A horn's loud bellow cuts through the morning fog. Stray sunlight finds its way through the mist, casting an ethereal light on the sea of dust and weapons claiming the verdant clearing. Cyan banners stand in the distance, all adorned with a golden griffon.
Facing the approaching army stands Gabriel, a boy reaching thirteen on this day. His helmet shakes on his head, too small to fill it. His short sword trembles in his hand, heavier than ever. Sweat trickles down his brow. Trying to wipe it he hits his helmet with his shield.
A harsh pat on his back knocks the breath out of him. "Steady, little brother," booms Owen, his voice calm amidst the chaos. Owen stands behind him, his muscular body towering other the surrounding warriors.
Their father and leader, Uther, towers over all his soldiers at the helm. His body is clad in a tattered steel plate armor, his head hidden behind a wall of black fur. He glances at Gabriel, gauging not a son but a soldier.
The enemy charges with a deafening roar, the ground shaking beneath their approach. A shield wall forms in front of them, spiked with spears. With a bone-chilling battle cry, Uther orders to charge. The defensive line sprints towards the imminent threat. Faced with the unassailable bulwark, some attempt to halt their advance but are either trampled or compelled forward by their own.
The collision decimates the enemy's frontline. Spears thrust viciously, claiming numerous lives. The battle seems lopsided until three catastrophic hits fracture the shield wall. The sound of their discharge unmasks the presence of hidden ballistae deep within the woods.
Enemies seep in the cracks. The world becomes a whirlwind of chaos and noise. Grunts, shouts, screams, and steel clashing echo in Gabriel ears.
A brutal force slams into Gabriel, sending him sprawling to the ground. As he struggles to stand, he sees the hulking figure of an enemy looming above him. The soldier rises his axe, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust. Gabriel hurls his shield in the way. The axe pierces the wood of the shield but stops. A roar erupts, Owen barrels into the assailant, his sword traversing the man's chest. Gabriel stands up using the helping hand of his brother. At his feet the enemy soldier gives a strangled cry, his blood staining the earth.
Owen disappeared in the chaos. Lifting his gaze Gabriel sees a man charging him. The enemy is slow, his legs shaking with each step. As he thrusts his spear at Gabriel, he deflects it with his shield. The sensation of piercing flesh and sliding on bones fills Gabriel's arm. His sword deep in the man's chest, Gabriel senses his victim's racing heart.
Gabriel's sight dwells on the swollen knuckles of the man. His hands tanned and calloused, covered in faint scars, cuts, and bruises. Grime and dirt cling to his crevices and damaged fingernails. A silver band is stuck on his left ring finger, surrounded by swollen skin. He bends backward and falls on the ground, freeing Gabriel's sword.
A familiar battle cry reaches Gabriel amidst the chaos. Turning his gaze, he sees his father, Uther, in the midst of the melee. He moves with a terrifying grace, his every action radiating lethality. Each swing of his formidable black-steel sword showers crimson droplets in its wake. Gabriel watches in stunned silence as his father fells one enemy after the other.
With a swift, brutal motion, Uther beheads an enemy soldier. His severed head, still donning a look of shook, tumbles onto the ground. Two more enemies charge at him, halted in their course by a single swing of his blade. The ease and indifference of his slaughter terrify the surrounding enemies.
A horse bearing an armored rider lunges at Uther. The rider's spear grazes Uther's shoulder guard, but he evades a direct hit. Side by side with the horse, Uther swings his sword with immense force. Dust and blood explode into the air. The horse's head, along with its rider, rolls onto the blood-soaked ground.
The rider rises, drawing his sword. "A privilege, clashing with the Stormbringer!" he shouts, his voice lost in the chaos. As he charges at Uther, a spear strikes his knee from the back, bringing him down. Uther watches as one of his men cuts the rider's throat, then returns to his onslaught.
Gabriel snaps back to the present, a storm of cries enveloping their skirmish. Comrades storm out from the nearby woods, fracturing the enemy lines. The ballistae, and enemy rear is taken in an instant. Within moments, the surviving foes bolt from the battlefield. Mercenaries lying in the forest hassle their retreat, letting almost none escape.
The mercenaries traverse the battlefield, finishing the lingering enemies. At Gabriel's feet, his wounded adversary chokes. Uther's silhouette looms in front of him, his eyes expectant. Owen lays his hand on his brother's shoulder. With a trembling hand, Gabriel positions his sword against the man's throat. The man gazes at Gabriel, tears filling his eyes, his punctured lung failing to form words.
Uther's commanding voice stirs Gabriel from his hesitation, "You're no longer a child."
With a surge of resolve, Gabriel thrusts his blade into the man. His blood slowly pools in the dirt. "Today, you became a warrior," Uther proclaims, abandoning them both.
Owen escorts Gabriel away, steering them off the battlefield.
The stench of blood and sweat hangs heavy as Gabriel follows Owen through the camp. Around them, men, their bodies weary and stained with the grime of battle share tales. Their armor dented and scuffed, their bodies cut in many places. Some tend to their wounds with grim faces, while other already share bottles of liquors. Their laughter too loud for the confused mind of Gabriel.
Women move through the camp, their faces a mix of relief and dread as they look for familiar figures among the returning fighters. Some rush to their husbands and sons, throwing their arms around them. Laughter bubbles up as couples kiss and family reunite.
Elsewhere, women, young children in tow, seek out their loved ones among the wounded or the fallen. Their faces remain composed, their grief held at bay to reassure their kids clinking to them. When they find their loved ones, the relief or despair that washes other them is palpable.
Gabriel and Owen enter a tent at the camp's heart. Inside, a woman of noble appearance awaits. Her beauty a stark contrast to the rest of the camp's mercenaries. Her hair, a waterfall of golden curls and braids, shimmers in the tent light. Upon seeing her sons, her eyes light up, their blue depths shimmering with relief. Her hands, delicate and untouched by physical work, reach out for them, pulling them in a loving embrace.
With a gentle touch, she lifts Gabriel's helmet, uncovering his dark hair. Pulling a cloth, she wipes the dirt and blood from his face. Her fingers move methodically, tracing the line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, and his cheekbones. As she washes the dirt away, the youthful features of Gabriel emerge.
"Did you get hurt?", her soft voice asks.
Gabriel looks at his own body, removing his armor. Unfit for his size, it marked his skin. Passing his hand along his muscled body he checks for a wound. Finding none he says, "No, I don't think so."
His mother, seeing a cut along Gabriel shoulder turns to Owen. Her voice, still soft, carries exasperation, "I asked you to protect him."
"That's nothing, the spear only grazed him," Owen retorts as he removes his armor, dressing in linen clothes. Without waiting for the conversation to continue he leaves the tent.
"He did protect me from a soldier with an axe," Gabriel arguments.
"Do not excuse your brother, he swore you wouldn't get hurt." She gives him a clean shirt. Her hand passes other his wound, ether gathering in her palm. Tendrils of mana leave her fingers to pear into Gabriel's skin, closing his wound. As she removes her hand Gabriel's wound only left a long healed scar.
A man stops at the tent's entrance, he conveys, "Katherine, Heyworth's messenger is at the gate."
Katherine answers, "Escort him to Uther's tent." Turning to Gabriel she whispers, "I'm coming back soon, drink some water and rest."
As she leaves the tent Gabriel waits for a minute. Making sure his mother is nowhere to be seen. He makes his way to the central tent. Lifting the fabric, he makes his way inside.
Hidden under a bed, staying utterly silent, he spots his mother. A man with short blond hair enters the tent. His attire, mixed between a mantle and an armor, reflects wealth. Behind him are soldier carrying crates. They both sit opposite of a table. His Nord, the tongue of the mercenaries, is amateur but understandable, "Greetings your highness. I passed by the theater of war, and was glad to see you succeeded, once again."
She fluently answers in Valkyrian, the local language, "Your attention is noted, but you do not need overexert yourself. I'd rather have you tell me why it is not Tobias who came to pay us."
Switching language, he answers, "He's caring for his sick daughter. I was chosen to replace him in his endeavors."
Katherine gauges his response, and continues, "Rumors say your troops are presently asserting control over Lenzel Port. Coupled with our success today, this could well signify the end of Barnes' occupation in your lands."
"It's been nine long years since they invaded us. But alas, after almost two years of war, we took back every bit of land they stole. A shame the rest of their territory lies behind the impregnable Stormwatch," he says.
Uther appears in the tent, taking a sit next to Katherine. The messenger adds, "In addition to your payment I took the liberty to bring a set of meads from Valdrun." His guards open the chests revealing gold, silver, gems, and a set of dark green bottles.
Estimating the value of the payment Katherine says, "Your gesture is appreciated."
He queries, "Given that our neighbor is embroiled in a civil conflict, I presume your departure is imminent?"
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Amused, Katherine answers, "We won't be staying in your country more than a week."
"I'm glad you understand. My men and I will see ourselves out. Enjoy your festivities," he says leaving with his men in tow.
Uther breaks the silence, "Once the spies enter Stormwatch we'll move west, beginning our long journey to Barnes doors."
Katherine's gaze hardened she stands, leaving his side to pour herself a glass of wine. "You speak so casually, Uther," she says, her voice becoming poisonous, "as though they are just pawns in your strategic game."
Uther's gaze falters for a moment, his conviction comes back, "We trained them for this exact purpose."
"You trained them all, why does it have to be him?!", she bursts turning back to Uther.
"Keep your voice down," he growls, "Those three are the only ones who are good enough for this mission and you know it. Any other would get caught and killed, or worse."
For a moment, the tent falls silent, the weight of Uther words hanging heavy between them. His gaze softens, he reaches Katherine shoulder, asking, "Have you told Gabriel yet?"
Evading his grasp, she finishes her glass and answers, "I will, tonight."
As she departs from the tent, he sharply commands, "See that you do," swiftly regretting the harsh edge in his voice.
After what feels like an eternity Uther leaves the tent, affording Gabriel the opportunity to slip out, tracing his initial path of entry.
As dusk falls the camp is reunited around a grand fire. The smell of roasting boars fills the air. Many are already drinking and chatting with each other.
Guided by Owen, Gabriel approaches the heart of the feast. Their half-siblings, a riotous mix of ages and faces, greet them with laughter and jeers.
"Gabriel!" shouts Yorick, the eldest brother after Owen. Reaching over to ruffle Gabriel's hair he asks, "How was your first battle? I thought I saw you get thrown to the ground, but you look unharmed."
Gabriel doesn't have time to answer before another thrust a tanker in his hands. Brynn, a man barely nineteen, tells him, "Now it's time for your second battle, against mead."
Owen grabs the tanker from Gabriel, pointing his finger at Brynn. "Don't get my brother drunk. I remember very well in what state you got Oswald two years ago," Owen warns.
Gabriel disappears from their sight to approach a plate of garlic bread. On the side he can see three of his six stepmothers sitting at a table. They are sharing wine and hushed conversation. Orla, Uther's fourth wife, starts a discussion while looking at Gabriel. "Hard to believe he's seen battle. Uther must be proud."
"With him all his sons are now officially warriors. Well, until you add a new one." Eilin, the youngest and latest adds, turning to Eleri.
Eleri touches her barely visible belly. "I think this will be a girl."
The various shatters are silenced as Uther exists his tent, walking towards the head table. Gabriel joins Owen who finished Brynn's stolen gift. Rising to his full height, Uther's imposing figure dominates the camp. His shadow stretches across the fire-lit faces. His voice, gruff and powerful, echoes off the surrounding tents. "Warriors of the north," he bellows, "we have crushed the armies of Barnes under our might. Tonight, we recognize the strength in each of you, the steel in your bodies," Uther declares, his eyes gleaming in the fire as they travel over the crowd. "Fierce as the winter storms, relentless as our seas, you all carried your spirit into the heart of the fight. Your courage roared louder than any war horn." He takes a tanker, lifting it as he continues, "Those victories are yours. Each blade swung, each arrow shot, each life risked in the chaos of battle… They were the strokes that painted our triumph. I could ask for no finer warriors." He turns to the tables near him. "To my sons, and my fierce daughter, you've grown from the children who once played at my feet into warriors standing tall on the battlefield," Uther says, his eyes hinting with pride. "You've wielded your blades with valor, becoming pillars of strength for our people. Each of you has your own battle scars, each mark a badge of honor, a testament of your bravery. You've all shown that the blood of the North runs in your veins, and I could not be prouder." He lowers his drink, taking a more serious posture. His voice shifts into a deeper, more solemn tone. "To our fallen brothers and sisters. Your spirits rest in the Boreal Sanctuary. Your valor shall echo across the ages. Your names, your deed, will be told around our fires, carried in the wind of the North, imprinted in our memories. We drink to your honor, we sing to your memory, until the day we shall be once again drinking together." He lifts his drink in the air, imitated by everyone in a choir of cheers. "Now, we look to the horizon," Uther pronounces, his voice growing louder, resolute. "West is where our next battles await. There, we will face new foes, fight on lands unknow to you. The clash of steel, the roar of our battle cries, the taste of victory, these are what awaits us. For our warrior's heart and our gods yearns for the thrill of battle. So raise your mead, my brave warriors! For soon we march to new wars, to carve our tales of glory on new lands, to add a new chapter to our saga. The west will hear our thunderous approach, and they shall know our strength!"
As Uther's words fade, a momentary silence wraps the camp. In a sudden eruption, cheers resound throughout the encampment. They all raise their mugs high, their voices melding into a cacophonous roar of approval. Ale and mead are poured generously, mugs refilled to the brim again and again. Laughter and merriment fill the night, echoing through the vast expanse. Some pick up instruments, adding their songs to the jubilant symphony. Their melodies are spirited, retelling tales of valor and victory, fueling the joyous atmosphere. Soldiers swap stories, animatedly reenacting their personal moment of glory. The kids listen intently, their hearts pounding with the thrill of such tales.
Yorick sits in front of Gabriel, asking again, "How was your first battle?"
"It was...it was like…," Gabriel starts, fumbling for words that might capture the gravity of what he experienced. His young eyes have the faraway look of a memory that's too heavy to bear. "You know, when the air is alive with excitement, like when we used to play tag. Only it wasn't a game, it was real." His small hand rises to his shoulder, brushing against his newly acquired wound, "We were all there, like a pack of wolves. Owen was with me, big and strong, like he always is. And father...he looked so tall, so fierce, just like a real king." His gaze drops to the ground, focusing on a small stone beneath his feet. "I remember the noise, the rush...I was knocked down, but I got back up. It wasn't bravery, it was more like...like I didn't have a choice. Owen was there, saving me. He looked like a hero from the stories, striking the enemy down."
Yorick looks toward Owen who already left the table. Aside from the rest of the camp he's seemingly talking to a woman his age, away from the rest.
Gabriel continues, "Then there was this other man," Gabriel says, his voice becoming firmer, more resolute. "He was a warrior, strong and fierce. There was fire in his eyes, a challenge. He was determined to bring me down, just as I was determined to stand my ground. He wasn't slow, he wasn't tired. He was ready. He charged at me, his weapon aimed at my heart. And I... I had to stop him. It wasn't a choice, but a necessity. My sword met him, piercing his armor. The sensation was... indescribable, like sinking a blade into the bark of an old, stubborn tree. And his heart," Gabriel continues, an edge to his voice. "It pounded beneath my touch. It was full of fight, brimming with the same wild fear that was in mine."
Yorick slides him a mug with a reasonable amount of mead. "You stood your ground today. The first battle is the toughest."
Katherine and Gabriel tread to their tent under the cover of night. She whispers, "There's something I need to talk to you about."
Gabriel sits on his bed, looking at her. She draws a deep breath, carefully choosing her words before she begins, "Many moons ago, even before you graced us with your presence, King Barnes wreaked havoc on our lives. He didn't merely snatch away our lands, he seized something infinitely more precious. He took the life of your eldest sibling."
Her gaze becomes watery, filled with raw emotion as Gabriel tries to digest this sudden revelation. Katherine soldiers on, her voice trembling slightly, "Your brother was named Oliver, a defenseless toddler of two years when he was cruelly taken from us. Fleeing from the clutches of Barnes, we sought refuge in the north, on your father's lands. Over time, we amassed our strength, harboring the hope of exacting revenge on Barnes. For Oliver and for all those who have suffered and died at his hands."
Unfurling a detailed map of the nearby regions, she indicates a large coastal indentation facing eastward. Her finger lands on a northern land. "Here is our present location," she informs. Her digit glides down the parchment, traversing across a vast expanse of blue to a southern city. "And this," she says, "is Stormwatch, the maritime capital of Vale, and home to Barnes and his court."
"We're planning to strike Stormwatch?" queries Gabriel.
"Your father and I, alongside our army, will venture southward. We'll follow the coast, engage in battles, grow our forces using the wealth we've collected," she explains, her gaze unwavering. "Your mission, however, will be different. You are to cross the sea, infiltrate Stormwatch."
Gabriel asks, "How would I do that?"
"You won't be alone, and preparations have been made," she reassures. "Your objective is to ascend the ranks within Barnes' forces, to get close to him. When the time arrives for our forces to converge on his doorstep, you'll be our Enchanted Statue."
His response comes steady, "I understand."
She studies his face, surprised by his composed demeanor. "You seem remarkably calm, considering I've just told you that you'll be leaving everything familiar behind for an indefinite period."
He looks away for a moment before meeting her eyes again, "I knew. I overheard your conversation with father earlier."
She glances back. "Have you seen your brother?" she queries.
"With Nerys," comes Gabriel's short reply.
Katherine hums, changing the topic, "Do you want to read a story?"
Gabriel's mind strains, tired from the day's events. "We finished The Jeweled Citadel, didn't we?"
"We did, but there's another we haven't read," she says, pulling a steel-bound book from a chest.
Katherine joins him on the bed, holding out the book. An armored man, sword grounded, graces the cover against the backdrop of a floating castle. Above, stands a golden title in a foreign language. He points, "I don't know this word."
"It says 'knight.'"
"What's knight?" he asks.
She flips open the book, its pages filled with foreign text. Then, she begins reading aloud. The guard outside listens, perplexed by the incomprehensible language. Words are long, spoken with an even pace. Sharp sounds of consonants mix with full vowels. Her voice rings out, strong, and clear. It sounds straight to the point, leaving no room for doubt.
Gabriel focuses, his mind tracing her words. When a passage puzzles him, he asks her to clarify or translate.
"In a land near yet far, there dwelt beings of wonder, known as the Knights. Each had been kissed by the world's magic, gifted with powers that made them the guardians of the world. These Knights held sway over the principles of creation and destruction. One could dissolve menacing beasts with a mere sweep of his hand, whilst another could breathe life into lifelessness. Their gifts were as numerous as they were diverse, each weaving a unique thread into the splendid tapestry of reality. Under their watchful eyes, their kingdom prospered. At the helm of these extraordinary beings was their leader, the King of Knights. But then, one day—" Her soothing narrative is interrupted as a sudden change sweeps through the camp outside. The jubilant cheers and laughter, the mirthful songs, all give way to a stunned silence, followed by the hushed whispers of uncertainty.
The abrupt change in ambiance confuses Gabriel. He looks at Katherine, "Why has the music stopped?"
Katherine, feeling a prickle of worry, sets the book aside. "I'm not sure, Gabriel."
The music and cheers that had been the backdrop to their evening had been replaced by an eerie quiet, punctuated by whispers that were too low for them to discern. Their eyes meet in a silent agreement to investigate.
As they push through the tent's flap, a chilling scream cuts through the night. Their hearts pound in their chests as they join the crowd dashing towards Uther's tent.
A crowd dashes toward Uther's tent. Inside, Eleri weeps over Seren's still form. Blood marks the ground around Seren's face, streaming down her cheeks. Remnants of spilled wine shimmer under the low light, and the furniture, upended by Uther's stumble, lies scattered about the tent. Uther is sprawled on his bed. A sputter, a spatter of blood, and he forces himself upright. His gaze meets his dead wife, then sweeps the spectators. His command rings out, a controlled fury beneath the command, "Find the one who poisoned our wine. Bring them to me!"
Uther's order sends a ripple through the camp, jolting each soldier into action. Tents are thrust open, their contents disturbed as every soldier conducts their search. Misplaced belongings, signs of intrusion, anything unusual become their focus.
Simultaneously, eyes narrow with suspicion. Questions, once casual, now probe alibis. "Where were you during the feast?" one would query, another would ask, "Noticed anyone near the casks?"
Every tent morph into an interrogation room. The usual end-of-day murmurs are replaced by a charged silence, punctuated only by hushed voices. The search, conducted with precision, leaves no corner unexamined, no potential hiding place unchecked.