The return to Amberheart was quiet and introspective. Silas, Rowan, and the others rode in silence, each lost in their thoughts after the grim events at Bitter Creek. The path home felt longer than usual, the weight of their actions bearing heavily on their shoulders. Uncle Chen led the group, his expression unreadable. At the same time, Rowan rode beside him, his mind replaying the brutality he had witnessed and taken part in.
Before approaching the town, Uncle Chen signalled for the group to stop by a small stream that cut through the forest. They dismounted their horses, and from the saddlebags, they pulled out spare clothes they had carried for this occasion. Without a word, they moved to the water’s edge, washing the blood and grime from their bodies.
The stream where they paused was clear, its water shimmering in the late afternoon sun. But as Silas scrubbed his hands, the water turned a faint pink, a grim reminder of the bloodshed they were trying to wash away. No matter how much they scrubbed, the scent of iron and death seemed to cling to their skin, refusing to be washed away.
Once they were clean and dressed in fresh clothes, the group remounted and continued their journey back to Amberheart. The sight of the town’s towering walls and bustling streets offered a sense of normalcy that felt almost jarring. The sounds of merchants, children, and clattering hooves filled the air, starkly contrasting the silence and bloodshed that still echoed in their minds.
Uncle Chen cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “We’ll tell him what he needs to know, young master, but no more than that. We’ll keep the details about your involvement vague as well.”
Silas nodded curtly. “Thanks, Uncle Chen. No need to bother my father with all the details.”
Following a few paces behind, Kael exchanged a glance with Uncle Chen. They both understood the necessity of what had been done, even if the memory of it would linger uncomfortably in their minds.
As they passed through the gates of Amberheart, Silas felt a strange dissonance. The town was alive with its usual bustle—merchants haggling, children darting through the streets, the familiar clang of a blacksmith at work. It was all normal, untouched by the horrors they had just witnessed. He glanced at Rowan, who rode beside him, their eyes briefly meeting. The weight of what they had done at Bitter Creek lingered unspoken between them. To the townspeople, they were just returning from another routine excursion. Still, Silas knew that the blood on his hands wasn’t so easily washed away. But strangely, he was completely fine with that.
As they passed through the gates of Amberheart, the bustling town felt like a different world compared to the bloodstained battleground they had left behind. Silas found it hard to reconcile the two; the shift was too sudden and too stark. Rowan, too, couldn’t shake the lingering sense of unease as they approached his family estate.
When they reached Rowan’s family estate, his father awaited them at the entrance. His face brightened with relief when he saw his son. Still, the concern quickly returned as he noticed the weariness in Rowan’s eyes and the freshly cleaned clothes, a silent indicator that something had happened.
“Rowan!” his father exclaimed, rushing forward. “Are you alright? What happened?”
Rowan offered a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine, Father. Just… a bit tired.”
His father’s gaze softened as he looked at his son, then shifted to something hidden behind the estate’s doors. He gestured to one of the servants with a slight nod, who quickly disappeared inside. Moments later, the servant returned, carrying a small golden bear cub with bright blue eyes. The cub blinked up at Rowan, its tiny paws kneading the air as it wriggled in the servant’s arms.
“I was saving this for a special occasion,” Rowan’s father said, his voice trembling with emotion as he took the cub from the servant and handed it to his son. “I found him in Amberwood Grove not too long ago. He was alone, abandoned, or perhaps… his mother was no longer around. I thought of selling him—his golden fur and blue eyes are rare, after all. But when I saw him, I couldn’t help but think of you.”
Rowan’s breath caught as he cradled the small creature in his arms. The cub’s fur, a soft, shimmering gold, seemed almost surreal under the warm sunlight. Its piercing blue eyes met his, a mirror of his own, and for a moment, the world around him blurred. He felt the cub’s tiny heart beating against his chest, each thump a gentle reminder of life and innocence—things that now felt so distant and foreign to him. The warmth of the creature pressed against the cold emptiness that had taken root in his heart since Bitter Creek. Though it offered a brief comfort, the darkness lingered, a silent reminder of the violence he couldn’t forget.
His father wiped away a tear that had escaped down his cheek. “I’m so happy you’ve recovered from your injuries, Rowan,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “This little one… his fur matches your blonde hair, and his blue eyes are just like yours. I think he’ll make a great companion for you.”
Rowan felt gratitude and affection as he looked down at the bear cub. He hadn’t expected such a gift, but he couldn’t imagine parting with it now that it was in his arms.
His father leaned in closer, a mischievous smile on his lips as he whispered in Rowan’s ear, “And you know, having a rare creature that looks so similar to you might just be a great conversation starter with the ladies.”
Rowan’s serious expression broke into a smile, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You know… you might be right, Father.”
The two shared a lighthearted laugh, the first moment of genuine levity Rowan had experienced since the battle. It was a small but much-needed reprieve from the darkness that had taken root in his heart. The bear cub squirmed in Rowan’s arms, and he stroked its soft fur, feeling a sense of comfort and hope that had been absent for too long.
As they made their way inside, Silas lingered for a moment, his gaze turning back to the horizon where Bitter Creek lay far beyond the hills. The events of that day had marked a turning point, one that he knew could never be undone. The power and violence he had unleashed had reshaped him in ways he was only beginning to understand.
But Silas didn’t have much time to dwell on it. After ensuring Rowan was safely home, he turned his horse and approached Lonestar Manor. The grand estate loomed ahead, its spires reaching toward the sky like silent sentinels. As he dismounted and approached the main hall, Silas felt a shift in the atmosphere. This heavy anticipation seemed to hang in the air.
Inside, his father, the War Master Sullivan, and his instructor, Kaede, were waiting. Sullivan stood by the grand fireplace, his expression unreadable, while Kaede watched Silas with a calculating gaze.
“Tell me about the excursion,” Sullivan finally spoke, his voice even but carrying an undertone that demanded the truth.
Silas didn’t flinch. He had prepared for this moment, knowing that his father would want details. But there were some truths better left unsaid. “The nobles were travelling with a small escort,” he began, his voice measured. “Kael and Uncle Chen took care of them quickly. It was over before it truly began.”
Sullivan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that so?”
Silas met his father’s gaze, keeping his expression neutral. “Yes, Father. There wasn’t much of a fight.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Sullivan held his son’s gaze for a long moment as if searching for something in his eyes. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, he turned away, seemingly satisfied—or at least willing to let the matter rest. “Very well,” he said, his tone signalling the end of the conversation.
Kaede, standing to the side with her arms crossed, remained silent. Her eyes lingered on Silas as if she could see beyond the young man’s carefully constructed facade; she, too, said nothing, merely giving a slight nod before excusing herself from the room.
Silas released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. His father might have let the matter drop, but the tension in his chest remained. He knew the questions would return, perhaps not from his father but from others. And the answers he couldn’t give were the ones that weighed on him the most.
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Days passed, and life in Amberheart continued its usual rhythm. Yet, beneath the surface, an undercurrent of unease began to ripple through the city, growing more palpable with each passing day. The noble heirs and their entourage had yet to reach their destination, and no word had been received. Whispers began to circulate, growing louder and more ominous.
After a week of no contact, the families of the missing nobles could no longer ignore the gnawing worry that had taken hold. They dispatched a search party, their anxiety turning to dread as they awaited news.
When the search party finally returned, their faces were pale, and their voices were hushed with the horror of what they had found. The scene at Bitter Creek was one of devastation—a silent tableau of death and destruction. Shattered carriages lay strewn about, their once-proud insignias smeared with blood and dirt. Weapons, broken and discarded, littered the ground, their blades dulled by the violence they had witnessed.
But it was the bodies that told the true story. Mangled and lifeless, they bore the marks of a brutal and merciless attack. Nothing had been spared for the noble heirs, their guards, and even the horses. The clear waters of the creek ran red, a grisly testament to the carnage that had taken place. The search party could only stand in silent horror, knowing that whatever force had done this had left no survivors.
Yet, despite the brutality of the scene, there was no evidence left behind that could connect the massacre to Silas or anyone else. The attackers’ identities remained a mystery, hidden by the thoroughness with which the deed had been done. The search party found no clues—no tracks, no signs of who or what had been responsible. To the outside world, it was as if the nobles had been struck down by some unknown, malevolent force that had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
When the news reached Amberheart, it spread like wildfire. The once-bustling city buzzed with rumours, each more wild and more terrifying than the last. Some said it was the work of bandits, others whispered of dark magic, and a few even suggested that a beast from the depths of Amberwood had emerged to claim its revenge. But amidst the speculation, one thing was certain: the heirs of noble families were dead, and the world they had known was forever changed.
The nobles’ families were inconsolable, their grief mingling with outrage as they demanded answers. The city’s leaders, caught off guard by the magnitude of the event, scrambled to maintain order, but the rumours continued to swirl, threatening to unravel the tenuous peace that held Amberheart together.
For Silas, the rumours constantly reminded him of the monster he had become. Every whisper, every sidelong glance, felt like a weight pressing down on him, threatening to crush the carefully constructed walls he had built around his conscience. He had done what was necessary and wouldn't regret his actions. He would bear the burden that came with staining his hands in blood, even if it meant forever living with the knowledge that he was no longer the innocent boy he once was.
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A month had passed since the mysterious deaths of the noble scions, and the public fervour had begun to subside. The city of Amberheart slowly returned to its usual rhythm, though a lingering unease remained beneath the surface. The gruesome events at Bitter Creek had left their mark, but as with all things, time dulled the edges of shock and grief. Now, the citizens turned their attention to other matters, eager to move on from the darkness that had briefly gripped their lives.
For Rowan, however, the shadow of that day had not fully lifted. Despite the weight of those memories, he was eager to prove himself—to step out of the darkness and into a light of his own making. The opportunity had come in the form of the Soulweaver Trials, a series of challenges designed to test a Soulweaver’s strength, aptitude, judgement, leadership, and any resources including manpower they could gather. These trials were more than just a rite of passage; they were a chance to elevate one’s status and gain the attention of powerful clans. For Rowan, they represented a path to reclaiming his confidence and setting his own course.
Silas had decided to accompany Rowan despite his turmoil. He hadn’t forgotten his failed coming-of-age ceremony, the sting of that defeat still fresh in his mind. Yet, supporting Rowan in these trials felt like a chance to redeem himself, to prove that he could rise above his past mistakes.
Today, Rowan and Silas stood in the trial selection chamber of the Remington Clan, one of the most prestigious Soulweaver families in Amberheart. The chamber was a grand, circular room lined with tapestries depicting past trial victories. A series of ornate pedestals stood in the centre, each holding a scroll that detailed one of the available trials. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the weight of tradition and expectation pressing down on the two young men.
Each Soulweaver was allowed to choose three trials, one of which they were required to complete. These trials could overlap, meaning multiple candidates could select the same trial. The first to succeed would be declared the victor, leaving the others to move on to the next challenge. It was a test of both skill and strategy, where choosing the right trial could be as crucial as completing it.
Rowan scanned the room, his eyes darting between the pedestals. He felt the moment’s pressure, knowing his choices here could shape his future. Silas stood beside him, his expression calm but focused, offering silent support.
“Well this won’t be easy,” Rowan muttered, more to himself than to Silas. “But I think we can handle them.”
Silas nodded, his gaze steady. “We’ve faced worse....I think? In any case we must choose wisely.”
He stepped forward, his hand hovering over the scrolls as he considered his options. The trials were diverse, each with its own dangers and challenges.
The Trial of the Devouring Swarm was the first trial that caught Silas’s eye. The scroll described a remote village named Darkwood Hollow, nestled on the outskirts of Amberwood Grove, where a swarm of flesh-eating locusts had descended, killing over a hundred people. The village was now abandoned, but the swarm remained, a deadly threat that needed to be eradicated. This trial would test their combat prowess and their ability to handle a large-scale threat.
The second trial was the Trial of the Ruby-Eyed Serpent. According to the scroll, in the city of Impsbane, a Duke’s son had been viciously lacerated by a serpent with gleaming ruby eyes. The Duke was awarding an extra reward if someone managed to kill the creature and brought its corpse to the Duke’s residence. Capturing and killing the beast would require strength, skill and a deep understanding of the creature’s nature. It was a trial that demanded precision and cunning.
The third trial was perhaps the most mysterious of the three—the Trial of the Vanished. Ironvale was a bustling trade hub quite far away from Amberheart and at the Eastern edge of Amberfell. People had been disappearing there without a trace. Over the past few months, nearly thirty individuals had vanished, and the city was on the brink of panic. The scroll offered few details about the cause, only that the disappearances needed to be investigated and stopped. This trial would test their investigative skills, resourcefulness, and ability to uncover hidden dangers.
Silas studied the scrolls carefully, his mind racing as he weighed the risks and rewards of each trial. These were no simple tasks; each trial represented a significant challenge, and failure could mean much more than just a loss of reputation.
“I think these are the ones,” he said finally, looking to Silas for confirmation. “The Devouring Swarm, the Ruby-Eyed Serpent, and the Vanished. They’re dangerous, but… they’re interesting.”
Rowan glanced at the scrolls, and exclaimed loudly “You just told me to choose wisely and picked some really weird ones yourself.”
Silas shrugged and chuckled, “But they are interesting!”
Rowan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and responded bitterly “Well they’ll test us in different ways. Combat, strategy, and investigation. If we can handle these, we’ll prove our worth.”
With a deep breath, Rowan decided to select the three scrolls, his resolve hardening. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but it was also a path that could lead to greatness. Together, Rowan and Silas were ready to face whatever challenges the Soulweaver Trials would throw at them.