slick from rain, the mingled smells of earth and blood heavy in the air. “Any casualties?” she asked, her voice calm though the tremor at its edge betrayed her deep concern. Her eyes swept the scene—blood drying on the turf, torn armor, and bodies sprawled.

  Kaelus exhaled; a faint frost clouded the air before his face. “One dead. Five wounded, some seriously. Four remain fit for duty,” he replied, his tone flat but carrying the hidden weight of lives he could not save. Eveline’s eyes dimmed for a moment, a shadow of sorrow passing before resolve returned. She understood that excessive pity here could be weakness. “What is your plan?” she asked, underscoring the urgency beneath her calm.

  Kaelus glanced around. The surrounding wood was quiet, but it was not a peaceful silence — it pressed like held breath in the throat of the world. The thick smell of blood mingled with the perfume of burnt flesh, drifting outward and inviting unseen dangers. The wind carried faint whispers as though the forest itself watched them. “We can’t stay here,” he said, voice hoarse from the cold. “The scent of blood will soon attract more creatures. We must leave the forest at once.” He pointed north, where the main road still ran, shrouded by the towering tree shadows like black spears. “We could follow the main road, but it’s too risky. If another monster appears, we’re in danger. My Ilvorn is nearly spent. If we meet a creature that can only be killed by fire, we’ll struggle.”

  Eveline nodded, absorbing each of Kaelus’s words as if hanging her hopes on a simple plan amid uncertainty. She knew this man was more than a soldier — Kaelus was a shield incarnate, one who weighed every possibility before acting. “We’ll take an alternate route,” Kaelus continued. “We’ll leave the forest westward first; it’s the quickest way out. Once we reach open ground, we can turn north and return to the main road to Brightwater. It will take longer, but it’s safer.” Eveline met his gaze and said firmly, “Do what you think best, Kaelus. I entrust this to you.”

  Kaelus bowed his head briefly in acknowledgment, eyes deep and steady as though keeping an unspoken vow. Without delay he turned and issued orders to his men. Soft voices rose among the trees — the clash of metal, the crunch of footsteps on wet leaves, and the weary breaths of soldiers pressing on. They moved quickly, leaving the traces of battle behind, blood seeping into thirsty earth. Tree shadows towered like silent sentinels, watching their passage. Night wind began to stir, bringing with it a faint sound of movement within the thicket, a rustle that set the hairs on the back of the neck standing. They had to be out before darkness fell fully. Dusk was sliding away; the sky above shifted from old-orange to a bruised purple. Remaining in the wood once dark fell would not just be risky — it would be certain peril.

  Night came, a dark expanse studded with shy stars behind thin cloud veils. The night air bit the skin, drilling to the bone, carrying the damp-earth scent still kissed by rain, mingled with the perfume of wet leaves stirred by a gentle breeze. Kaelus’s unit moved west, avoiding the main road deemed too dangerous; they walked with careful, deliberate steps until they emerged from the dense wood. In the hush of travel, a sudden, sharp light flashed in the distance, slicing the night with an irregular pulse. The glow trembled softly, as if it were breathing, radiating an odd aura. From the safety of the slowly rocking carriage, Kaelus sharpened his gaze, squinting with alertness. Eveline, sitting before him with composed posture, turned her eyes to the strange gleam. “An elf,” Kaelus murmured, voice almost swallowed by the night wind.

  Eveline twitched, eyebrows raised. “An elf?” Kaelus nodded briefly. “Some elves possess magic strong enough to create such a bright light.” Eveline paused to take that in, then asked, “Should we go? Maybe they are in danger.” Kaelus did not answer immediately. His gaze stayed on the light as his mind weighed possibilities. “It’s toward the Tenebris,” he said at last, his tone hardened with caution. “That place is not merely dangerous, and it takes us away from our route.”

  Eveline fixed him with a steady look, her eyes reflecting unwavering conviction. “But perhaps they’re under attack. It might be bandits, monsters, or something worse.” Kaelus fell silent, contemplating every scenario. That region was remote, far from civilization. If anyone was there, they were likely no ordinary passerby. Could it be a trap? A diversionary tactic? Every bad scenario crossed his mind. Seeing Kaelus hesitate, Eveline pressed, soft yet unyielding: “Kaelus, you are Aurelion’s commander. Your duty is to protect those in need, to keep the peace, and to root out threats wherever they may be.”

  Kaelus drew a long breath, holding the cold in his chest briefly before exhaling. He knew Eveline was right. His duty extended beyond nobles; he was responsible for all under Aurelion’s protection. He turned to his men. “The rest of you, remain with the Duchess. A few will come with me to investigate.” Before he finished, Eveline cut in, her tone firm and determined. “I’m coming.” Kaelus looked at her, eyes hard, striving to hide his reluctance. “It’s too dangerous.” “I come,” she repeated, firmer, full of conviction. “I won’t sit idle while you face something that might endanger us all.” Kaelus inhaled, weighing her words. In the end he conceded, knowing argument would only waste time. “Very well,” he said curtly. “But stay behind me.”

  They moved toward the light, stepping slowly into the Tenebris’s shadowed embrace, a forest that kept many secrets. Trees stood rigid, like silent witnesses to what would come. Kaelus closed on the glowing point ahead, eyes narrowing to pierce the thick night. He dropped from the carriage and reflexively reached for the sword at his hip. The night wind slapped his face, bringing with it the wet-earth scent and now a faint trace of smoke growing stronger as they neared. “My Lady, remain inside,” he said in a calm yet firm command. Kaelus mounted his horse, body taut, ready for the worst. As they approached, thick black smoke began to curl into the night sky. The acrid scent of burning wood stung the nostrils, mingled with a sharper charred tang, metallic on the tongue. They came upon a house swallowed by flames, the fire’s shadows dancing on the surrounding forest walls.

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