Lian’s wrists ached under the cold bite of the iron shackles as the summoner shoved him onto a creaking wooden cart. The night was frigid, the breath of the dark, menacing horses pulling the cart visible in the air. Lian’s gaze was distant, his mind still overwhelmed by the horrors he had witnessed. His body felt numb, and the weight of Eldric’s loss was crushing.
The cart jolted forward, and the once-familiar forest blurred around him. The trees, once his sanctuary, now seemed like towering specters, reminding him of what he had lost. The grief was overwhelming, but beneath it simmered a growing resolve. The image of Eldric’s final moments flashed repeatedly in his mind—each time sharpening his will to survive, to fight back.
Up front, the summoner held the reins with one hand, while the other rested casually on the blood-stained bag that held Eldric’s severed head. His face was partially obscured by the dark cloak, but the smirk playing on his lips was unmistakable.
“You’re a rare catch, boy,” the summoner said, his tone dripping with mockery. “The King will be pleased with this little gift. Not everyone gets the honor of serving in his court... or rather, under it.”
Lian remained silent, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon, his thoughts elsewhere. Memories of his training with Eldric filled his mind. He recalled the stern lessons, the moments of humor, the bond they had shared. The grief he felt started to transform into something else—a burning resolve, a promise to avenge his grandfather.
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The cart continued its journey through the night. It passed through dark forests, desolate plains, and ominous mountain paths. The journey was long and treacherous, and Lian’s exhaustion grew with each passing hour. As they traveled, the scenes of destruction they encountered—villages ravaged by war, lands stripped of life—only fueled Lian’s anger. The world was cruel and broken, and he was beginning to understand just how deep that rot ran.
As dawn approached, the cart finally neared the outskirts of the King’s city. The towering walls loomed ahead, casting long shadows over the slums that surrounded the castle. The city was a far cry from the serenity of the forest—it was dirty, crowded, and filled with the cries of the suffering. Lian’s heart sank further as they navigated the narrow streets. Beggars reached out in desperation, only to be ignored or sneered at by the summoner.
The cart clattered to a stop at the castle gates, where heavily armored guards stood watch. The summoner dismounted and presented a sealed scroll bearing the King’s insignia. With a nod, the guards stepped aside, allowing the cart to pass through the creaking gates and into the castle’s dark, foreboding grounds.
Inside, the atmosphere was oppressive. The once-vibrant forest was now just a distant memory, replaced by the cold, unwelcoming walls of the King’s fortress. Lian’s heart pounded as he was roughly pulled from the cart. His legs, weak from the long journey, nearly gave way, but he forced himself to stand tall. Every step he took toward the looming entrance of the throne room felt heavier than the last.
The massive doors of the throne room groaned as they slowly opened, revealing the dark, regal chamber within. The summoner’s voice echoed through the cavernous space as he announced their arrival, his tone filled with twisted pride. The King’s court was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Lian braced himself, knowing that whatever awaited him within those walls would change his life forever.