In the kingdom of Baldeur, nestled between rolling hills and sweeping forests, a young farm boy named Gían dreamt of one thing: becoming a knight. The tales of chivalry and heroism that he had heard from traveling bards filled his imagination, igniting a fire that no simple life on a farm could ever extinguish. His father, a humble farmer, often scolded him for his fantasies, urging him to focus on the family’s crops rather than lofty dreams. But Gían could not help it. He saw himself one day wielding a sword with honor, defending the helpless, and standing tall among the knights he admired.
One crisp autumn afternoon, as Gían worked in the fields, his attention was drawn to a figure limping toward him. It was an older man, his clothes torn, his face pale and covered in dirt. He appeared to be in great pain, leaning heavily on a staff, his eyes distant and weary.
“Are you all right, sir?” Gían called out, rushing toward him.
The man looked up, his eyes meeting Gían’s with an intensity that made him pause. “They are coming,” the stranger rasped, his voice hoarse. “You must be ready, young one. They are coming for Andouré.”
Before Gían could respond, the man collapsed into his arms, unconscious. Gían’s heart raced as he quickly helped the stranger to the farmhouse, where his mother tended to him.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The man remained unconscious for hours, but Gían could not shake the weight of his words. “They are coming for Andouré...” What did it mean? Who was coming? And how was he involved?
The next morning, the man had disappeared. Gían found no trace of him, and no one else in the village had seen him. Yet, the memory of those words lingered in his mind, and his heart beat faster with a sense of urgency. This was no ordinary stranger, and the message he brought was no simple warning. It was a call to action.
In the kingdom of Jóured, far to the east, Freddie, a young Birdeen, was going through his own struggles. Like Gían, he harbored dreams of greatness, though his dreams were unique. While humans aspired to be knights, Birdeens aspired to become Fléura—an esteemed rank in their society, akin to the knights of humans.
Freddie stood in the woods outside his home, his wings beating against the wind as he practiced his swordsmanship. His people, though proud and capable, often underestimated the significance of the Fléura rank, considering it to be a human ideal. But to Freddie, it represented something far greater: the honor, the discipline, the protection of his people.
As Freddie struck at a training post, he was watched by his elder brother, Teryn. “You train too hard, Freddie. You’ll wear yourself out.”
“I can’t stop,” Freddie replied, panting. “I have to prove I am worthy. The Fléura are what I must become.”
Teryn shook his head, a shadow of doubt crossing his face. “It’s a dream that might never come true. You should accept your place.”
But Freddie wasn’t listening. He had heard rumors of unrest spreading across the lands—darkness stirring in the north, rising tensions among the kingdoms—and he knew that his dream of becoming a Fléura was no longer just about status. It was about preparation. For what, he wasn’t sure, but something told him that the world would soon need heroes from every corner of Andouré.