Mae could have left. Could have gone back to Nightfall. But she didn’t. Like so many others born under the Shadow of Nightfall, Mae stayed. And she stayed for her.
Good gods, why had she stayed?
That night, sleep was impossible. Every time Mae closed her eyes, she could see the Harbinger’s face as if it had been seared into her mind. She could still smell the stench of flames and burning flesh, the metallic tang of smoke that had filled the square. And her voice... gods, her voice. The Harbinger had sung, even as the fire rose, her songs unraveling into screams that scraped against Mae’s soul like shards of glass.
By the gods, it had been slow. Agonizingly, devastatingly slow.
Mae remembered the realization striking her like a blade: damp logs. They had used damp logs. The black smoke had billowed thick and choking, curling around the crowd, threatening to smother them. And yet no one had moved. No one had dared.
Mae gave up on sleep after an hour of tossing and turning that left her tangled in sweat-damp sheets.
The storm outside the ancient hold roared like some unholy beast, the wind screaming as if to echo the Harbinger’s final cries. Lightning slashed across the sky, its brilliance turning night into fleeting bursts of harsh daylight.
Wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders, Mae made her way to the kitchen. The large hound that had been resting at the foot of her bed rose to follow. Each step of her slippers against the floor a faint whisper beneath the storm's fury.
She busied herself lighting a fire in the hearth, the crackling flames a small defiance against the chaos raging beyond the windows.
As the kettle hissed over the growing fire, Mae settled into a chair near the hearth, wrapping herself in a woolen blanket.
At her feet, the loyal hound, Dregal, nestled, emitting a soft whine.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Mae muttered softly to the dog at her feet.
Her husband, a ranger in Nightfall’s service, had found Dregal as a pup wondering lost in the foothills. From then onward, the two had been practically inseparable until her husband’s untimely death.
Now the beast seemed to be content to follow at her heels. At first, having Dregal around had been a painful reminder of what she had lost. And then she realised Dregal had lost him, too.
Now Mae didn’t mind his company. Rather, she welcomed it most days. Especially with the way things seemed to be heading in the Vale.
She opened her book, trying to lose herself in its pages, to escape into a world where shadows and screams couldn’t follow. For a moment, she thought it might work.
Then came the first knock.
A loud, sharp pounding that echoed through the stone corridors like the hammer of some unseen executioner. Mae jumped, her book slipping from her hands. She froze, straining to listen as the storm roared louder, almost masking the sound. Had she imagined it?
Dregal had risen from where he slept by the fire, his hackles raised and he emitted a low growl.
The knock came again, harder this time.
Mae’s heart leapt to her throat, her pulse a frantic rhythm in her ears. Her hands clenched the blanket, knuckles white as lightning illuminated the kitchen. Thunder followed, shaking the very foundation of the hold, and then the knocking returned, insistent and unrelenting.
She stood slowly, her legs trembling as she moved toward the corridor. Dregal moved quietly ahead of her.
Before Nightfall had withdrawn into itself, the ancient hold would have forewarned her of such arrivals. The hold would also have let her know if it was someone safe and known or a complete stranger on the other side of the door.
In this moment, Mae realised she had never felt quite so abandoned by the hold.
Who in the gods' name would be at the door at this hour?
The only people with access past the outer gates had been away in the capital for months and given no indication of returning. The other staff, those few who shared the heavy burden of caretaking the hold, would never knock. They didn’t need to.
The knock came again, rattling the heavy wooden door as though whoever stood on the other side was prepared to break it down if ignored.
Mae’s breath hitched. Whoever it was, they wouldn’t go away quietly.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Her fingers tightened around the shawl as she took a shaky step toward the corridor, the storm outside raging as though daring her to face whatever lay waiting in the dark.
The pounding stopped as she walked into the Nightfall’s grand foyer and stood before the massive blackwood doors.
Silence hung in the air and Mae’s breath halted in her throat. Perhaps whoever had been out there had given up and gone. But before she could entertain the notion any longer, a voice called out to her from beyond the doors.
“It’s me Mae. Let me in, it’s freezing out here!”
Muffled as it might be, there was no denying that deep voice or that silky smooth accent. She would recognize it any where; the Val ‘Rhayne had arrived at Nightfall.
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Mae was halfway through her second cup of coffee, yet the sight beyond the kitchen windows still felt like something out of a dream—or a story told by firelight.
The day before had been chaotic enough to test even her well-worn patience, leaving little room for surprises. If someone had told her then that she’d wake to this scene unfolding in Nightfall’s inner courtyard, she would’ve laughed outright. Yet here she was, unable to tear her gaze away.
Through the streaked panes of glass, shrouded in the pale mist of early morning, a lone figure moved with a precision that held an almost hypnotic grace. The ancient warrior was a living contradiction—age tempered with undeniable power. His movements were fluid and the dual short swords moved like extensions of his body.
Wickedly sharp, the black blades gleamed with each sweep, catching the first hints of dawnlight filtering through the courtyard. The arcs, slashes, stabs and perries sliced cleanly through the lingering fog, a flash of brilliance in the muted grays of the early hour.
Every step he took was measured, each strike deliberate. The air itself seemed to shudder with the sheer force of his presence, his routine not merely practice but a display of command—over his weapon, over his body, and perhaps even over time itself.
The courtyard was a canvas, and the warrior painted across it with movements that spoke of a life lived in battle and discipline. The mist clung to him, swirling with every turn, as though reluctant to part from his orbit. The brutal potential of his strikes, the power of his movements, the restrained savagery were all a contrast against the serene stillness of the courtyard.
And Mae was here for it. Every single moment.
“What’s out there?”
The voice startled Mae, and she nearly spilled her coffee. Her cheeks flushed as she quickly focused on the mug in her hands, as though it might shield her from the embarrassment creeping up her neck.
“Good morning, Mother,” Mae said, clearing her throat and taking a long, deliberate sip of coffee. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“No, I’d think not,” Janna replied breezily, a teasing lilt in her tone as she moved toward the window. “Whatever’s going on out there had your complete and undivided attention. What could possibly be so interes—oh, my. I see. I see.”
Mae tightened her grip on the mug, heat rushing to her face at her mother’s knowing tone. The urge to vanish into the floorboards was overwhelming as Janna stared out the window.
“Mother,” Mae groaned, dragging the word out in exasperation.
But Janna was clearly unfazed, her voice filled with amusement. “Well, I can’t say I blame you, my dear. He is a fine-looking man, isn’t he? All that discipline. The way he moves…” She trailed off, smirking as Mae buried her face in her hands.
“I was not—” Mae began, only to be cut off by Janna’s raised brow and sly grin.
“Watching him? Admiring him? Absolutely not, I’m sure. It’s purely professional interest, right?” Janna winked. “Because, you know, we can’t have our Head Keeper distracted by some brooding, sword-swinging ancient warrior.”
Mae’s head shot up, her eyes narrowing. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re redder than a ripe berry.” Janna chuckled, patting her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s good to know you’ve still got an eye for these things. Handsome, fit, and with a blade in his hand. Not to mention, he’s literally the stuff of old ballads, Mae. Just don’t tell him. He’s already insufferable enough.”
Mae fought to keep her lips from twitching into a smile, though her cheeks were still blazing. “Not a word,” she muttered. “His head wouldn’t fit through Nightfall’s doors again.”
Janna poured herself a cup of coffee and slid into the chair opposite Mae, her teasing grin softening just slightly. “You know, my dear, you’re not too old to remarry. There’s still time for a daughter. Think of it—another little one running through these halls.”
Mae groaned, rolling her eyes as she rose to grab an apple from the counter. “Mother, I’ve already told you: no more children. You’ve gotten all the grandchildren you’re ever going to get out of me. It’s time for Aida and Isla to do their part.”
Janna clucked her tongue, undeterred. “But they’re all so busy with their lives, Mae. Aida’s up at the capital, running herself ragged caring for Lord Helston. And dear Isla—bless her sweet, simple soul—is best suited to tending to your father and me.”
“Four grandsons is more than enough,” Mae replied, biting into the apple with a sigh.
Janna leaned back in her chair, fixing Mae with a pointed look. “They’re fine boys, I’ll grant you that. Kind-hearted, hardworking, maybe not the sharpest, but you raised them well. However—”
“Here we go,” Mae muttered.
“However,” Janna continued, undeterred, “they can’t inherit the role of Head Keeper. Nightfall has never bonded to a male of our line. Not once. And that, my dear, is tradition you can’t ignore. We need a daughter heir.”
Mae turned to look at her mother, a soft, wry smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible,” she said again, shaking her head. “Besides, if Nightfall doesn’t return, there’s nothing to bond to any ways.”
Her mother clucked her tongue again, “Hush you. I’ll hear no more of that nonsense. Nightfall will return. It always has.”
“Yes, yes mother. Of course,” Mae said, shaking her head as she bit into her apple again, letting the conversation shift and settle like the embers in the hearth.