The fire crackled inside the cave, casting warm, flickering shadows along the stone walls. Hakun sat with his back against a jagged boulder, his leg wrapped in bandages made from Alvinnué’s shadow-treated cloth. Despite the pain, a faint smile lingered on his lips.
“You fight like no man I’ve ever seen,” Hakun said, shifting slightly. “Not even back in the Crimson Rebellion days did I see swordwork like that.”
Alvinnué sat cross-legged across from him, carefully cleaning the Doth-Éamon Short Sword, its blackened blade still humming faintly with sealed mana. He offered no boast—just a quiet nod.
“You said you are from Shanda-Wold,” Hakun muttered again, shaking his head. “I only heard that name in legends. Stories told in the barracks about the first people who walked this continent. I thought it was a myth.”
Alvinnué looked up, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Most believe it is. We prefer it that way.”
“So why the Black Forest?” Hakun asked. “Why come here? This place… it’s no man’s land. Just beasts and bad memories.”
Alvinnué’s eyes scanned the desolate landscape, the jagged peaks stretching into the distance. “Ak’val-duun,” he said, the word heavy with meaning.
Hakun tilted his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a rite,” Alvinnué replied. “A trial. The Ritual of Proving. Every warrior of the three clans in Shanda-Wold must face it. Alone.”
He leaned forward, letting his hand rest on the hilt of his blade. “My clan once called this land home—long before the world turned its back on us. I came to walk the paths my ancestors walked… to feel the land they defended, the shadows they commanded.”
A breath passed before he added, “I came here not just to survive—but to prove I still belong to that legacy.”
Hakun raised an eyebrow. “Ak’val-duun? That sounds ancient.”
“It is,” Alvinnué replied. “The Ritual of Proving. An old tradition of my people. Every warrior of Shanda-Wold must leave the island to prove their strength, wisdom, and discipline. Only then are we recognized as true warriors.”
“You’re on a trial,” Hakun said slowly.
Alvinnué nodded. “We cannot master the shadows without walking in the light. The world beyond teaches us things the island cannot—pain, mercy, choices.”
“And if you don’t return?” Hakun asked.
Alvinnué’s voice was quiet but resolute. “Then I am not worthy of my clan. Or my name.”
Hakun stared into the flames for a moment. “Your people don’t make things easy.”
Alvinnué allowed himself a small smile. “Easy is for those who don’t walk with ghosts.”
The fire had burned low, its embers pulsing like the last heartbeats of a dying beast. Hakun leaned closer, the hard edge in his face giving way to something more open—something rarely shown.
“You saved my life, Shadow Warrior,” Hakun said, his voice rough but steady. “That’s not something I forget. And because of that, you deserve to know the truth.”
Alvinnué’s gaze sharpened, the weight of the moment settling heavily between them.
“Go on,” he said quietly.
Hakun exhaled slowly, his eyes darkening with the gravity of his words. “I was stationed at Fort Sundalo, a fortress that guards Sariyaz from the Unclaimed Lands. It didn’t fall to bandits or rebels; it was the Army of the Undead.”
Alvinnué paused and remained silent, visibly shaken as he processed the weight of Hakun’s revelation. Hakun leaned forward, his voice low. “My mission is to warn Sariyaz’s ally, the Kingdom of Geldanos. The Army of the Undead is on the move, and if they’re not stopped, no kingdom will be safe.”
Alvinnué didn’t flinch, but his hand paused on the blade he’d been tending. “You’re certain?”
“I watched them breach the gates,” Hakun said. “Watched good men die fighting creatures with hollow eyes and twisted limbs. My captain—Josquin—gave his life to buy us time. Told me to run, to carry word to Geldanos.”
“Where you alone in this mission?” Alvinnué asked.
“Yorges… he was with me. We split up to throw them off. His mission is to the capital of Sariyaz” His eyes dropped. “I don’t know if he made it.”
Alvinnué sat in stillness for a long moment, then said, “If the undead are moving beyond Sundalo, they’ll reach the outer towns soon.”
Hakun nodded grimly. “And then Geldanos itself. That’s why I have to finish this. Deliver the seal and parchment. Warn the king. Rally what’s left.”
Alvinnué looked into the fire, thoughts racing. “I thought my trial would be one of monsters and mystery. But this… this is war.”
Hakun looked at him, solemn and sure. “Then you’ve found your great challenge, haven’t you?”
The words settled heavy between them.
Alvinnué’s grip tightened on his blade. “Then the Ritual of Proving begins in earnest.”
Alvinnué slowly reached into his satchel and pulled free a thick, weather-worn tome bound in black leather—the Creature Compendium of Shanda-Wold. The emblem on the cover shimmered faintly in the firelight: an eclipse ringed by ancient runes.
He flipped through the pages with swift, practiced fingers until he reached a section marked with faded ink and ash-smudged corners. His voice was calm but edged with concern.
“Listen,” he said, reading aloud.
“The Undead, servants of the Death God, once swept the lands like plague winds. Animated by foul mana, they knew neither pain nor mercy. It took the united strength of the Six Kingdoms and the sacrifice of the Shadow Warriors to seal them beyond the Veil of Souls, deep in the Undead Lands. For thousands of years, none have breached that cursed barrier…”
Alvinnué’s voice trailed off. He looked up, the flickering fire casting shadows beneath his eyes. “They were supposed to be myths now. Locked away by magic older than the stars.”
Hakun stared into the flames, his jaw clenched. “Then something’s broken the seal.”
Alvinnué closed the compendium with a soft thud. “Or someone.”
A cold wind whispered through the forest outside the cave, rustling the pandan leaves at the entrance. Neither of them spoke, but both knew—whatever power had awakened the dead would not stop at Fort Sundalo.
Not unless they stopped it first.
Hakun turned to Alvinnué, his expression softening. “I… I owe you my life, Shadow Warrior. If you hadn’t acted when you did, I wouldn’t be here now. I’m impressed—your abilities are beyond what I expected. You move like a shadow yourself, and your skill with that sword…” He nodded, grateful. “I can’t do this alone. I need your help to deliver this message to the capital of Geldanos. It’s too important for me to carry on my own.”
Alvinnué paused for a moment, then spoke quietly. “Helping one deserving of need is part of the Ritual of Proving. I’ll help you, Hakun.”
Hakun’s eyes filled with relief. “Thank you, Alvinnué. Truly. You don’t know what this means to me.”
A cold wind whispered through the forest outside the cave, rustling the pandan leaves at the entrance. Neither of them spoke, but both knew—whatever power had awakened the dead would not stop at Fort Sundalo.
Not unless they stopped it first.
Alvinnué took one last glance at the entrance of the cave before he lay down, drawing his cloak tightly around him for warmth. The stars were barely visible through the canopy of trees, and the only light came from the dying embers of their fire. He couldn’t help but wonder about the road ahead—about the trials that lay before him and Hakun, and what truths they’d uncover along the way.
Hakun’s voice broke the silence. “We’ll rest here for tonight, I’ll take first watch,” he said, his tone heavy but firm. “Tomorrow, we head to Geldanos. The message must reach them.”
Alvinnué nodded, his eyes already heavy with the fatigue of the day. He had fought hard, and while the danger of the Amomongo still lingered, it was the threat of something greater that haunted his mind now.
“We’ll make it,” Alvinnué replied quietly, though even to his own ears, it didn’t sound as confident as he hoped.
Hakun gave him a grim smile. “We have to. There’s no other choice.”
Morning light filtered through the trees, casting golden beams across the clearing at the foot of Mt. Kan-alon. Birds chirped softly in the distance, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of pine and morning dew.
Alvinnué stirred first, rising from his bedroll with practiced ease. The aches of yesterday’s battle still tugged at his limbs, but the calm of the dawn soothed him. He moved to Hakun’s side and knelt, gently pulling back the cloth wrapping the older man’s right leg.
The wound, though still fresh, was no longer inflamed. The Shadow Salve he’d applied the night before had worked better than expected—the dark blend of herbs and shadow essence had drawn out much of the swelling, and the deep gash had begun to knit.
“Looks better,” Alvinnué murmured.
Hakun cracked open an eye and gave a grunt of approval as he sat up. “Feels better too.”
Leaving Hakun to rest a little longer, Alvinnué slipped into the edge of the Black Forest. In less than an hour, he returned with two rabbits and a modest haul of forest vegetables—wild carrots, some bitterleaf, and a few firm, bulbous roots he knew were safe.
Back at the fire pit, he cleaned the rabbits, seasoned the meat with a blend of herbs and spices he carried from Shanda-Wold Island—including fragrant pandan leaves—and placed everything to cook over the rekindled fire.
The aroma soon filled the clearing.
Hakun sat up straighter, sniffing the air. “By the gods… that smells better than anything I’ve eaten in weeks.”
Alvinnué allowed himself a small smirk as he stirred the pot. “My islands know how to cook.”
When the food was ready, they ate beneath the dappled sunlight, the quiet morning broken only by the sound of chewing and the occasional satisfied grunt from Hakun.
“You’re wasted on the battlefield,” Hakun said between mouthfuls, licking his fingers. “Should’ve opened a tavern instead.”
Alvinnué chuckled softly. “Maybe one day. Shadow Warrior by training. Chef by heritage.”
After breakfast, Alvinnué knelt beside Hakun once more, carefully binding a splint to the older man’s leg with leather strips and cloth. The forest was calm, but both of them knew that calm in these lands could be deceiving.
“There,” Alvinnué said, tightening the final knot. “You should be able to move more easily now.”
Hakun shifted his weight onto the leg, testing it with a low grunt. “Still hurts, but… better.” He looked up at Alvinnué with a nod of thanks. “You’re good with your hands. First cooking, now field medicine.”
Alvinnué gave a modest shrug, standing and slinging his pack over his shoulder. “When you travel alone as long as I have, you learn.”
They gathered their things in silence, the quiet hum of the forest their only company. Once ready, Hakun pulled a weathered map from his satchel and spread it on a flat stone nearby.
“We can follow the river and skirt the Black Forest, and through Zorim Fields,” Hakun suggested, tracing a long route with his finger. “Takes two days longer, but it’s safer.”
Alvinnué studied the path, then shook his head. “Too long. The message won’t wait.” He pointed toward the Black Forest’s jagged outline. “If we move through the forest, we can be at the capital in half the time.”
Hakun frowned, eyes narrowing at the dark swath of trees. “That forest’s crawling with beasts… and worse. If something finds us, I can’t outrun it—not like this.”
Alvinnué’s gaze stayed firm. “I know. That’s why we won’t be seen.”
He stepped closer to Hakun, his voice dropping low. “I have a plan.”
Without another word, Alvinnué closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. A moment later, his form began to shimmer. Shadows from the nearby trees stretched unnaturally toward them, twisting like tendrils, wrapping around his body—then Hakun’s—until the two of them were no more than a subtle shimmer in the air.
The forest hushed around them. Birds didn’t stir. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Hakun blinked, looking down at his hands, then around. “What in the name of the Saints…?”
“We are unseen,” Alvinnué’s voice whispered beside him. “This is Shadowblend. As long as we move with care, no creature will sense us—not even the cursed ones.”
For a long moment, Hakun said nothing. Then he gave a low, impressed whistle. “No wonder you walk alone. You’ve got ghosts in your blood.”
Alvinnué gave a quiet smirk. “I walk with shadows.”
Hakun nodded slowly, the spark of hope flickering in his eyes for the first time in days. “Alright. Through the Black Forest it is.”
And with that, they stepped into the gloom, swallowed by the woods—ghosts on a mission to save a kingdom.
For two days, the shadows were their cloak and silence their ally.
Alvinnué led the way with quiet precision, his eyes scanning every ridge, root, and rustle. Hakun followed closely, careful with his steps and ever-watchful of the darkened treeline. There were moments—too many—when monstrous forms stirred in the underbrush or distant growls echoed through the trees, but none saw them. None smelled them. Alvinnué’s Shadowblend, sharpened instincts, and uncanny tracking kept them hidden, like whispers on the wind.
By the third dawn, the light broke differently through the trees—softer, warmer, more open.
They had made it.
The dense woods gave way to rolling hills and sun-dappled fields. In the distance, the faint outline of a wooden watchtower rose above the treeline—Geldanos land at last.
Hakun breathed deep, as if shedding a weight. “We’re in,” he said, pulling the crumpled map from his satchel. “There’s a town not far from here—Linden. Small place, but it has stables and carriages. I can continue to the capital from there.”
Alvinnué stood still for a long moment, his eyes fixed not on the map, but the Black Forest behind them.
“I’ll take you to the edge,” he said. “Make sure you get transport. But I won’t enter.”
Hakun looked up, surprised. “Why not? You’ve earned some rest. Real food. A bed.”
Alvinnué shook his head. “I was advised not to linger in towns. My presence… draws questions. And eyes. I walk a path few understand.”
The old soldier’s expression softened. “I see.”
A quiet beat passed between them. Wind stirred the grass. A hawk circled overhead.
“You’re a strange one, lad,” Hakun said, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “But you’ve got a good heart. The capital will never know who really saved it—but I will.”
Alvinnué offered a nod, his eyes calm, though a shadow of something—regret? duty?—passed behind them. “That’s enough for me.”
They stood at the crest of the hill, the roofs of Linden visible below, smoke curling from chimneys in thin, peaceful streams.
Hakun leaned on his walking stick, carved roughly from a branch they’d found two days ago. His leg, though better, still trembled with each step.
“I’ll take you as far as the gate,” Alvinnué said, eyes forward. “Make sure you get inside. Then I return to the forest.”
Hakun didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied the horizon, the way the golden light touched the tips of the town’s buildings. Then he said, quietly, “You keep doing that.”
Alvinnué turned to him. “Doing what?”
“Drawing a line. Just enough to help. Just enough to keep from being seen.”
The young warrior was silent.
Hakun exhaled. “Back in Sariyaz, when I was still a green recruit, we had a traveler come through. Wore robes like flames. Spoke like thunder. People were afraid of him—he was strange, foreign. We whispered about curses. Some wanted him gone.”
He chuckled, the sound low and a little bitter.
“You know what changed it? A roof. Some storm rolled through and caved in old Miraya’s hut. While the rest of us muttered in corners, the foreigner—he climbed up in the rain, barefoot, and fixed it. No words. No show. Just… helped.”
Hakun looked Alvinnué in the eye.
“Next morning, kids were bringing him fruit. By nightfall, he was dancing in the square.”
Alvinnué frowned, arms crossed. “I’m not here to dance.”
“I know,” Hakun said gently. “But maybe you’re here to fix something.”
He let that hang in the air before continuing.
“You keep saying people wouldn’t understand you. And maybe they won’t. But if you vanish into the trees every time you help someone, how will the world ever learn what your people stand for?”
Alvinnué looked away, the breeze rustling his cloak.
Hakun took a slow breath. “Come into Linden with me. Just walk through the gate. Let them see you for what you are. A man who walks in shadows—but doesn’t run from the light.”
A long silence followed. Then Alvinnué nodded—just once, and barely.
“I’ll walk with you,” he said softly. “But no dancing.”
Hakun laughed, the sound hoarse but warm. “Fair enough, Shadow Warrior. Fair enough.”
The gates of Linden creaked open, flanked by two wooden watchtowers manned by sleepy guards with crooked spears. As Hakun limped forward, Alvinnué kept close, his hood drawn tightly around his face. The guards eyed them warily at first, but Hakun raised the seal of Sariyaz. The elder of the two squinted, then waved them through with a grunt.
“Keep your trouble outside the tavern,” he muttered. “And no blades in the market.”
They passed under the stone archway into the heart of the town. The air was filled with the smells of fresh bread, sizzling meat, and burning wood. The streets were alive with people—men and women haggling in the market, children darting between stalls, farmers bringing in goods from the surrounding fields. But what caught Alvinnué’s attention the most was the way they all looked.
Everyone had pale skin, their features sharp and fair. Eyes, bright blue like the sky on a summer day, and hair like gold spun into the sun. They moved with an air of confidence, carrying themselves with a kind of ease Alvinnué had never known. The women’s delicate silks swayed in the breeze, and the men’s clothing was perfectly tailored, while Alvinnué stood out like a shadow in his worn leather armor, his skin dark from the sun, his obsidian eyes foreign among the sea of blue.
He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, trying to disappear into the crowd, but it was no use. The glances were subtle—quick, curious stares—but they didn’t go unnoticed. He was different here.
Hakun’s limp was getting heavier now, and Alvinnué’s attention snapped back to him. He caught the eye of a nearby shopkeeper, a woman with golden hair and sapphire eyes who was selling fruit from a cart.
“Are you a shadow-dancer?” she asked, her voice full of wonder. Her gaze shifted to Alvinnué’s cloak, to the short sword at his side, and then back to his dark eyes.
Alvinnué tensed, suddenly feeling even more out of place. “I… no,” he muttered, feeling his throat tighten.
“She means fighter,” Hakun said with a grin. “From stories.”
The woman raised her brows. “Oh, you’re not one? You look like one. Like those who step out of the shadows and protect lost kings, the ones from Da’s old tales.”
Alvinnué blinked, caught off guard by her sincerity. “I just walk where I’m needed,” he replied quietly, his voice low.
The woman smiled brightly. “That’s what they always say in the stories.”
But Alvinnué didn’t smile back. He stood there for a moment longer than he should have, feeling the weight of his difference. The cool, calm exterior he wore didn’t feel so sturdy anymore. It was hard to blend into the crowd when everything about you screamed that you didn’t belong.
Hakun watched him, his eyes softening with understanding. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, gruff but kind. “The world’s bigger than you know. It has a lot of eyes. But if you want to be seen, you’ve got to let them see you. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”
Alvinnué said nothing, but his gaze drifted across the street again, taking in the faces of the people around him. They didn’t stare, but they noticed. A group of children darted past, laughing, their faces gleaming with youth and joy.
As they moved slowly down the cobbled street, Hakun leaned heavily on a walking stick Alvinnué had fashioned from a sturdy branch. The pain in his leg was dulled now, thanks to the salve and splint, but every step still reminded him of the urgency of their mission.
He approached a middle-aged man stacking crates outside a bakery. The man wore a flour-dusted apron and had a friendly, weathered face.
“Excuse me, friend,” Hakun called, raising a hand in greeting. “You wouldn’t happen to know how we might get transport to the capital, would you?”
The man paused, brushing flour off his hands. “Capital, eh? You’ll want to talk to one of the carriage drivers,” he said with a nod. “They handle most of the travel between towns these days.”
“Where can we find them?” Hakun asked, already anticipating the next step.
“Carriage station’s just north of the town gates,” the man replied. “But if you’re looking now, they’re likely not there.”
“Oh?” Hakun tilted his head.
The man chuckled. “By this time of day? Routes are finished. They’re probably down at the tavern—The Gentle Mare—having a drink or two. Maybe three.”
Hakun let out a hearty laugh. “Figures! Drivers do the real traveling and still find time to enjoy the day, huh?”
“Wouldn’t blame ’em,” the man grinned. “They see more of the kingdom than most nobles ever will.”
“Much appreciated,” Hakun said, giving a small wave. “We’ll try our luck at the inn, then.”
As they turned toward the inn, Hakun glanced at Alvinnué and gave a half-smirk. “Looks like you’ll be stepping into your first Geldanian tavern, shadow-walker. Hope your cloak can handle the smell of ale and wet boots.”
Alvinnué said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
The door of The Gentle Mare creaked open, letting in a streak of daylight and a gust of wind that carried the scent of road dust and wild herbs. Alvinnué stepped inside behind Hakun, his cloak drawn close, eyes scanning the room beneath the shadow of his hood.
The tavern buzzed with the low hum of conversation, clinking mugs, and the occasional thump of a boot against the wooden floor. But as the two entered, the noise died abruptly.
Every pair of eyes turned toward them.
Alvinnué froze.
He felt his breath catch in his throat. The weight of the stares pressed on his shoulders like stones. The pale faces, the golden hair, the blue eyes… everything about them was so different. He could feel it—his dark cloak, his obsidian eyes, the runes on his armor. He didn’t belong.
For a heartbeat, it was as if time itself had halted.
Then, as suddenly as it had stopped, the tavern stirred again.
People turned back to their drinks, resumed their games of dice, their conversations. A bard strummed a soft tune in the corner. Laughter erupted from a table of merchants near the hearth.
Hakun chuckled softly and leaned in close. “Taverns like this,” he said, “see all kinds. Travelers. Mercenaries. Pilgrims. Traders. It’s nothing new to them.”
Alvinnué exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders. He followed Hakun deeper into the tavern, still feeling the remnants of his unease—but also something else. A step toward the world beyond Shanda-Wold.
Hakun scanned the tavern and spotted a group of men near the hearth—one of them wore a driver’s coat and carried the smug grin of a man who’d seen a hundred roads. He turned to Alvinnué and said, “Sit over there and wait for me, lad. I’ll speak to the drivers.”
Alvinnué nodded, unsure, and made his way to a corner table with a view of the room. He sat stiffly, hands resting on the wood, his eyes drifting toward the rowdy group a few tables away. They were playing some kind of card game, coins scattered like fallen leaves across the table. Laughter burst from them every few seconds—boisterous, unrestrained, a little too loud.
Alvinnué’s fingers curled slightly. The sound reminded him of waves crashing on rock—unpredictable and loud. He kept watching, unsure why.
Suddenly, one of the players—a man with tousled blond hair and flushed cheeks—stood up so abruptly that his chair nearly toppled.
“I lost again? This must be rigged!” he shouted, voice indignant, though not without humor.
The others laughed, not unkindly. One patted him on the shoulder. “Go home, Aelric. You’re out of coin and out of luck.”
Grumbling, the man turned—and his eyes met Alvinnué’s.
Time stilled.
Aelric narrowed his gaze, squinting slightly, like trying to place a face he’d never seen before. Then, slowly, with the confident stride of someone who had never feared a room’s attention, he began walking toward Alvinnué’s table.
Alvinnué’s breath caught. He sat up straighter. His cloak shifted slightly as his posture stiffened.
What do I do? What does he want?
He resisted the instinct to fade into the shadows. This wasn’t the forest. This was something else.
Human contact.
Aelric stopped at Alvinnué’s table, one eyebrow slightly raised, his head tilting with a flicker of fascination. At around 27 human years, Aelric’s features were sharper—aristocratic, confident, yet there was something earnest in his gaze. His blonde hair framed a strong face, and his striking blue eyes held a quiet intensity. His build was strong and well-muscled, and there was no denying the dashing, attractive presence he exuded.
“You’re not from around here,” Aelric said, not as an accusation, but as a simple truth wrapped in intrigue. His voice was smooth, clear, and carried that effortless authority of someone born into command. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added with a small smile, “I’m Aelric, by the way.”
Alvinnué opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then opened it again.
“Alvinnué. I… I mean—no. I’m not. From here.”
Aelric’s lips curled slightly, not quite a smirk, but amused all the same. “I figured. You looked like you were studying the room like a battlefield.”
“I… I was not studying,” Alvinnué replied, his voice quiet, strained, like someone trying to force his words through a narrow tunnel. “Just… watching.”
“Right,” Aelric said, pulling out the chair opposite him and sitting without asking. “Watching. You have the eyes of someone who sees everything but says very little.”
Alvinnué blinked. “I—uh—I don’t say nothing.”
Aelric leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, a glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes. “Didn’t say you said nothing. Just little. Big difference.”
For a brief moment, Alvinnué looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. But then he glanced up, and some spark flickered behind those obsidian eyes.
“I say when I have something to say.”
Aelric grinned, pleased. “Good. I like people who wait before they speak. They usually mean it when they do.”
Aelric’s eyes glimmered with curiosity, though there was something carefully measured in the way he studied Alvinnué, as if he were weighing each word, each movement. There was a certain ease in his posture—relaxed yet sharp, as though he had mastered the art of reading people, even without saying much at all.
“You’re far from home, then. Where is home for someone like you?” Aelric’s voice was smooth, but his tone held that subtle weight of someone testing the waters, as if he already suspected Alvinnué had something he wasn’t saying.
Alvinnué hesitated. He wanted to say more, but the words seemed to get tangled up in his mind. He’d never been good at speaking his origins aloud—too many questions followed, too many expectations.
“Shanda-Wold Island,” he finally said, his voice a little quieter. “It’s far… hidden, in a way.”
Aelric’s gaze sharpened. “Hidden, you say? Sounds like an interesting place.”
“It is.” Alvinnué’s eyes drifted briefly to his hands, still lingering from the awkwardness of the conversation. “Not many outsiders… go there. People like me… we don’t usually leave.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, Aelric seemed to soften just slightly. He leaned back in his chair, his tone shifting to something more reflective.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “Some places are better left to themselves.”
Alvinnué glanced at him. There was something about the way Aelric spoke that made him feel a little more at ease, though the man’s true intentions were still hidden behind his words.
“Do you have family there?” Aelric asked, his eyes watching Alvinnué intently.
Alvinnué stiffened, the question probing too close to something he hadn’t spoken of in a long time. “I… do. But I am not… with them.”
Aelric’s expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of understanding. “A difficult thing, I imagine. To be away from family.”
The conversation hung there for a moment, quiet but meaningful. Alvinnué wasn’t sure why he felt like he could talk to Aelric, but there was a certain warmth in the man’s curiosity—genuine, yet veiled behind a layer of mystery.
“Maybe,” Alvinnué said at last, his voice softer now, “maybe that’s why I’m here. To see what’s beyond what I know.”
Aelric nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. “The world outside can be… overwhelming, but it’s full of surprises. Good ones, too.”
Alvinnué’s mind buzzed with the weight of the conversation, and for the first time since entering the town, he felt like the world wasn’t as intimidating. But something in Aelric’s words made him cautious. The man was still a mystery.
“What about you?” Alvinnué asked before he could stop himself. “Are you… from here?”
Aelric’s eyes twinkled with amusement, but there was a quiet wariness that flashed behind them. “I’m just a traveler, like you.”
Alvinnué wasn’t sure if Aelric was being completely honest, but something about his confidence made him want to believe it.
Hakun’s voice broke the moment.
“Alvinnué,” Hakun called from across the room, his leg carefully braced as he hobbled toward them. “I’ve found transport. The driver will take us to the capital tonight. We leave as soon as we’re ready. But,” he added with a sly grin, “don’t think I didn’t see you chatting with the man over here.”
Aelric’s eyes widened in surprise. “At night? I can’t believe you managed to find someone willing to travel at this hour.”
Hakun gave a knowing, almost imperceptible smile. “Sometimes, you have to be persuasive. I had to deliver an urgent message to the capital.”
Aelric’s curiosity flickered, but his skepticism remained. “Urgent message, you say? What could possibly be so important to send someone out at night, especially on these roads?”
Without a word, Hakun reached into his cloak and pulled out a parchment sealed with a deep crimson wax. The unmistakable Sariyaz Seal shone ominously in the dim light. Hakun extended it toward Aelric.
The moment Aelric laid eyes on the seal, his entire demeanor shifted. His body went rigid, his eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, the jovial air around him evaporated. His face became a mask of focused intensity, as if something heavy had just fallen onto his shoulders.
His voice was quiet, but urgent. “That seal… it’s from Sariyaz. You’re one of their soldiers, aren’t you?”
Hakun’s expression hardened, his tired eyes betraying the gravity of his mission. “ Hakun, soldier of Fort Sundalo. Retiring soon. But this message…” He paused, his voice lowering with the weight of his responsibility. “This message cannot wait.”
Aelric stood up straighter, his gaze narrowing with sudden understanding. The casual air that had lingered around him dissolved completely, replaced by an almost predatory intensity. He glanced at the parchment once more, his thoughts clearly racing.
“A soldier of Sariyaz, carrying a sealed message in the dead of night…” Aelric muttered, his tone colder now. “This isn’t just some routine delivery, is it? What are you carrying, Hakun? What’s so dangerous that it requires a soldier of your caliber to be involved?”
The words hung in the air, charged with tension. Aelric’s gaze never left Hakun, his expression now a carefully masked combination of intrigue and concern. The weight of the moment pressed down on both of them, and the jovial atmosphere of the tavern felt miles away.
Aelric nodded slowly. “Then allow me to propose something.” His gaze drifted briefly to Alvinnué—still silent, still tense—and then back to Hakun. “Traveling at night is dangerous. Even more so when you carry something as important as that seal… and when one of your legs isn’t quite what it used to be.”
Hakun narrowed his eyes, not in offense, but in interest. “Go on.”
“I know these roads,” Aelric said. “Better than most. I know how to spot trouble before it arrives and how to talk my way out of it if steel doesn’t work.” He rested a hand lightly on the hilt of his dagger. “I can offer you both an extra set of eyes… and an extra blade, if it comes to that.”
Alvinnué glanced up at him, wary but unsure.
“I’ve seen the way folks looked at him when he walked in here,” Aelric added gently, gesturing toward Alvinnué. “He’s not from here. That’s not a weakness—but it is something others might take advantage of. I can help him navigate that. Help both of you.”
Hakun tilted his head. “You offering protection? Out of kindness?”
Aelric smiled faintly. “Let’s just say… I have my reasons. And I don’t much like sleeping in a town that feels like it’s holding its breath.”
There was a silence, weighted but not uncomfortable.
Then Hakun grunted, the sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “You’ve got a silver tongue, boy.”
Aelric gave a mock bow. “Comes in handy.”
After a long pause, Hakun nodded once. “Fine. You can ride with us. But don’t expect a warm bed or a quiet road.”
Aelric’s smile widened, but there was something in his eyes—sharp and watchful—that said he was already expecting that.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The deal struck, Hakun rose stiffly from the bench, wincing as he adjusted his weight onto his good leg. “We leave in ten minutes. Get whatever you need. Meet us by the stable.”
Aelric gave a sharp nod, but before turning to go, he looked once more at Alvinnué. Their eyes met—one guarded, the other burning with a curious determination.
Alvinnué shifted uneasily under the weight of it. There was something about Aelric—something hard to pin down. He wasn’t just some clever wanderer looking for a safer road. He moved like someone used to danger, someone who had learned to wear his charm like armor.
Still, Alvinnué said nothing. He simply rose, adjusting the leather straps of his swordbelt, and followed Hakun toward the door.
Aelric rushed through the night along Linden’s cobblestones, his boots striking the pavement with a rhythmic echo. The town was eerily quiet now, the once-bustling streets left in silence as the shops shut their doors and the last few lanterns flickered faintly. It was a stark contrast to the bright and jovial atmosphere that had filled the town earlier in the day. The buzz of travelers, laughter in taverns, and the lively bartering in the market—now all gone.
The inn’s wooden door creaked as Aelric entered, the faint smell of stale ale and the lingering scent of firewood mixing in the air. The receptionist, Brovert, looked up from his desk with a surprised expression.
“Well, well, Aelric,” Brovert said, his voice tinged with amusement. “What’s this? Not your usual self tonight? Haven’t seen you lose your shirt in the gambling pit. Is something wrong?”
Aelric gave a slight shake of his head, brushing off the comment. “I’m leaving tonight, Brovert.”
Brovert’s eyebrows rose, but his knowing gaze softened. “Ah, I see. Off on another one of your ‘adventures,’ are you? Don’t forget your manners this time.”
Aelric said nothing more, merely offering a brief nod before heading up the stairs.
He entered his room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The flickering glow from the nearby window cast dim shadows against the stone walls. Aelric moved quickly, gathering his belongings into a rucksack with practiced efficiency. His hands moved over the items, as if going through a well-rehearsed routine—picking up the necessities, tightening straps, ensuring nothing was left behind.
He reached for a leather cuirass, worn and weathered by years of use. The feel of the hardened material against his fingers brought a momentary sense of familiarity, a reminder of countless travels and battles fought in the name of survival. The cloak followed—heavy, dark, and perfect for blending into the shadows.
Next, Aelric moved to the nightstand, taking a small iron key from his belt. He slid it into the lock with a practiced twist, opening the drawer. Inside, bundled neatly in fine linen, was an object he had not seen in years.
He pulled it out, unwrapping the delicate cloth carefully, revealing a badge—a piece of gold that gleamed in the dim light. The lion’s head emblem stood proud at the center, the blue shield with green fields a symbol of something far away, far removed from this moment.
Aelric paused, the badge heavy in his hands. He stared at it for a long time, his thoughts drifting back to another time, another place.
It had been many years since he last looked at this badge, since he had last seen the capital of Geldanos. It had been even longer since he had laid eyes on the Castle of Geldanos, the home he had once known.
His mind wandered back to Hakun, to Alvinnué, and to the message from Sariyaz. The weight of that message, the urgency of the task ahead—it weighed on him, pulling him in a direction he wasn’t sure he wanted to go. But something gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, a feeling that had settled in his chest.
Years of travel, years of honing instincts had taught him when something was amiss. And right now, his gut was telling him to act. To help.
Aelric let out a slow breath, tucking the badge into a hidden pocket inside his cloak. His hand moved to the chest at the foot of the bed, unlocking it with another practiced motion. He reached inside and pulled out his sword—the one that had been with him through countless journeys.
“Berunding,” Aelric whispered softly, greeting the weapon with a touch that was both reverent and familiar. “Looks like you’ll be needed once more.”
The sword gleamed in the moonlight that filtered through the window, its blade sharp and ready, as if it too knew its purpose was not yet fulfilled. With one last glance at his room, Aelric slung the rucksack over his shoulder, secured Berunding at his side, and left the room with determination in his step.
The road ahead was uncertain, but Aelric had always been good at making decisions in the face of uncertainty. He would help. He had to.