The early morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew and damp earth. The camp was quiet, save for the faint sound of Mackie’s whispered prayers. Seated cross-legged by the dwindling embers of the fire, she held a small focus stone in her hands, chanting softly to prepare her spells for the day ahead. Her voice, though quiet, held a rhythm and flow, each incantation securing the magic she would call upon later.
Across the camp, Daven inspected his twin daggers and began to sharpen one, the rhythmic sound of stone against metal a constant backdrop to the morning stillness, blending with Mackie's incantations in a subtle harmony. His eyes flicked toward the horizon from time to time, ever vigilant. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Mackie, his expression unreadable, but the faintest shift in her posture seemed to answer him in silent understanding.
After weeks of travel, the group was nearing the eastern border, and the increased Calaedrian patrols as well as their approach toward Darkborn territory increased the heaviness in the air.
Jonny sat near Gavin at the edge of the camp opposite the group they had come to travel beside, absently running a hand along the hilt of the sword hidden beneath his cloak. The weapon, Noctisbane, had belonged to his adoptive father, Alex, and its gleaming surface alone would draw attention—too much attention. Yes, there was still much Jonny and Gavin did not know about the blade. Beneath its polished exterior lay secrets that neither of them fully understood, as though it held a purpose beyond mere battle. They had decided to keep it concealed during their journey, uncertain of how the others might react to its worth. His mind wandered as he watched Cal stretching in a nearby clearing, preparing for the day’s travel.
Cal, ever observant, caught Jonny’s gaze and grinned. “Kurt. Up for another round of sparring before we get moving?” he shouted, his tone casual but friendly.
Jonny hesitated, glancing at the covered sword at his side. In his spars with Cal throughout their weeks of travel, he had used a training stick, avoiding the use of his real blade. He didn’t want to draw questions about the weapon’s material or its significance.
Cal, seemingly reading Jonny’s reluctance, had chosen not to pry. Today would be different as he approached Jonny with a second sword in hand. “Here, take this,” he said, offering Jonny the blade. “I figured you’ve got your reasons for keeping that sword hidden. No need to explain.”
Jonny looked at the sword Cal offered, surprised by the gesture. Cal was more observant than Jonny had expected. Silently, Jonny accepted the sword, grateful for the unspoken understanding between them.
They moved to a clear patch of ground, and as they squared off, Cal gave Jonny a nod. “Relax your grip,” Cal advised. “Too tight, and you’ll wear yourself out.”
Jonny shifted his stance, loosening his hold on the borrowed sword. Cal was different from Gavin—where Gavin’s movements were calculated and exact, Cal fought with a natural fluidity. He was unpredictable, adapting his strikes with a human spontaneity that Jonny wasn’t used to.
Their blades clashed, and Jonny could feel the force behind each of Cal’s attacks. The sparring was intense, but Cal remained in control, offering pointers between strikes. “Good block, but watch your footwork,” Cal said, stepping back to give Jonny room to adjust.
Jonny had found himself growing more comfortable with Cal’s rhythm. He wasn’t as fast as Gavin, but he was learning how to read Cal’s movements and body language, anticipating his strikes. After several exchanges, Jonny managed to slip past Cal’s defenses, landing a light tap on his side.
Cal grinned, lowering his sword. “You’ve gotten a lot better.”
Jonny nodded, catching his breath. Though wary of Cal and his companions, he couldn’t deny the camaraderie that had grown between them. There was something about sparring that built a subtle connection, a mutual respect. But still, Jonny remained cautious. He didn’t know what had drawn Cal and his crew to this dangerous journey, and their motives were still unclear.
As they returned toward the camp, Mackie was finishing her devotions, the glow of residual magic fading from her hands. She glanced at Jonny and Cal, noting the easy banter between them, but her eyes shifted to Gavin, who stood at the edge of the clearing, distant and silent as always.
Gavin had never spoken to any of them. His interactions were reserved exclusively for Jonny, and even then, his voice was low and mechanical, always hidden beneath the hat and cloak that concealed his true nature. The others hadn’t seen Gavin’s face up close, and Jonny intended to keep it that way. If they knew that Gavin was purely mechanical—his body devoid of anything human—they would surely question him even more.
Gavin turned slightly toward Jonny, his voice barely more than a hum. “Patrols are scattered ahead,” he said, his tone neutral. “They’re searching for something.”
Jonny’s brow furrowed. “Searching? Not just guarding?”
“Actively looking,” Gavin confirmed. “It’s deliberate. I don’t know for what, but they’re not just patrolling.”
Jonny’s mind raced as he considered Gavin’s words. Were the knights hunting someone? Or was this just increased security along the border? He glanced at Cal and his companions, wondering if they had noticed the patrols or if they had any idea what was going on.
Jonny remained silent about Gavin’s observations, but the tension in the air was unmistakable. Cal had spoken earlier about the dangers of crossing the border, and the trio had become more vigilant when they first neared signs of patrols several days prior. Whatever was happening, they needed to be cautious.
As they began packing up camp, Cal approached Jonny again. “We’re getting close to the border,” he said, his voice low. “Keep your eyes open. I'm sure Wells filled you in. These patrols... aren’t normal.”
Jonny nodded, gripping the sword Cal had loaned him. He glanced over at Gavin, who had already disappeared into the trees to scout ahead. The patrols seemed to be closing in, but Jonny still didn’t know why.
Hours passed as they continued their way toward the border, the sun climbing higher in the sky. Gavin returned every so often to quietly update Jonny, his mechanical voice barely audible to the others. Each report confirmed the same thing: the knights were actively searching, their movements deliberate and coordinated.
“They’re close,” Gavin said during one such return, no longer able to communicate in secrecy. “Two squads. They’re covering the area thoroughly. They'll be upon us shortly.”
Jonny’s stomach tightened. Something wasn’t right. But Gavin’s observations and the patrols approaching descent upon them left them with little time to figure it out. They needed a plan to cross the border without being detected, and they needed an answer now.
Mackie, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for most of the day, spoke up. “There’s another way,” she said, her voice calm but confident.
Cal raised an eyebrow, glancing at her.
Mackie smiled slightly, the glow of magic faintly sparking at her fingertips. “I’ve got a spell. It’ll let us pass by without being noticed. We can slip right past the patrols.”
Jonny exchanged a glance with Gavin, who gave a subtle nod. Mackie’s magic had been useful throughout their journey, and if her spell could get them through the border safely, it might be their best option.
Cal considered her offer for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Let’s do it. Cast your spell when we’re ready to move.”
Jonny felt a flicker of relief as they prepared to follow Mackie’s lead. Their path became clearer as they reached a ridge that overlooked the borderlands. The tension of the approaching patrols was heavy in the air, but with her spell, they might just make it through unnoticed.
---
The border still lay further ahead, the last threshold between the safety of the kingdom and the strange, corrupted lands of the Darkborn. Jonny felt it even though he was still a distance away—the shift in the air, the way the light seemed to dim unnaturally, the palpable tension that grew with each step they took. As they neared the crest of a hill overlooking the border, a vast chasm came into view, its jagged edges plunging into darkness below, creating an impassable divide between humanity and the Darkborn lands. The chasm stretched for miles, a wound in the earth that defied crossing save for several paths, each usually heavily guarded by Calaedrian border patrols. The watch seemed unusually lax today, their numbers visibly thinned—no doubt stretched thin by their ongoing search efforts. However, the remaining sentries scanned the area with unrelenting vigilance, their figures silhouetted against the eerie twilight that settled over the border.
“Stay close,” Cal muttered under his breath as they approached the border, his deep voice barely rising above a whisper. The swordsman’s face was as tense as Jonny had ever seen it, his hand resting protectively on the hilt of his sword behind his back. His armor was hidden, covered by layers of cloth to keep it from catching the light or making too much noise, but Jonny knew that it was there, gleaming beneath the fabric, ready for battle.
Jonny glanced over at Cal. His face, as usual, betrayed nothing, but there was a subtle tension in his posture that Jonny could not ignore. It wasn't hard to sense Cal's unease; something about him seemed to stand out here, as if he were a light fighting to stay hidden in the dark. Though Jonny didn't understand why, he could feel an odd, almost tangible energy radiating from Cal, like an unseen force that didn't belong near the corrupted lands that lay ahead. It was only a matter of time before the Darkborn sensed it, too.
Jonny’s hands trembled slightly as he gripped the edge of his own cloak, pulling it tighter around his shoulders. His nerves buzzed with anticipation. He had never traveled so far, and the thought of crossing into enemy territory while remaining hidden never crossed his mind. His hand rested on the sword Cal had lent him earlier in the day while his own sword remained hidden beneath his cloak. The weight of it felt unfamiliar, heavy. He had trained with Noctisbane back at Helena’s cottage and when he had journeyed alone with Gavin, but this was the first time he was armed while treading into true danger. His stomach churned with nervous energy. He glanced at the others—Mackie, Daven, Cal, and Gavin—all focused, prepared. They moved as a unit, seasoned and sure-footed, while Jonny still struggled to find his place among them.
Could he really do this? Was he really ready?
“Stay close,” Mackie whispered, her voice barely audible but strong enough to take Jonny out of his contemplation. Her hands moved fluidly, weaving a subtle magic that seemed to wrap around them. The air around the group shifted, and the sounds of their movements faded into silence, their presence muffled, cloaked by some unseen force.
Jonny didn’t know exactly what spell she had cast, but the effects were immediate. The forest felt different, as if they had become shadows, invisible to the world around them. Their footsteps no longer crunched against the underbrush, and the tension seemed to heighten as the magic took hold.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
As they descended the hill, the nearest patrol came into view—a pair of armored knights, their blackened helmets reflecting the dull, seemingly corrupted light that filtered through the twisted trees, their branches warped and shadowed as though tainted by the Darkborn lands due to proximity alone. Their movements were slow and deliberate, eyes scanning the area for any sign of intruders, their presence a formidable barrier between the group and their goal. Jonny’s heart raced as the group crept closer, slipping through the shadows.
Jonny’s muscles tensed as they halted in the cover of thick trees. The patrol was close, too close. He could hear the soft clinking of their armor and the low murmur of their voices as they passed by, unaware of the group hiding just yards away. Every heartbeat felt like an eternity as Jonny tried to remain still, his grip tightening on Cal's sword in hand.
Then it happened. His foot, caught on a stray root, twisted awkwardly, and before he could stop himself, Jonny stumbled. A sharp scrape of his boot against stone rang out in the stillness, too loud.
Panic shot through him like a bolt of lightning. He had made noise—too much noise.
One of the knights stopped, turning toward the sound. His eyes narrowed, scanning the area where Jonny stood, hidden but vulnerable. The knight’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
Jonny’s breath caught in his throat. He froze, heart pounding in his chest as the knight took a step toward them.
Before he could react, there was a faint rustling in the opposite direction, deeper into the forest and away from the border. The knight’s attention snapped toward the sound.
“What was that?” one of the knights asked, his voice sharp, suspicious.
“Over there. Let's check it out,” the other responded, already moving toward the noise.
Jonny’s eyes widened. He hadn’t even seen Daven slip away from the group, but there he was, hidden in the shadows, expertly creating the distraction that had saved them all. The rogue had managed to draw the patrol away in a display of quick thinking and precise execution that only someone like Daven could pull off.
As the patrol moved further away, the tension in Jonny’s chest loosened, and he let out a shaky breath. He glanced at Daven, who reappeared from the shadows, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was no need for words; Daven’s sharp gaze and subtle nod said it all.
“Stay focused,” Cal whispered, his voice low but steady. “We’re not through yet.”
Jonny nodded, his heart still racing but his mind sharpened by the close call. They moved forward, every step now calculated, every sound carefully avoided. The patrol was behind them now, but the real test lay ahead: getting past the sentries stationed at the border—the point where the safety of the kingdom ended and the corruption of Darkborn territory began.
The faint shimmer of Mackie's spell still cloaked them in shadow, but Jonny knew even the slightest misstep could bring it all crashing down. The rest of the steps forward had to be calculated, every breath measured.
As they crept closer, the figures of two Calaedrian sentries appeared against the horizon, their blackened armor glinting dully in the corrupted light. They stood as still as statues, their eyes sweeping over the wide expanse before them, oblivious to the group slipping through the shadows mere feet away. The tension was palpable; Jonny’s muscles coiled tight, the weight of the place pressing down on him like a shroud. Gavin moved ahead, his mechanical senses heightened, calculating each movement with eerie precision.
A rustling in a brush some distance away caught the sentries' attention. One of them stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the shifting shadows. Just as he neared, a nimble woodstrider—a sleek, antlered creature native to the borderlands—darted out from hiding. The sudden movement made the sentry flinch, but he quickly relaxed, realizing it was only a harmless animal. As if guided by some stroke of fortune, the group used the distraction to slip past the border, undetected and unnoticed.
Jonny let out a slow, controlled breath, after the group left the border a considerable distance behind them, feeling the tension ease just slightly. Step by step, they passed the border’s edge, the air shifting, colder, darker, as though they had crossed into the domain of another world entirely. There was no turning back now. They were in Darkborn territory.
---
“We’re through,” Mackie whispered, her voice barely audible as the magic she had woven began to ease. The protective cloak that had shielded them dissipated, leaving them exposed once more, but the immediate threat of the patrol was behind them. Jonny stole a glance at Mackie, noting the beads of sweat on her brow. Maintaining that spell had clearly cost her, but she gave no sign of slowing down.
Ahead, the land continued to twist into something else entirely. Trees still grew here, but they were dark, sinewy things with bark that looked almost charred, their branches twisted and gnarled at sharp angles, forming an oppressive canopy. Their branches jutted out at unnatural angles, blocking the already gray light of the clouded sky. Rather than barren, the ground was covered in a thick, pulpy moss that gave way underfoot, exuding a sickly, organic warmth.
Small, ghostly fungi clung to the roots and low branches, casting a faint, phosphorescent glow in the dimness, and strange vines crept over the soil, bearing dark, spiny fruits that seemed barely alive. A faint, acrid scent hung in the air—a blend of decay and something bitterly sweet, as if even in this place devoid of human life, the Darkborn found ways to sustain themselves in their own twisted ecology.
“Keep moving,” Cal said quietly, his voice firm but measured. He hadn’t drawn his sword yet, but Jonny could see the tension in his stance, the way his hand hovered near the hilt. Cal was always calm, controlled, never revealing too much.
The group traveled barely a mile after crossing the border when Gavin, who had been walking ahead, suddenly stopped. His head tilted slightly, his glowing eyes narrowing as he scanned the twisted forest ahead. Jonny watched him closely, noting the way Gavin’s movements seemed more rigid, more calculated than before.
“We’re not alone,” Gavin said, his voice low and steady, though carrying an unusual edge to it, almost tense.
Jonny nodded, steadying himself and adjusting his stance. Gavin had no choice but to remain quiet when they had met Cal and his group forcing him to be withdrawn, yet Jonny sensed something stirring beneath that silence—a guarded resolve that hadn't been there before. In the wake of Helena's death, Gavin had found a purpose he was just beginning to understand: to walk this journey alongside Jonny. And now, with the shadow of potential danger looming closer, Gavin seemed uncharacteristically nervous, his calm demeanor tinged with a protective urgency that Jonny had never seen in him before. However, there wasn’t time to question it now.
“What do you mean?” Mackie asked, her voice hushed but tense.
“Darkborn,” Gavin replied, his eyes still fixed on something in the distance. “Approaching with speed.”
A low growl echoed through the forest, sending a chill through Jonny’s body. He recognized that sound. It was the same guttural snarl he had heard back at Helena’s cottage. The Darkborn were hunting.
“They’ve caught our scent,” Cal muttered, drawing his sword in one swift motion. The blade gleamed faintly in the dim light, its presence reassuring despite the rising danger. “Get ready.”
Jonny’s grip tightened on Cal's sword in hand, his heart hammering in his chest. He had fought Darkborn before, but he wasn't ready at that time. His previous encounter had been desperate, chaotic—he had fought off one with nothing but a makeshift log before Gavin had intervened. Now, for the first time, he had steel at his side.
The first of the Darkborn emerged from the shadows, its twisted form barely visible in the dim light. Its eyes glowed a sickly green, and its snarl sent a shiver of fear through Jonny’s bones. The creatures moved with terrifying speed, their bodies a twisted mockery of the living, corrupted by the dark magic that permeated the land.
Jonny's heart raced as his eyes flicked toward Daven, who was spinning one of his daggers between his fingers, looking far too relaxed for what they were about to do. The rogue seemed completely at ease, but Jonny knew better. Daven was never really at ease—his sharp eyes were always watching, always ready for trouble.
Mackie adjusted her robe and gripped her staff tightly. Standing beside Daven, she caught his gaze, and for a moment, they shared a silent exchange—a flicker of worry softened by a quiet resolve. She offered him a brief, reassuring smile, before she whispered a quiet prayer under breath, steadying herself for the coming fight with the approaching Darkborn.
And then there was Gavin, moving like a shadow at the front of the group, his movements impossibly smooth. He glided between the trees as though he were one with them, his metal limbs making no sound. Gavin had always been strange to the rest of the group, but now was not the moment to question his nature.
A tense silence hung in the air, each of them bracing for the inevitable clash, until the first Darkborn leaped from the shadows and set them all into motion.
---
The first Darkborn lunged at Daven, its eyes glowing with a savage hunger, claws extended in a wild swing. Daven's body reacted on instinct, spinning to the side just as the creature's claws sliced the air where his throat had been a heartbeat earlier. His twin daggers flashed in his hands, finding their mark in the Darkborn's ribcage.
The creature let out a guttural snarl, but the rogue was already moving, dancing back to create distance. It was fast—faster than anything he'd fought before—but not fast enough to stop him.
"Not deep enough," he cursed under his breath as he shifted his stance, readying for the next attack.
The Darkborn lunged again, but this time Daven was ready. As it leapt into the air, claws outstretched, Daven ducked low and rolled beneath it, coming up just behind the creature. With both daggers in hand, he drove the blades into the back of its neck, twisting them for maximum impact.
The creature gurgled as dark blood sprayed from its wound. It staggered forward a few steps, and then collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Daven wiped the blood from his daggers and shot a glance at the others. "One down," he muttered, his voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through him.
Four more Darkborn burst from the treeline with terrifying speed, each barreling toward the group.
"Stay sharp!" Cal shouted, stepping forward to meet the onslaught head-on, his sword already unsheathed. His steel clanged as it connected with the first of the charging beasts, but something about the way he moved was different.
His strikes were purposeful, his eyes glowing with determination—he wasn't just some wandering swordsman anymore.
Mackie retreated a few steps, her hand already raised, gathering energy for a spell.
"I'm covering the rear!" she called, her voice steady despite the chaos swirling around them.
Jonny held his borrowed sword in his grip as he locked eyes with a Darkborn charging toward him. He could feel its unearthly growl reverberate in his bones, but there was no time for fear.
The creature swung its massive arm at him, and Jonny barely managed to parry, the force of the blow sending vibrations through the blade and up his arms.
The Darkborn pressed forward, unrelenting, and Jonny's borrowed sword met claw and fang as he struggled to hold his ground. His eyes flickered toward Gavin, who stood on the outskirts of the battle, calculating, watching. Gavin wasn't moving. He wasn't going to help.
This is my fight, Jonny realized, gritting his teeth as the Darkborn's next blow sent him skidding backward.
With a low growl, the Darkborn lunged again. Jonny braced himself, swinging the sword up to block, its massive claws swinging down at him with terrifying speed, the force of the blow sending a jolt through his arms. He gritted his teeth, pushing back against the creature's strength, but he knew he couldn't hold it off forever. The Darkborn pressed forward, claws scraping against the blade, and Jonny took a step back, then another. His heart pounded in his chest. He needed to do something.
But then, with a sickening snap, the blade snapped. His heart skipped a beat as the borrowed sword broke from the weight of the blow, leaving only a jagged shard attached to the hilt.
"Damn it!" Jonny growled, throwing the useless weapon to the ground. The Darkborn's eyes flared red, sensing the weakness.
It charged again.
Jonny's hand shot to his side, and in one smooth motion, he drew Noctisbane. The familiar weight of the blade was reassuring, the worn grip fitting perfectly in his hand. For the briefest moment, Jonny hesitated, a wave of memories washing over him—the sword laying bare on the dining table in his cottage the day André Barker bore news of Alex's death, Helena, slouched in the corner of the cottage. The grief, the helplessness, the rage—it all came rushing back, and the Darkborn was upon him.
Jonny slashed upward in a wide arc with unbridled fury, and the sword cut through the creature's thick hide like it was nothing. Dark blood sprayed across the forest floor as the beast howled in agony, staggering onto the ground from the sheer force of the strike. Jonny stepped forward, no longer retreating, his resolve hardening with each breath.
This sword was different. Lighter. Sharper. Stronger. And there was something else—something he couldn't quite place. The blade hummed with energy as if it was alive, reacting to his will but quelling his anger allowing him to fight levelheaded.
Behind him, Cal's sword clanged against his opponent's claws. His movements were crisp, precise, far more than a simple mercenary's skill.
And then Jonny saw it—even beneath Cal's cloak and the clothes covering his armor, an emblem glowed though faint, the same as the emblem André Barker had given to Jonny after Helena's funeral.
Jonny's heart raced as the realization hit him. Cal and the group were somehow related to André.
But the Darkborn didn't care about Jonny's revelations. Sensing an opening, it roared and swung its massive arm toward him again. Jonny ducked, feeling the wind of the strike graze his hair, and in a single fluid motion, he drove Alex's sword into the beast's side. The blade sank deep, and this time, the Darkborn didn't get back up.
"Kurt, behind you!" Daven's voice cut through the chaos, and Jonny barely had time to react before another Darkborn charged toward him.
But he wasn't alone.
Gavin, who had been silently observing, moved with impossible speed. His mechanical body blurred into action, and before the Darkborn could reach Jonny, Gavin intercepted it. His arm extended, and with a precise, almost effortless strike, Gavin cleaved the creature in two, his inhuman strength on full display.
Daven whistled. "I'm glad he's on our side..."
Jonny panted, gripping Noctisbane even tighter. He wasn't sure whether to thank Gavin or feel unsettled by the cold efficiency of his movements. But there was no time to dwell on it. The battle was far from over.
Mackie had her own problems. One of the Darkborn had broken through her defensive spells and was closing in fast.
She stumbled, already drained from the last few spells she had cast earlier that day. "I'm out of slots," she muttered to herself, panic rising as the beast lunged toward her.
"Jessie!" Daven shouted, his voice raw with urgency.
Mackie—Jessie—snapped her head up at the sound of her real name, momentarily distracted by the rogue's slip. But before the Darkborn could reach her, Gavin was there again, faster than she could register. His fist slammed into the creature's head, caving it in with a sickening crunch. The Darkborn fell, lifeless, at Jessie's feet.
She blinked, looking up at Gavin. The flicker of unease in her eyes was impossible to miss. He had never allowed himself to be this close to the group other than with Jonny, and she now understood why. His face was mechanical, unlike anything she had ever witnessed within her twenty-four years of life.
"Thanks," she managed, though her voice wavered as her did her gaze.
Gavin didn't respond. He simply turned and moved toward the next target, his mechanical body barely pausing as he processed the fight's ebb and flow.
Jonny, panting heavily, wiped the sweat from his brow. The last of the Darkborn minions were being driven back, their numbers dwindling under the group's relentless assault.
Cal stepped forward, his sword now glowing with a faint light, holy in nature. There was no more hiding his power. He brought the blade down with a divine smite, the radiance cutting through the final Darkborn with little resistance. The creature let out a final, agonized screech before collapsing in a heap at his feet.
The forest fell silent.
Jonny tightened his grip on Noctisbane, staring at the fallen Darkborn.
His heart was still racing, but the immediate danger had passed. Around him, the others slowly regrouped, their breaths heavy, eyes flickering with the same realization.
They had won the battle, but the secrets they had kept from each other were now laid bare.
Cal and his companions hailed from Calaedria, though their connection ran deeper than a mere band of travelers or adventurers—espeically given Cal's command over holy power and his relationship with André Barker. Each held a guarded identity, one of which was finally revealed as Mackie stepped forward as Jessie, though their true motives as a group remained a mystery. Jonny had little choice but to reveal Noctisbane; the blade's shimmering almost ethereal sheen caught more than a few lingering glances. And then there was Gavin... who wasn't even human.
Daven sheathed his daggers, his sharp eyes scanning the group. "Looks like we've all got things to talk about."