Sigismund gathered his strength and began to recount his story: “In truth, I too desire to learn much more about the epic of your lineage, but time is short and I understand that it is up to me now to echo mine. To explain what happened, oh Captain of the Land of the Dawn, I must go back to the time when our Kingdom arose. It was founded, centuries ago, by a Knight who led a noble company made of few, but brave men who came from a decadent and lost kingdom. The only survivors of the attack of the dark fury and, like us, refugees, with meager forces, but keepers of a great hope. However, they were not pursued.”

Know, therefore, that the enemy had succeeded in corrupting the souls of their companions, of their own people, inciting them against the ideals they had always followed and professed, until they induced them to unleash a fratricidal war. The majority abandoned the ancient but secure stronghold and set out along a comfortable but perilous path, which separated them irreversibly. The knights who remained faithful to the Order warned them of the ruin that loomed over them, but those wretches, instead of listening to them, rose up as prey of evil, and attacked them. The knights defended themselves, but loathing the idea of spilling the blood of their kin, they preferred to give up the field and flee as far as possible from the people who had betrayed them, disowning and damning themselves.

They chose a fruitful and fertile place, isolated from the rest of the world, to found the domain that would later be known and acclaimed as the Realm of Time.

The people of those new lands, underdeveloped but kind, welcomed them fraternally and, after a few generations, their union gave birth to a single nation that allowed the Ancient Code to revive and strengthen itself. I remember, from the teachings that have been passed down to me, that that small group of exiles was led by the wisest and most venerable Knight who had ever belonged to the Order, and I also recall that after ensuring the continuity of our creed, he mysteriously disappeared and nothing more was heard of him. Only a legend tells that he set out for the unexplored East and that death will not take him until the day when the ambiguous prophecy of the arrival of a traveller of the ages comes true. It was precisely because of the observance that he gave to such a prediction, also known to him, that he chose the name for the resurrected kingdom: the Realm of Time."

“This man knew a prediction that revealed his own future? How is that possible, and who revealed it to him? I had never heard of such a thing before. Doesn't it seem incredible to you, Sigismund?” Robuald exclaimed.

“Equally incredible would have seemed to me, just a year ago, the disaster that befell my kingdom, and yet it happened. Perhaps, the valor of that leader was so great and his deeds so deserving that he received the gift of divination as a reward,” replied Sigismund.

“Perhaps. However, I wonder if this is a reward or a punishment...”

“Have you ever heard of such a thing, Robuald, especially since you come from that region?”

Robuald remained thoughtful and did not answer the question, so Sigismund, pressed by the more urgent recent events, resumed explaining the facts: “The knights grew in number and strength, and it did not take long for their authority to naturally extend to the neighbouring territories, bound by peace and proper administration of an hardworking justice, exercised under that government, which allowed for a laborious prosperity. For a long time, no news was heard of the ancestral lineage that had renounced the pristine principles, and the knights, enjoying the regained serenity, wanted to illude themselves that the evil had ended up destroying itself.

But one day, a very fateful day, black banners appeared at the borders, leading an even more sinister army. The knights were terrified at the sight of that vile horde, for they recognized in it the sign and the power of their own civilization, while the faces and bodies of those fighters appeared horribly disfigured, deformed, and revolting to the sight: they seemed like beasts, yet they were men. Or at least, they had been. The enemy, their master, had forged their limbs according to his own purposes and his idea of usefulness: he had torn down a prosperous and righteous civilization to breed a litter of monsters. Such an unbearable abomination roused in the knights a fierce anger that overcame the horror and pity for their own kin and instilled in them the will to liberate them. It was a brutal clash, but while those beings fought driven by the dark and blind impulse of beasts, the knights fought for the preservation of the new kingdom that they would not yield unless they were dead this time. Such resolution doubled their grit, and not one of the invaders could retreat to the cave from which he had emerged.

Since then, the vast borders of the first kingdom enclose a desert, and from the date of that massacre, only the ghosts of the souls seeking the peace lost after the great betrayal, wander mournful and shrill through those lands shunned by everyone. But..., but the evil enemy swore revenge, and one night the sleepless sovereign, seized by sudden distress while watching over the battlements of the castle, was shot in his breast by an arrow of icy black fire sprang from the shadow, neither from the hand nor from the bow of a man.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The guards rushed to his aid, but the King, with a broken heart, was already dead, even though his body remained standing: a sinister voice erupted horribly from his burned and torn chest, muttering a dark curse of death and destruction for all the knights. When it stopped, leaving a chilling terror in the air, his limbs melted away and the King fell to the ground. It took several days before the guards on duty were able to report what had happened, and some of them never regained their lost senses, continuing to ramble about the lightless fire that rained down in the night and the mouthless voice that petrified the soul.

Then, nothing for many years. The seasons continued to pass, children brought joy to their parents, and the elderly found their well-deserved rest. In that happy period, no one paid excessive attention to the story of the black arrow, although the lands that the evil had destroyed and desolated still rose their cry of despair and anguish against the persecutor like a warning, so that no inhabitant of the Realm of Time could ever doubt the ancient history. This prevented the vile one from using the subtle trickery of corruption again, which would never again take hold of my people. Therefore failing to mislead our minds or to gather armed forces strong enough to suppress us, he was forced to seek out new beings, whose existence we had never even imagined.

I still can't guess its origin, but from your words, valiant Robuald, I confirm that the enemy is always the same and it has finally found the means to turn his sentence into reality and seize the announced revenge. First, he attacked our kingdom, also testing the resistance of the surrounding territories unknown to us. Unknown, because we have never ventured beyond those borders within which everything we needed was found, and we were wrong. Perhaps the fear of encountering the corruptor has held us back, and once again, fear, his favourite weapon, has hindered us, keeping us unaware of each other's existence and preventing what would have been a formidable alliance. In fact, if it had not been for your unexpected help, certainly unforeseen for him, his satisfaction would have been complete. Now, instead, he knows that some units have not returned, and that a rebel, who was already believed to be annihilated, still roams free and threatening. He will surely be furious and, at the same time, anxious to know our exact strength and precise identity, which he no longer senses with certainty. Therefore, I tell you, Robuald: do not join us! Otherwise, our condemn will also weigh on you! Let us seek a new homeland where we can rebuild a new kingdom like our ancestors, and thus safeguard your own. Return to your land and prepare to endure a brutal siege. Gather as many armed men as you can and do not offer peace to the enemy. Do not trust the flattery and guarantees, as he can disguise himself and extend his hand, making it appear open and harmless like that of a child, but you know how to glimpse the venomous hook that is hidden there. Leave tonight, before the dawn light seals and consecrates your destiny to ours and loses us both.” So ended the story of Sigismund of Castle Nubilous, and fatigue weighed on him, but even more the fear that Robuald would accept his advice. Outside, the darkness, creeping silently, stood between the snowy stars and the peaceful rustling of the branches.

Suddenly, a doubt flooded Sigismund's mind, hunting him: now that Robuald knew the origin of the evil that had befallen him and the threat that hung over his entire people, how would he react? Perhaps the end would come sooner than expected and by the hands of his own savior. Sigismund's hand instinctively slid to the hilt of his sword, and the gesture did not escape his friend, who dispersed the tension accumulated during the story with a laugh and answered all the doubts that had begun to torment Sigismund, accusing him: “So, is this the custom followed by your noble lineage to show gratitude? A stab in the back under the tent where we shared the same food? And are these the services you intended to offer me, Knight?” He had pronounced the last words harshly and Sigismund feared he might have to do something as necessary for salvation as it was shameful for his own honor. But suddenly, the weariness abandoned his clouded mind, swept away by a cool night breeze that had entered the lodging, reminding Sigismund of the tranquillity of the night, the brilliance of the stars, and the splendor of the sun, under whose rays, years ago, he had proclaimed the solemn profession of knight.

In that moment, he realized that he was much less immune to the enemy's cunning than he presumed, and that he was about to consummate eternal infidelity once again, preparing to take the life of the very person who had risked his own to save him. He drew his sword from its rich case and presented its hilt to Robuald, locking his eyes with the interlocutor’s ones and said, “Here, you inflict the punishment that every rogue deserves.” But the guest's look betrayed the appearance of a smile, which soon lifted the curtain of the dark scowl, opening his wide mouth and inducing him to admit freely, “No, Knight. For the second time, I must reject your proposal. Is it a punishment to take the life of one who has already renounced it? But beware! Perhaps I will soon ask you to account for it on the battlefield, where I am not moved by clemency.

Now, however, let us leave the talk to the owls and guardian spirits and take the rest that the remaining hours of this long night will give us. Tomorrow will reveal what awaits us.”

That man with such a rough and wild appearance had given him a lesson in nobility, which Sigismund was bitterly amazed to have to learn.