The tentacles were almost upon me, writhing through the air with unnatural precision, reaching straight for my head. My breath caught in my throat, my body still refusing to move as the creature loomed closer.

Then, from somewhere beside me, I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps splashing against the muddy shore.

I didn’t have time to turn, didn’t have time to register what was happening before the world exploded into motion.

A flash of steel cut through the air, and the next thing I knew, the creature’s tentacles went slack, its massive form falling in two, cleaved cleanly in half. The halves hit the water with a sickening splash, the lake swallowing them whole as quickly as it had birthed the monstrosity.

I blinked, my breath coming in shallow gasps, as I tried to process what had just happened.

Standing before me was a man—a figure of strength and calm amidst the chaos. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his presence commanding without being imposing. His hair, dark but streaked with silver at the temples, framed a face lined not with weariness but with the experience of someone who had seen the world at its worst and survived.

His sharp gaze swept over me, calm and focused, yet carrying the weight of a life spent at war. There was something in his stance, in the way he held himself, that radiated authority. The massive sword strapped to his back explained the clean, effortless strike that had just saved my life.

For a moment, I couldn’t stop staring at him—or more specifically, at the streaks of grey in his hair. My mind wandered absently. Do I have grey hair now? It had been ages since I’d checked.

He turned his piercing gaze toward me, breaking me from my daze. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice steady but kind.

I managed to stumble back a step, swallowing hard before nodding quickly. “Yes, yes—thank you. Thank you,” I stammered, the words tumbling out of me.

He nodded once, his expression unreadable, and glanced down at the water where the creature’s remains had sunk beneath the surface. Then, with a calm efficiency that seemed second nature, he wiped the blade of his sword clean before returning it to the scabbard on his back.

I was still catching my breath, my mind reeling from what had just happened. But one thing was clear—whoever this man was, I owed him more than just my thanks.

“A week ago, we just destroyed the last demon,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of frustration. “Yet, the monsters still keep coming, as if they don’t care.”

I watched as he slid his massive sword back into its scabbard, the smooth motion speaking to years of practice. Then he extended his hand toward me.

“Cedric Valenforth,” he said, his grip firm and his voice carrying a subtle note of formality. “The Knight Commander of the Kingdom, at your service.”

I blinked, momentarily stunned. The name didn’t ring any bells, but judging by the title and the way he carried himself, this man was clearly someone important. Perhaps the King’s right hand, or something close to it.

Feeling the weight of his authority, I instinctively bowed. Before I could fully lower my head, however, his hand caught my shoulder and gently but firmly straightened me back up.

“There’s no need for that,” he said, a faint smirk on his face. “You look older than me. No one should bow to someone younger.”

I chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck. “Ah, well, habit, I guess.”

Cedric gestured toward a broken tree trunk lying on the shore, its surface smoothed by time and weather. “Sit down,” he said. “Have you eaten? I was about to enjoy the peace of this lake myself when that thing showed up.”

I followed his gesture and sat down on the trunk, the damp wood creaking slightly under my weight. My stomach wasn’t exactly full, but it wasn’t empty either. Still, the thought of company—and sharing a meal—was oddly comforting after days of solitude.

“You want a grilled fish?” I asked, pulling the pouch with my catch from my bag. A small smile tugged at my lips as I looked at him.

Cedric’s mouth quirked into a faint grin, his expression softening for the first time since he’d appeared. “That’s what I thought,” he said, with a nod of approval.

I laid the fish on a flat stone by the shore, its silver scales glinting faintly in the dim light. Using my knife, I made quick, precise cuts, gutting and cleaning it with the ease of someone who had done this countless times. I rinsed the insides with water from the lake, making sure to scrape away any stubborn bits before carefully removing the scales. The rhythmic scrape of the blade against the fish’s skin was almost soothing, a small piece of normalcy amidst the strangeness of the day.

Cedric watched me silently for a moment before moving to gather some firewood. His movements were efficient, his sharp eyes scanning the ground for dry twigs and branches that hadn’t been soaked by the rain. Once he had an armful, he arranged them in a neat pile, his hands working methodically as he built the base of the fire. With a flick of flint and steel, sparks caught on the dry wood, and a small flame began to grow, crackling softly.

“So, what brings you here?” I asked, glancing at Cedric as I cut the fish into fillets, the flesh pale and firm beneath the knife.

“Like I said,” he replied, crouching by the fire as he added another stick to strengthen the flame, “just looking for a peaceful day. Been a hard week lately.”

I was about to ask what had happened but decided against it. We’d only just met, and his words carried a weight that told me this wasn’t the time to pry. Instead, I nodded and began seasoning the fish lightly with some salt and herbs I’d tucked away in my bag, their faint aroma mixing with the clean scent of the lake.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Cedric must’ve noticed my silence because he spoke again, his tone softer now. “This village isn’t far from the Capital,” he said, feeding the fire a few more twigs. “It’s where I come when I need to get away. Usually, it’s quiet—calm enough to clear my head. But today…” He gestured vaguely toward the water where the creature had fallen. “Well, I guess the monsters have other plans.”

I skewered the fish fillets onto a makeshift spit, positioning them carefully over the now-steady fire Cedric had built. The flames licked at the fish, a gentle hiss rising as the heat began to work its magic.

“Do you know what that thing was?” I asked, adjusting the spit to make sure the fish cooked evenly.

Cedric shook his head, his expression grim. “No. But I’ve heard reports. Villages across the region have seen creatures like it. They say they fall from the sky—just appear out of nowhere and start attacking.”

I glanced at him, surprised. “The villagers can handle them?”

He nodded, poking the fire absently with a stick. “Thankfully, yes. They’re not the strongest. Villagers armed with basic weapons have been able to fend them off. But that’s not the point. These things shouldn’t be here at all. It’s like this continent can’t live in peace.”

He paused, his jaw tightening briefly. “We destroyed Astoroth’s army last week—wiped them out, every last one. I thought that would be it, that we’d finally get a break. But now these creatures are showing up. It’s like they know there’s no competition left here for them.”

I nodded thoughtfully, the weight of his words settling over us. The quiet crackle of the fire filled the space between us as I turned the fish one last time, the aroma growing richer, the skin crisping to a golden brown.

Cedric looked up, his gaze sharp but tired. “The thing is, these monsters aren’t organized—not like Astoroth’s forces were. They’re just… here. Like scavengers picking at what’s left.”

The conversation fell into silence as the fish finished cooking, the fillets sizzling lightly, their savory scent filling the air. I pulled the spit away from the fire, the warmth of the meal a welcome contrast to the damp chill of the lake.

“Looks ready,” I said, offering Cedric a piece with a small smile.

He took it with a faint nod, his lips curving into the barest hint of a grin. “Thanks,” he said simply, and for a moment, the heaviness lifted, replaced by the simple act of sharing a meal.

We finished the meal in silence, the quiet crackling of the dying fire our only companion. The fish tasted good, thankfully so—feeding the Knight Commander of the Kingdom a bland meal would have been embarrassing. As I chewed the last tender piece, I glanced at Cedric, who seemed lost in thought, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the lake.

At the end of our meal, he finally broke the silence. “So, what are you doing out here?”

I swallowed the last bite and wiped my hands on a scrap of cloth before answering. “My daughter,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips, “is marrying the King of the Elves. I’m on my way to her wedding.”

Cedric’s eyes widened at my words, his usually composed expression giving way to surprise. “Oh,” he said, his voice laced with genuine surprise. “I’m so sorry. I was invited to that too... with my... lady.”

His last word came out hesitant, almost as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it aloud. I didn’t press him, letting the moment settle. Sometimes silence is better than filling the air with unnecessary words.

“As the ambassador for the Kingdom,” Cedric continued, his tone quieter now, “it was my duty to attend. But… yesterday, we had a fight.”

I stayed quiet, sensing that this wasn’t the kind of thing that needed a response. Cedric’s gaze dropped to the ground, his hands resting on his knees.

“She said we don’t have time to do anything else—always work, always duty. And her brother? He doesn’t like me. At all.” His voice was even, but the weight of his frustration was clear. “I suppose I can’t blame him. We’ve only been together for a week.”

His eyes darted toward the lake, the faint reflection of his figure rippling on its surface. “Perhaps another time,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the faint breeze. “Another chance.”

He sighed deeply, then straightened slightly, his tone shifting back to something more composed. “Anyway, I should have been there too,” he said, looking back at me. “But I can’t make it. Duty calls. She’ll be there, though.”

I nodded, understanding the unspoken weight of his words. “A shame,” he said, his tone softer now. “I would have given you a ride, and it would’ve been nice to accompany you on the road. But... alas, the duty remains.”

I nodded again, my smile faint but genuine. “Understandable,” I said simply.

Cedric returned the nod, his expression softening. Despite the heaviness in his words, there was a quiet resolve in him, the kind of strength that comes from knowing one’s place in the grander scheme of things.

“Anyway, I never caught your name,” Cedric said as I began clearing away the remnants of our meal, carefully ensuring the fire was completely extinguished.

“Harith Broadfield,” I replied, brushing my hands on my trousers as I stood.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Harith,” he said, offering a faint smile. “I hope you make it to your daughter’s wedding.”

“Thank you,” I said with a nod.

He adjusted the sword on his back and turned to leave. “Thanks for the meal. I have to get back to the city. Wish you luck.”

With that, Cedric strode off, his tall figure disappearing into the trees, leaving only the faint sound of his boots on the damp ground. I watched him go, the weight of his words still lingering in the air.

Ah, to be hurt from falling in love, I thought to myself, my eyes following the ripples on the lake. The quiet around me seemed to press in closer, and as I packed up my things, my mind began to wander.

It drifted back to a time before Reina. To Lillian.

I met her in an inn, a chance encounter that felt like something out of a story. She was my Reina before I ever had Reina, and the memory of her brought a faint smile to my lips. We were young then, so young that everything felt larger and brighter than it truly was. She was my first happiness, my first butterfly.

But the thing about first love is that it doesn’t always last. Lillian didn’t see me the way I saw her. While I was lost in the idea of forever, she fell for another man. That was the end of us, and though it hurt deeply at the time, I’ve come to accept that it was for the better.

As I packed the last of my belongings, I glanced at the lake again, its surface calm and reflective.

It hurts. That’s probably what Cedric’s feeling now, even if our stories aren’t quite the same. Love has a way of carving its own unique wound, one that lingers in ways no other pain can.

But then I thought of Reina, and a warmth filled my chest. Without Lillian, I might not have known to cherish Reina the way I did. Every heartbreak, every mistake, every wrong turn led me to her, to the family we built, and to the life I wouldn’t trade for anything.

I smiled at the thought, hoisting my bag over my shoulder and stepping back onto the road. The village receded behind me, its quiet charm fading into the distance as the open road stretched out before me once again.

“Thank you, Lillian,” I said softly, almost to the wind. “For teaching me how to love and how to let go. Without you, I wouldn’t have had Reina.”

----------------------------------------

To be continued...