Elena

The battlefield was a nightmare. A mix of mud and blood staining the polished silver. A thunder of steel-on-steel echoed, outmatched only by the cries of wounded men. Some called it the song of war. To me, it was a symphony of Hell. War stripped a person to their core: survival or surrender.

However, my brother, William, fought at my side. His eyes mirrored mine, determined and unyielding. We are bound by blood, by duty. But loyalty has its limits, and war tests them mercilessly.

I felt a familiar grasp on my shoulder “Stay close, Elena,” William whispered through the mouthpiece of his helm. His voice broke on the last syllable, like a twig snapping under a heavy boot. It reminded me of when we were little, before he sought glory, before the missionaries came. Now, he was a man, hardened by battles, haunted by the faces of fallen friends, and ever convinced that this war was necessary.

I stole a glance at William, his jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the fray. He’d chosen Francis’s path, the path of righteousness, of holy war. But I could feel the cost. The old gods still whispered to me, the wind through the pines, the rustle of leaves. They spoke of balance, of sacrifice.

Missionaries came to our village a few years ago, bringing food and other gifts claiming to be the bounty of their Lord, their God, the only God. They boast of an eternal life after this one that is only available to those who devote their entire being to this god. William and I, orphaned, had no choice but to accept these gifts and William truly believed this to be the bounty of a new god.

I clenched my sword, its hilt slick with sweat. My disguise, a tangle of poorly cut brown hair and dirt-streaked face kept me hidden. But beneath the armor, my heart beat as fiercely as any soldier’s. Loyalty had led me here, loyalty to William, to our family. But it was more than duty, it was love.

The enemy surged forward, a tide of leather and linen. St. Francis’s crusaders, zealous and unwavering, met them not yielding an inch. Their banners bore the cross, their eyes a savage fire of fury at the promise of eternal redemption and forgiveness, their inner beast seeking its way out and into the world. They saw heresy and only heard the prayers of Francis, not a people who were just like us only a short time ago.

Six months ago St. Francis appeared in our village recruiting Holy Knights to help protect the livelihood of those around us, claiming an army of heathens has come to burn everything loving in the world. Fooled by the zealot, my brother eagerly signed his life away believing he was doing the best thing for the world. I signed my life away to protect and keep whatever part of him I could.

The enemy advanced, their footfalls echoing like a drumbeat of doom. My hand tightened around the hilt of my sword, knuckles turning white. I had been here before, on the precipice of battle, the decision to fight for William as familiar as the sword in my grip. But a new sensation stirred within me, a conflict that hadn’t been there before. I was a sister, bound by blood and love to protect my brother. Tey, I was also a woman who yearned for peace, for a world untouched by the ravages of war. As I stepped into the fray, the world shifting beneath my boots, I felt a transformation within me. I was no longer a sister or a woman. I was a warrior, forever marked by the choices I had made.

The slaughter continued unabated. Men who were once farmers, their hands more accustomed to the heft of a plow than a weapon, faced the onslaught of our Holy Knights. Encased in full plate armor, wielding steel longswords, the knights were an indomitable force. Among them, a figure towered above the rest - Francis’s bodyguard. A titan of a man, he was a mountain of metal amidst the chaos. His roars reverberated across the battlefield, a terrifying quake that froze the enemy in their tracks, their faces masks of fear. With each swing of his mighty arm, he felled three men, leaving a gruesome trail of severed limbs and viscera in his wake.

Beside him, resplendent in his own gilded armor, stood Francis. A saint among soldiers, his presence was a beacon of hope for our men, and a symbol of dread for the enemy.

Suddenly, a naked man wielding an ax in each hand knocked down and swiftly decapitated a knight behind William and charged him with blinding speed. I lunged, my blade intercepting his blow. The berserker’s eyes widened, disbelief etched on his face. His foot met my gut, and I was sent flying.

Meanwhile, William was engaged in a mortal duel with the man, nimbly dodging every blow despite the weight of his armor. I noticed Francis and his bodyguard leaning forward, their eyes fixed on the fight, their mouths slightly open.

“Help him!” I tried to shout, but air refused to fill my lungs and I could only cough blood. I noticed the dent in my armor, that man cannot be human with such strength. I struggled to remove my armor while watching with horror. Why weren’t they helping him?

Francis whispered to his bodyguard, his lips scarcely stirring, his voice lost in the clamor that surrounded us. The bodyguard shrugged, his eyes scanning the crowd. Francis smiled, a faint and mysterious smile that seemed to grow as he watched the dance.

After that, I slowly got to my feet shaking violently. One step…two…each inch a test of my will, begging me to lay back down. The mud seemed to thicken, soaking with more blood to nourish the soil, swallowing my greaves with every step. As I try to remove them I feel something grab me.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Finally! A true reward from our glorious savior!” He exclaimed,snatching me off my feet with a violent jerk, causing me to drop my sword. My head smashed against a wall of steel as I found myself over the shoulder of my comrade. “I’ll be okay, let me down, I can still fight!” I wanted to scream but my head constantly bouncing off his armor made it difficult to breathe.

Then, I found myself on my back again, I could feel the breeze on my stomach. I could see him standing over me, a wide grin on his face, and saliva leaking from his mouth. “It’s me, Edward Fidelis, I want to fight!” I yelled, using my false name. The man only seemed to grin wider. “Some of what you say may be true, but you are no man, and there are no women in our company, so you must be my reward.” I felt a surge of fear and disgust, my skin crawling, my stomach twisting.

“Go help William! If you won’t let me fight then do your part!” I shouted, struggling to free myself. He ignored me and leaned in, his lips brushing my ear “There’s plenty o’ fightin’ to be had, but right now I have you and my prayers have been answered.” He whispered, his tongue licking my earlobe. He raised his gauntlet, his eyes gleaming with malice. He brought it down on my head, the world went black.

I awoke to a throbbing pain in my head, my sense slowly returning. The world swam into focus, a chaotic blur of dust, blood, and desperate cries. The battle raged around me, a tempest of violence and fury. But I lay pinned beneath a weight that stole my breath, a man, grinning with cruel satisfaction. His eyes were closed, as if savoring the aftermath of our struggle, His breath came in ragged bursts, chest rising and falling like a bellows.

He had dragged me away from the fray, into a secluded alcove where the world melted to shadows and secrets. My anger simmered, a volatile mix of defiance and vulnerability. I wanted to scream, to claw at him, but my limbs felt like lead. Fear and shame twisted within me, a bitter cocktail. I was weak, and he was strong, a predator reveling in his prey.

And then, a sound, a primal growl that scraped against my eardrums. I turned my head, eyes straining in the dimness. There, emerging from the darkness, was a jet-black wolf. Its coat shimmered like starlight, an otherworldly sheen that defied reason. It moved with grace, rippled muscles coiled for action. Six months old, perhaps, but its eyes held centuries of secrets.

The wolf regarded me, its gaze unyielding. Recognition flickered, an inexplicable connection that transcended mere curiosity. It knew me, as if our fates were woven together in some ancient pact. A shadow following me though existence, drawn by threads of destiny.

The wolf’s snarl echoed through the clearing, a primal cry of vengeance. Its teeth sank into the man’s neck, and he screamed, a wail that pierced the night. Desperation fueled his struggle, but the wolf was relentless. It tore at his throat, sinews yielding like brittle twine. Blood sprayed across the mossy ground, staining it crimson. And then, with a final convulsion, the man collapsed, a life extinguished.

I dragged myself toward the wolf, my body trembling with exhaustion and relief. Its eyes held mine, a feral intelligence that transcended mere instinct. It licked my face, rough tongue rasping against my skin. In that moment, I understood, we were bound by more than survival. The wolf had become my savior, a silent pact forged in blood.

Its concern was palpable, a silent question; Are you hurt? I nodded, my throat too raw for words. The wolf nudged me, urging me to rise. Together, we limped away from the battlefield, leaving behind the stench of death and betrayal. The rising moon watched, a silent witness to our flight.

I retrieved his sword, its blade clean and unused. The wolf paced ahead, guiding me through the shadows. We moved as one, an unlikely pair, a girl and her shadow. The world blurred around us, and I wondered if this creature was more than flesh and bone. Perhaps it was a guardian, a sentinel from forgotten myths.

As we slipped into the sanctuary of the forest, I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder, praying that our escape had gone unnoticed. But the forest’s tranquility was short-lived. The tension thickened as shouts echoed through the clearing, a cacophony of fear and fury. The crusaders had descended upon us, their armor glinting in the fading light. They bore witness to the wolf’s wrath, to the crimson stain on the earth, a tableau of defiance and retribution.

Recognition flickered in their eyes as they looked at me. It was a cold, hard realization, like the first chill of winter. Edward, once their brother-in-arms, now stood before them as a traitor, a heretic. Their gazes were icy, stripped of any warmth they once held for me. The bond we shared, once as solid as the ground beneath our feet, evaporated like morning mist. Loyalty, once unshakable, crumbled under the heavy gaze of judgment. In unison, they raised their swords, their steel singing a chilling chorus of impending death.

But the wolf, my silent savior, stood resolute. It’s growl reverberated, a primal anthem. It would fight, teeth bared, fur bristling. Yet reason whispered: we were outnumbered, our fate sealed. I clung to the world, its warmth a fragile shield against the encroaching darkness. “Run, Luna,” I murmured, the name unfamiliar yet intimate. It tasted of moonlight and secrets. “Let us survive this night”

Luna, the word hung in the air, a bond forged in desperation. The wolf understood, its eyes reflecting both fear and resolve. Together, we pivoted, fleeing toward the woods, the sanctuary of shadows. Arrows whistled past, spears seeking our hearts. But Luna matched my pace, a girl and her shadow, as we wove through the chaos.

We left behind blood-soaked soil, screams swallowed by the night. Hate trailed us like a phantom, but we ran, deeper into the woods, where the trees whispered ancient truths. The chaos faded, replaced by the rhythm of our breaths, the cadence of survival.

We ran, Luna and I, through the heart of the ancient forest. She led the way, her paws barely touching the moss-covered ground. The trees twisted and turned, their gnarled branches reaching for us like skeletal fingers. The forest grew darker, more potent, as if it held secrets older than time itself.

Ahead, a clearing opened, a pocket of respite in the wilderness. And there, half-swallowed by nature’s reclaiming embrace, stood an abandoned stone structure. Its walls crumbled, ivy winding through the cracks. The forest had claimed it, weaving its root into the very bones of the edifice.

Luna halted at the entryway, her eyes fixed on me. Silent, she beckoned, and invitation or warning, I couldn’t tell. My voice emerged as a whisper, absurd in the face of ancient mysteries. “Should I go inside?”

A sharp bark echoed, a response, clear and urgent. Luna’s message was unspoken: Enter.

I stepped over the threshold, the air thick with memories. When I turned to look at her, Lunda had vanished. My sanity teetered on the edge, fatigue dragging me under. Darkness closed in, and I surrendered to sleep.

The sun greeted me, a warm kiss on my eyelid. Panic surged as memory flooded back. I shot up, disoriented, my limbs heavy as stone. A voice, a soft growl, pulled me from the abyss. Before me stood a horned man, his bet adorned with skulls. Cernunnos, the ancient god, keeper of wild places. His eyes held the weight of centuries.

His voice rustled like leaves as he welcomed me, “Welcome to my Grove, a mere fragment of The Divine Playground.” The air around him pulsed with an unseen energy, a tangible aura of power that seemed to illuminate the space. “Rest assured,” he added, his voice imbued with a comforting certainty, “you are safe within these bounds.”

I blinked, the world around me morphing into a vibrant panorama of life. Flowers bloomed, their petals dew-kissed under the soft morning light. Birds sang their secrets to the wind, their melodies weaving through the air. Cernunnos watched in silence, his ancient eyes holding a depth of wisdom that transcended time. In that moment, I understood - I had crossed a threshold, made a pact with the shadows that danced beneath the towering trees. Luna’s eyes, glowing in the distance, watching over me. Her gaze was a beacon, a comforting presence amidst the uncertainty. It guided me forward, away from the chaos we had left behind and into the heart of the unknown.