They found the dead boy’s body in the morning.

In the middle of the cobbled streets, the boy’s lifeless body lay sprawled out, surrounded by a pool of dark crimson staining the stone beneath. Covered in blood, the boy’s face contorted in agony, his youthful features distorted. Deep gashes and bruises painted a painful picture on his pale skin, a clear testament to the torment he had suffered.

The worst part was the dead boy’s eyes. Wide open, they stared blankly into the distance, frozen in eternal suffering. Considering how he had died, it was not surprising. His death had been anything but peaceful.

Beneath the shredded, blood-soaked tunic, deep rents ran jagged through the soft flesh of the boy’s belly. Something had eviscerated Jeffrey while he still lived. Something had torn out his entrails now spilled onto the ground, coiling beside him. Vapours of steam rising from it in the cool morning air. The kill was a fresh one.

Just like the others, Hayden thought. The shiver that rode its way up his spine had little to do with the fresh early morning air. His own pale blue eyes had grown narrow and sharp as he looked over his friend’s lifeless body.

Nearby, Hayden’s father, Dennard Conrad, Lord of Vesper, stood over the lifeless body of his son’s friend, an imposing figure against the pale light of dawn. This morning, Dennard had chosen a simple wool grey wool tunic that draped loosely over his stocky frame. He paired it with lightly padded britches and crisp, new riding boots that reached mid-calf, each polished to a gleam. His dark cloak stirred softly in the cool morning breeze.

There was little Dennard Conrad relished more than an early morning’s ride. Especially when that ride included hunting down one animal or another. As he looked down at Jeffrey’s lifeless form, a flicker of something akin to disappointment crossed his features; this was clearly not how he wished to be spending his morning.

In a stark contrast to Dennard’s annoyance, Hamish Fisher, the captain of Vesper’s city guard, looked noticeably more troubled. Lines of worry deeply etched his features. Again, Hayden suspected this had little to do with the slain youth himself, and more to the fact that this body was proof he had failed, yet again, to catch the monster of the Vale.

With each brutal killing, the weight of expectation bore down on Hamish, and Hayden could almost hear the unspoken accusations: a captain unable to protect his town. The tension in the air was palpable.

“Did you not swear to me you would address this matter, Hamish?” Dennard's voice dripped with accusation.

“Indeed, I did swear, m’lord.” nodded Hamish. The tall, thin man gnawed so anxiously at his lower lip, Hayden wondered if he might chew through it.

“Then why am I looking at another dead boy?” Dennard demanded. His tone was low and harsh and cutting. A tone Hayden knew well.

“By the Risen God, we are striving, m’lord!” Hamish protested, his eyes wide and pleading. “Every night, I station my men upon these streets, vigilant as the hawk. Yet we are but a handful against this beast.”

“Then close your hand and make a fist! You best try harder, Hamish, or I will find someone else who will!” Dennard’s hiss was laced with fury, a promise of retribution hanging in the air.

“We confront a monster here, m’lord, I am certain of it!” Hamish's voice trembled, a flicker of desperation igniting his words. “Something unnatural hunts these youths, something that defies the very laws of nature!”

A pale cloud of steam rose from Hamish’s lips as he spoke, the captain’s breath visible in the cool morning air. Though winter had retreated, the chill still clung to the dawn, biting at Hayden’s skin and sending another shiver racing up his spine.

Hamish’s voice carried in the crisp morning air and a nervous murmur rippled through the crowd had already started to gather around the body. For the moment, the guards kept the villagers at a distance. From the looks on their faces, and the whispers about town, the people of Vesper were rapidly losing faith in their lord. Hayden wondered how long it would be before the fragile trust of the people shattered entirely.

“One lord is absent, and the other is utterly useless.” So whispered the common folk of the Vale of Shadows, their voices tinged with the bitterness of abandonment. This phrase had become an entity of its own, weaving through the taverns and marketplaces, a bitter jest that echoed with the weight of truth. As the winds howled through the vale, the people's discontent settled like a fog, thickening with each passing day. The lords of the land, it seemed, had forgotten their oaths, leaving their subjects to fend for themselves amid the encroaching darkness.

There had been a time when Hayden viewed his father as a powerful man, a lord presiding over a great city, his authority unquestioned. Yet as the years unfurled, that perception had withered like autumn leaves. A lifetime spent navigating court life had imparted hard lessons, from the art of reading and writing to the delicate dance of etiquette among the wealthy and powerful – Of which, he learned, his father was neither.

History lessons with Seneschal Karis had quickly taught him that time had come and gone for Vesper. Decades ago, the Synder Forest closed its borders to the people of the Midlands, ending the trade that had made Vesper fabulously wealthy, and the only town within the Vale of Shadows had become a dried, hollow husk of its former self.

“Keep your voice down, fool!” snapped Dennard.

There was no need for the locals to hear anything, especially when it was mere speculation. Fear hung thick in the air like a storm cloud, and the last thing they needed was to feed the fires of their anxiety with idle talk. The recent deaths had shaken the people of the Vale. The boys may have hailed from the higher-ranking houses of the Vale, but the girls had been commoners, just like the townsfolk who now whispered among themselves.

Last summer in the Vale, seven girls from Vesper had vanished without a trace, their absence a shadow that loomed over the town. When spring thaw arrived, the icy grip of winter released its hold, revealing the grim truth: seven girls had been discovered, or what remained of them – what had not been consumed by wolves or carried away by scavengers.

Rumours and whispers of a monster ran wild through the commoners of the Vale and it suited Hayden well to let them believe whoever, or whatever, had killed his friends had also gotten the girls last summer. If they believed a monster roamed the Vale, perhaps they would overlook the more unsettling truths that loomed closer to home.

This time the Captain of the Guard kept his voice low as he spoke to Hayden’s father. “Forgive me, m’lord. First, it got those girls. Now it’s turned its claws on the boys. I’m certain only a monster is capable of such savagery.”

Dennard Conrad’s ice-blue eyes narrowed as he glared down at the body. His scowl deepened. “No one can be certain what got those girls.” Lord Dennard waved his hand in dismissal, “The spring melt and animals saw to that. But they were only commoners. They would have been forgotten soon enough, but these boys, dammit, Hamish! These are the sons of the Vales minor lords!”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The Vale of Shadows had been split into five minor houses, each ruling over a portion of the territory. There were the bold Brackens and reclusive Ulridges of the south. The Mortons of the east and the timid Parrens of the West. And in the wild, dark forests of the north, the Bear of House Facilious ruled. All of which held fealty to the Lord of Vesper, who in return only reported to the Lord of the Vale himself, the Lord of Nightfall.

Just as the common folk were losing faith in their lord, so too were the minor Houses of the Vale. Hayden suspected that the death of yet another one of their sons was not bound to sit well with them.

“Forgive me, m’lord. This beast will be caught, I swear it! But none of my men recognized this boy. Perhaps he is also a commoner?” Hamish moped anxiously at the perspiration that formed on his wide brow despite the cool morning air.

“Of course he’s not, you fool! Just look at his damned clothing! Do you think one of these commoners could afford such frivolous finery?” asked Dennard incredulously as his arm swept out to the crowd that still gathered round.

“No. No, of course not, m’lord. Forgive me, m’lord,” Hamish’s head hung so low Hayden wondered if he would crumple on the road right then and there.

He’s weak. A coward. And my father weaker still for keeping him, Hayden thought with a scowl.

“First a Harbinger and now this,” Dennard growled.

“The talk of a Harbinger is only the ramblings of a drunk, m’lord. Nothing more,” Hamish insisted.

“You fool. Look at them,” Dennard waved his hand, gesturing at the gathering crowd, “Do you think it would take much more than a drunk man’s word to convince them at this point? I think not. Damned Relics of Old think to invade my Vale and I’m surrounded by damned idiots! Hayden, come here.” Snapped his father, not bothering to look up. “That’s another one of your friends, is it not?”

Hayden hesitated, his gut viciously twisting itself into a knot. Truth be told, he had ventured closer to the body than he would have liked. It wasn’t the gruesome sight or the viscera that disturbed him; it was the smell—a foul, cloying stench that permeated the air like a cursed fog.

Even at this distance, the odour of death clawed at his senses. The acrid scent threatened to churn his stomach, a nauseating tide that rose with each shallow breath. The last thing he needed was to disgrace himself in front of the townsfolk, let alone before his father and the captain. He fought to steady himself, forcing the bile back down, knowing that to falter now would only bring about the shame of humiliation.

His father, as was all too typical, misread his reluctance. “Get over here! It’s just a dead body!” Dennard snapped, impatience sharpening his tone. The Lord’s voice had grown taut, each word a whip crack in the stillness. “To think such a weak resolve was raised beneath my roof. Thank the gods your brothers are not such cowards!”

Hayden felt the heat of his father’s scorn wash over him, mingling with the foul stench in the air. Beneath the weight of that disdain, he clenched his jaw, fighting against the tide of bitterness that surged within him. It was easier to bear the stench of the dead than the scorn of his father.

His father’s words were like daggers, sharp and cutting, but Hayden had long since grown accustomed to such barbs. They no longer cut him as they once did.

Lady Fiona Conrad, his mother, had hailed from House Whorton—a noble lineage that came from the capital. Before her death, she had borne Dennard Conrad four sons, though only three survived to adulthood. With her gone, Lord Dennard found the weight of raising three sons unbearable, and so he kept Hayden’s elder brothers, the heir and the spare, close at hand, and sent the youngest, Hayden, to court to live with his aunt, the formidable Lady Nora Harden. And so it was that he returned to the Vale only for the summer months, when the court was dismissed.

“Considering that I only spent my summers in the vale, I would hardly think that it constitutes being raised beneath your roof,” said Hayden muttered beneath his breath.

“You had best watch your tongue, my son! Now get over here!” there was an edge to his father’s voice that nearly sent a chill down his spine.

Hayden flinched and snarled at himself for such weakness. Already he could feel his father’s temper rising. This would not be the last he heard of such defiance, and Lord Conrad was not beyond using his fists. But that would have to wait until they were no longer surrounded by such crowds. Crowds that already view their Lord in disfavour.

Hayden moved to his father’s side as if his boots were filled with lead. As he got close, a cool spring breeze rushed down the street, sweeping the scent in its fullest straight to Hayden’s nose. Unable to contain himself, Hayden gagged loudly and doubled over, spilling the contents of his stomach onto the cobblestones beside his friend’s body.

“If your mother weren’t already dead, she would die of embarrassment of having such a son,” his father snarled and stepped away from the mess.

Hayden roughly wiped away the spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to compose himself. The surrounding crowd murmured once more.

Taking a deep breath, Hayden straightened himself and forced a semblance of composure. Gods knew he detested this man he called father. But now was not the time to defy him. Not when he’d need his protection, so he swallowed his pride and chose his next words carefully. “Forgive me, Father,” he said, his voice strained. “I spoke out of turn. I did not mean to disrespect you.”

Dennard’s face contorted with disgust, his nostrils flaring. “Enough of your simpering. Just tell me who this dead boy is so I can be on my way!” This time Dennard’s eye slid over his captain of the guard. His scowled deepened. If that was even possible.

Hayden glanced around at the gathered crowd, their faces etched with a mix of fear and disbelief. Whispers of a monstrous creature lurking in the shadows had spread like wildfire throughout the city. Swallowing hard around the solid lump that had formed in his throat, Hayden looked down at his friend’s torn body.

“That’s Jeffrey Facilious,” said Hayden. He swallowed hard again when his gorge threatened to rise once more.

Dennard cursed aloud, “Old Gods be damned, Jasper’s boy! The old bear is going to be a pain in my ass once he hears about this.”

Jasper Facilious, head of the Facilious House, ruled over the most northern portion of the Vale of Shadows. A large and powerful man, Lord Facilious had earned the nickname ‘the Bear’ not merely for his imposing stature or the thick coat of hair that covered his body, but for the ferocity that simmered beneath his surface.

The old Bear, along with much of his clan, preferred the embrace of their sprawling, wooded lands, seldom venturing into the bustling town. His second youngest son, Jeffrey had taken a liking to it. A fondness he’d no doubt gotten this much from his mother. Bethany Facilious had been the Bears’ third wife and, herself born in the capital, had favoured town over her husband’s wild lands.

Just then, the sound of wooden wheels jumbling across cobblestones heralded in the burial grounds keeper’s carriage. Riding on the seat next to Emmond, the flush-faced grounds keeper was the Seneschal assigned to the Vale; Deiter Traylous.

Just then, the unmistakable sound of wooden wheels rattling over cobblestones signaled the arrival of the burial groundskeeper’s carriage. Perched beside Emmond, the flush-faced groundskeeper, a stout man with calloused hands and weary eyes, was the Seneschal assigned to the Vesper; Deiter Traylous.

They would be here to collect Jeffrey’s body in order to prepare it for burial. They would clean the body meticulously, carefully place the innards back inside, and then stitch it closed. Only then could the son of the old Bear be placed into the ground.

Hayden watched as the carriage, drawn by a heavy old horse with a swayed back that spoke of years spent toiling under a yoke, rattled to a halt nearby. Dust swirled in the cool morning air as Deiter the Seneschal—a young man, yet marked by the weight of his responsibilities—hopped down with a practised ease. His expression was grave, as if the burden of what lay ahead pressed heavily upon him.

Deiter took one glance at the body grown cold in the middle of the dirt street before turning to the Lord of Vesper’s youngest son. The Seneschal rested a light hand on Hayden’s shoulder as he spoke. “Rest easy, my son. This one will go to wait for the Risen God, for the Dead will Rise with the Dawn.”

“May the dead rise with the dawn,” murmured Hayden in response.

The Seneschal needn’t know the truth of Hayden’s heart—how a sense of relief had washed over him when his companions were found dead. That his only regret was that he hadn’t done it himself, and sooner. One of them talked and they were being hunted down; and Hayden was the only one left.