An ensemble of glistening rays of sunlight shined over the walls of the Sunhold, powerfully reflecting off of many glass windows resting throughout the estate and filling the castle's air with the sentiment of liveliness that lacks during the cold, silent night. The great golden star, father of all life across the land rose into the sky, undaunted by the misty clouds of dawn who shriveled at the sight of the new light. Town bells tolled, and blacksmiths emerged from their living quarters, beginning their work. Morning birds sang their early songs, as yet another day had begun in the kingdom of Eastend.

Slowly, Darwin tread down the empty corridor, placing each step upon the ground gently and tenderly, fearful of disturbing his parents' slumber. His light, leather-coated plate clanked with every step, threatening to spoil his quiet endeavor. Nonetheless, the lad had successfully made his way to the training quarters. Pressing a hand up against the limp-hanging wooden door, the youngest son of House Norder entered the vast chamber. Rows of melee-purposed dummies forged from iron, and arrow-targets carved from wood layed nonchalantly along the walls, unoccupied and patiently awaiting use.

At the heart of the room, vicious grunts and hushed cries of battle came from a lightly-geared warrior, whose armor was no more heavily plated than the set that Darwin wore. The entirety of the man's face was hidden by a mighty iron armet, which stuck rigidly to his head as he thrust his blade forward and sideways, swinging his steel with doubtless expertise.

“You're getting good at fighting the dummies. Father would be proud,” Darwin chuckled as his brother turned to face him, wrestling the armet off of his head.

“Watch your tongue, or you'll be next,” Kirtoll replied with a smirk, shoving his sword into its sheath. “You're up early, I see. What's the occasion?”

“I'm always up early. Thank you for noticing.”

“Not this early. I haven't seen you up at the peak of dawn since the last Royal Gamble. Spit it out.”

“Aunt Cecilia is visiting Sunhold. Word has it that she'll be here by the sun's high.” Kirtoll raised an eyebrow curiously, surprised yet mildly skeptical of the news. “I thought father or mother would have told you,” Darwin continued.

Kirtoll shook his head. “They haven't, which makes me wonder how the hell you know. Spying on father's foot soldiers again?”

“Always.”

“Father doesn't like that,” Kirtoll said as he layed his armet aside and strode for the doorway.

Darwin turned around, and followed his brother down the corridor. “Of course. Though so long as he doesn't know, that doesn't concern me.”

“You're too reckless. That's the line of thought that'll get you killed one day,” Kirtoll spoke as he furrowed his brows.

“Odd advice coming from you, especially after the last Royal Gamble.”

Kirtoll narrowed his eyes. “Say that again and I'll rip your tongue from your mouth and feed it to you.”

“You wouldn't do such a thing to your dearest brother,” Darwin retorted as he turned to face Kirtoll with a wide grin

“You'd be surprised. Now hush for a moment. Father and mother will wake if we keep making noise.”

Darwin replied with merely a nod. The two continued to quietly march down the corridors of Sunhold Keep, exiting the great building and basking in the fresh morning air. Kirtoll leaned up against the keep's outer wall, and drew a flask from his satchel, taking a greedy gulp from it and offering it to his brother. “Care for some ale?”

“This early in the day?”

“Why not? Not man enough to handle it?” Kirtoll teased.

Scoffing, Darwin wrenched the flask out of his hand and brought it to his lips, swallowing a hefty quantity of the brew, while narrowing his eyes, evidently bothered by its bitter taste.

“Not that much, you greedy shit,” Kirtoll snapped as he ripped the flask out of his brother's hand. “I want this to last me at least a couple of hours,” he continued.

“Could always get more once you run out,” Darwin replied firmly.

“As if father would allow me to become a worthless drunk,” Kirtoll spoke as he secured the flask in his satchel.

“You're already well on your way there,” the lad replied with a chuckle.

“Could say the same for you,” he countered.

Darwin shook his head. The entrance to Sunhold Keep opened once more, and from its dim corridors, Darius emerged, wearing the finest suit of armor in Eastend, a set of plate heavier than any of his soldiers', thought not quite heavy enough to impair him. A sheathed long-sword hung along each of his sides, clean and sharpened, both blades equally prepared to pierce through armor and rend flesh. Like Owine, Darius' eyes were colored a powerful azure blue. Though his stature and figure were both slightly smaller than his younger brother's, he compensated for what he lacked in muscular mass with formidable speed and agility.

Darius looked upwards, watching the rising sun, whose potent, glistening rays penetrated the sky with ease. “Morning,” he spoke as he turned his gaze towards his sons.

“Morning father,” Kirtoll said as he picked himself up from the wall, rising to his full height. “Is mother still asleep?”

“No. Your mother is inside knitting” the Norder patriarch responded dully. “What are you two doing out here so early?”

“Talking and practicing our swordsmanship.”

“Drinking,” Darwin said with a smirk.

“You?” Darius raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Aye, of course. Don't believe me?”

“You don't drink often. I thought you hated the taste of alcohol,” Darius said.

“Hate is an overstatement, father. I merely don't like it,” the lad retorted firmly.

“All the same. Put the flask down for now. We're going to have a feast tonight, and I'd rather you remain sober until then. Both of you.”

“We don't normally have feasts unless there's a special occasion. Why are we having one today?” Kirtoll inquired.

“Your aunt Cecilia is making her way to Sunhold. She'll be here within a handful of hours. What better way to celebrate a meeting with the head of House Khorefaester, and the queen of the Eastern Cordillera than a feast?”

“Aye, fair then. I'm excited to see her. It's been a while.”

“I as well,” Darwin agreed.

“Good. The two of you will spend the next few hours hunting. While the ladies of the family prepare the harvest and the fires, you will gather any meat you can get your hands on. Rabbit, venison, pork, chicken, fish for all I care. I want a large amount, and I want variety.”

“Of course, father. As you command,” Kirtoll answered with a bow, and Darwin followed suit.

“Off with you, then. I have work to do.” Darius turned around and wandered down the cobble road of Sunhold, striding towards the forges. “Come, brother. Let's make haste,” Kirtoll said. The two lads marched the other way, glancing at their surroundings as they made their way towards the western castle gate. Kirtoll scoffed as they approached the large doorway, which was shut and tightly locked.

“Of course the gates would be closed,” he muttered as he approached the barrier.

“Father's paranoid about keeping them open at night,” Darwin stated matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately,” Kirtoll said as he latched his palms onto the first lock and began to heave it downwards. Darwin stood back, watching as his older brother began the grueling process of opening the early morning gate. With the first seal undone, Kirtoll stretched his arms outwards and turned to face his brother. “Don't just stand there watching. Get your ass over here and help me, or at least go fetch a wheelbarrow.”

“A wheelbarrow? For what?” Darwin raised his brow curiously.

“To carry the tons of meat, idiot,” Kirtoll answered sharply.

“Idiot? Is that the best insult you can come up with?”

Kirtoll shook his head silently, focusing his attention on the locks once more.

“Where would I find a wheelbarrow anyways?” Darwin asked.

“Butcher's shop. Parley should have one or a couple laying around. Grab the biggest you can find,” Kirtoll replied as he pressed his body weight onto the second lock, forcing it downwards and unlocking its tight grip on the door.

With a nod, Darwin turned around and began to march down the path. “I'll return soon,” he announced as he made his way through the castle. Soldiers armed to the teeth had already begun making their daily rounds around the walls, rushing to secure their posts. The armored men donned tabards weaved from the royal colors of House Norder; a deep, rich navy blue, with the face of a mature tiger engraved in the fabrics resting by their hearts. Leather-workers and jewel-crafters were making their way to their shops, eager to work and earn their bread.

Whistling gently, Darwin entered the butcher's shop. Wooden counters lazily leaned up against the four walls of the tiny shack, holding a vast variety of different types of meat. Chicken, pork, beef, veal, venison and more adorned the surface, far from fresh yet still ripe for eating. The stench of the raw, unwashed meat filled the young lad's nostrils as he eyed the various cuts curiously. Snorting, he approached the back-most counter, behind which stood Parley, the butcher of Sunhold. Parley was a middle-aged man, much younger than Darius, yet age had treated him poorly. He was a rather plump man, whose figure was thick and great in width. Already, most of his hair had shriveled from his head, and the hair that remained consisted of a dark-gray hue, barely resembling the bright hazel that it once was. His face was roughly shaved, consisting merely of freshly grown stubble, save for a thin mustache which remained untouched above his upper lip.

“Welcome, my lord!” The butcher cried with a bow as Darwin approached the counter.

“Morning Parley,” Darwin said with a warm smile. “How fares business?”

“Business fares finely, as always,” the butcher replied cheerfully. “How might I be of service to you?”

“Father is holding a feast tonight,” Darwin replied as he gazed downwards towards the cuts of meat sprawled across the counters, stroking his chin curiously.

“So I've heard,” Parley said, nodding his head.

Darwin crouched inward, inspecting a slice of beef closely. “Aye. He sent my brother and I to hunt for fresh meat; although it looks like you have plenty here. How much gold is a wheelbarrow's worth?”

With a hearty chuckle, Parley leaned forward, resting his grizzly arms on the counter top and grinning. “His majesty wants fresh meat, aye, my lord?”

“Indeed.”

“No fresh meat here, I'm afraid,” Parley spoke as he furrowed his brow. “Most of it's a week old; some of it a fortnight.”

“That wouldn't matter. How many coins will it be?” Darwin reached into his satchel, digging for his gold coin-purse.

Parley clasped his hands together tightly. “My lord, I'd advise against it. I've been on a few hunts with your father, his majesty. If anyone can tell a fresh cut from an old one, your father can.”

“If he indeed can, then I'll bear the consequences for it,” Darwin replied with a confident nod.

“I implore you, my lord,” the butcher begged. “Your father will find out, and I, too, will face consequences,” he continued. Darwin narrowed his eyes, and before he could respond, the front door was pushed open once more. Kirtoll entered the small building, his lips curled into an impatient snarl.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What's it look like?” Darwin retorted aggressively.

“Looks like you're fucking around,” Kirtoll asserted. “Doesn't take much longer than a few minutes to grab a wheelbarrow, and here you are,” he continued.

“Parley's got plenty of meat here. Lots of different cuts, most of which look delicious. I believe we could bring these to father rather than wasting our time with a hunt.”

Shaking his head at his brother's blatant naivety, Kirtoll stepped forward and turned his attention to the butcher. “My lord,” Parley said with a slight bow.

“I apologize for any trouble my brother might have caused,” Kirtoll spoke in a gentle tone.

“I thank you for your most gracious apology, my lord, but there was no trouble at all. I was merely advising against the use of this meat for your purposes,” the butcher spoke quickly, clearly anxious.

Kirtoll gave the older man a nod of approval, and placed a hand on Darwin's shoulder, pointing a finger towards the butcher. “A wise man right here, handing some good advice to you on a silver platter. Learn to take it when it's offered,” Kirtoll said harshly. Darwin remained silent before his brother, and slowly nodded his head. “Parley,” Kirtoll continued, “my brother and I will need to borrow a wheelbarrow for our hunt. The biggest you have. Are there any available?”

“Of course, my lord.” The butcher rose to his full height. “There are a few resting right behind the shop, cleaned out and ready for use. Shall I show you to them?”

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“That will not be necessary. We'll take your largest and return it by nightfall tomorrow,” Kirtoll answered as he reached into his satchel and drew a handful of gold coins, placing them atop the counter. “Take care of yourself,” Kirtoll said as he turned around and strode for the exit.

“Thank you, my lord! I am most grateful for your generosity,” the butcher called with joy.

Darwin followed Kirtoll toward the backside of the building, his lips still curled into a joyless frown. “Why are you so uptight all the time?” the younger lad asked as they made their way to the wheelbarrows. With his eyes set on the largest, Kirtoll crouched down and gripped its rigid handles tightly, grunting as he heaved it upwards.

“Because I use my head,” he retorted as he turned the wheel, and began to push the cart towards the cobble path, striding for the open gate.

“You're a real asshole sometimes,” Darwin grunted.

“And you're a naive thorn in my side,” Kirtoll said as he pushed the wheelbarrow with one hand and dug into his satchel once more and reached for his flask. With his thumbnail, he popped it open and took a sip of what was left of the ale, before slamming it shut and hiding it in his bag once more.

“Is that why you're always drinking?” the young lad inquired.

“Don't push it,” Kirtoll said.

“There you go again. I was asking sincerely,” Darwin spoke as he followed along.

Kirtoll merely shook his head. Silence reared its ugly head between the two, who made their way through the gates and marched into the wilderness of Eastend.

Returning from his early morning errands, Darius marched into the Sunhold Keep. The dull, stone corridors of the manor smelled of all sorts of delicacies intertwining together to form a feast worthy of kings. Nodding in approval as his nostrils absorbed the scent, the king of Eastend entered the kitchen, and look around. Stews containing all sorts of vegetables, home-grown herbs and spices brewed atop the open fires in the kitchen. Fresh bread and assortments of rich cheeses rested on the countertops, patiently awaiting consumption.

Ayanna delicately sliced a jagged knife through peppers and onions, dicing them and preparing them for the stew. Silently, Darius approached her right side, and firmly wrapped his left arm around her waist, squeezing her lithe figure tightly. “Hard at work?”

The brunette lowered the blade, and layed it carefully atop the cutting board, turning to face her husband and studying him with her hazel-colored eyes. “Of course, my love. I always am,” she answered with a smile.

“Good. We would not want to disappoint your sister,” Darius said with a nod.

“Surely we won't. We'll be serving her the finest of our harvest. I'm certain it'll be enough to impress her,” she spoke with a confident grin. “Nonetheless, where are the boys?” she asked peculiarly.

“Hunting for tonight's meat. I was thinking I could put them to work today. Better than letting them sit around drinking and swashbuckling until the feast,” Darius muttered.

Ayanna responded with a mere nod.

“And Erina?” Darius asked.

“In her room, reading,” the woman affirmed.

“As always,” Darius said with a grin. “I'll leave you to it then,” the king continued. Ayanna giggled as her husband pecked her cheek before departing.

Darius turned around and left to inspect the rest of the kitchen. From aside, Olivia approached him eagerly. “Your majesty,” the blonde gently spoke with a curtsy as she looked up at him.

The king of Eastend turned to face his sister by law, and embraced her gently, patting her back. “A pleasure to see you, my lady. How fare the preparations?”

She graciously accepted the embrace, squeezing him lightly and then stepping back. “As well as could be. The breads and cheeses are finished, and the soups are almost there.”

“Fine work,” Darius nodded.

“Thank you, my lord. I mean not to be a nuisance, but may I ask something of you?” she inquired in her usual soft and timid voice.

“Anything,” he said, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“Has there been any word of my husband? I... I miss him dearly, and I worry for his life. As do Loren and Lyddia; they've gone off into the northern forests to search for any signs of him. I fear the worst..” she said, her eyes evidently filled with anxiety and sorrow as she spoke.

Grimly, Darius shook his head. “There has been no sign of Owine since his disappearance.”

Breathing deeply, Olivia replied with a curteous nod. “I understand. I apologize deeply for the bother, my king.”

The man placed a palm on her shoulder, and squeezed it reassuringly. “You are not a bother; you're my sister. We will do our best to find Owine and bring him home. By my honor as a Norder, and by my duty as the king of Eastend, I swear it.”

“I am forever in your debt,” she spoke, her voice filled with renewed hope.

“Then you'd best make sure tonight's feast is perfect,” he answered with a dismissive chuckle.

Her figure sunk into a gracious curtsy once more. “Of course, my lord!” she replied with enthusiasm before returning to her culinary duties.

Darwin leaned back against the exterior of a large, moss-coated oak tree, whistling sharply while glancing at the sky. The morning sun had nearly reached its daily peak. No more than a few yards away, Kirtoll stood before a stump and forcefully carved his blade through the flesh of a freshly slaughtered doe, whose carcass lay peacefully atop the wooden surface. Kirtoll flayed the creature's skin with expertise and sliced its meat into large chunks, prepared for seasoning and cooking. Raising a glove-covered hand to his forehead, he wiped the sweat off of his skin and then reached for the slabs of bloody, butchered meat, tossing them into the haphazardly filled cart.

“Darwin!” Kirtoll called loudly. In an immediate snap, the young lad rose to his feet, and approached the gore-covered stump.

“Finally done?”

Kirtoll answered him with a quiet nod.

Darwin dug his hands through the assortment of flesh, inspecting each and every slice with care. “Chicken, pork and beef from the nearby farmhands, wild rabbit, duck and venison. Will this be enough for father, or will he want more?”

“More than enough,” his brother responded as he crouched down and heaved the wheelbarrow upward by its handles. “Let's go home.”

“Finally,” Darwin groaned. “You want me to push the cart on the road? You look tired. Exhausted, rather.”

“No. I can handle it,” Kirtoll spoke as he reached for his flask of ale and rose it to his lips, taking a desperate gulp and draining the last few drops available. He bitterly threw the empty container into a nearby bush, and began to push the cart down the dirt pathway.

The walk down the forest road was a bizarrely quiet one. The sound of the old metal wheel trekking through the mud and the cries of birds soaring overhead was all that filled the wilderness air.

“You're strangely quiet,” Kirtoll spoke up, acknowledging his brother’s uncharacteristic silence.

“What of it?” Darwin retorted firmly.

The older lad's lips curled into a wide grin, followed by a mildly amused chuckle. “You're always talking. Either finding some way to annoy me, or making slightly tolerable conversation.” Kirtoll paused, and raised his eyebrows. “I saw you staring, you know.”

“Staring? At what?” Darwin replied swiftly, his eyes wide.

“Back at old Bredley’s,” Kirtoll spoke as he released the wheelbarrow's handles, dropping the cart into the grass and wiping the sweat off his forehead. “While I was butchering the chickens, you had your eyes on that girl. I think Bredley mentioned her name at some point. Alessia, that was it,” he continued.

Darwin's bony cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “So what if I do?” he retorted aggressively.

Kirtoll lazily shrugged his fatigued shoulders. “Didn't think you'd be interested in a low born girl,” he replied.

“Do you believe her birthright matters?” Darwin questioned sharply.

Kirtoll shook his head. “Nay,” he responded simply. “She's a pretty one, no doubt about that.” He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and furrowed his brow. “Be careful who you have your eyes on. Things don't always end as desired,” he spoke in a serious tone.

Darwin turned to face his older brother, and peered into his eyes. The gravity of his words was greatly amplified by the somber nature of his stare. Like Atlas bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, Kirtoll's gaze clearly bore a heavy burden. The nature of that burden was entirely unknown to Darwin, whose eyes retreated to the ground with a nod of his head. “Aye, brother I will.”

“Good lad.” Kirtoll turned his gaze towards the grass, and leaned up against the cart, catching his breath. Peering upwards, his eyes narrowed rigidly as he rose to his full height and glanced back.

The younger lad stepped forward, concern evident in his mildly perplexed expression. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Quiet,” Kirtoll whispered firmly. Darwin turned around, and gazed back down the forest, whose pathway was blatantly barren of any sign of life. He turned his line of sight again, inspecting his surroundings attentively. “What's the matter?” he whispered curiously.

“Listen,” Kirtoll answered silently, tilting his head towards the bushes. Paying closer attention, Darwin suddenly heard it. The sound of boots trekking through thick mud, accompanied by the rustling of bushes and low-hanging tree branches. Gritting his teeth, the young lad reached for the hilt of his blade, and began to draw it from its sheath.

“Down!” the older lad yelled as his larger body came flying towards Darwin, knocking him into the grass. The younger brother's face sunk into the dirt as his brother tackled him directly into the ground within a split second.

Rolling onto his back, Darwin stuck his tongue out and spat the mouthful of dirt out. Raising a glove to his eyes, he vigorously dug the filth out of them. “What the hell was that?” he shouted, enraged by the sudden assault as he looked towards his brother.

Kirtoll lay in the dirt, grinding his teeth together as he looked at Darwin. The cloth covering the left side of his torso had been torn asunder. His skin had been sliced deeply open, no doubt the work of a jagged edge. Blood leaked out of the open gash, and Kirtoll groaned in agony, rolling onto his side and placing a hand on the wound, pressing down on it harshly to stop the bleeding. A rusty hatchet lay just beside the lad's injured form, coated in a splatter of fresh, rose colored blood. Darwin's eyes widened, and he turned around once more, ripping his steel from its sheath in one swift motion, this time with success.

“Who goes there! Who would dare!” Darwin roared angrily, with his sword raised before him, his right leg positioned before him and his left positioned behind him, assuming an appropriate defensive stance.

From behind the tall, green shrubs by the roadside, a man emerged. The stranger's head was protected by a cheap metal coif, and the rest of his body was protected by simple, inexpensive leathers, dark brown and ragged. Three hatchets lay strung along his belt, along with one large battle axe.

Scrunching his nose, the man snickered heartily. “There's my fourth hatchet. I thought I'd lost it for good,” he spoke, laughter imminent in his voice. “Boy! Go fetch that for me,” he shouted, pointing a finger to his lone hatchet.

“How dare you strike him?” Darwin interrogated the man aggressively, with his long-blade raised before his torso.

The man replied with a scoff. “Worthless little cunt, eh?” he growled, reaching to his hip and drawing his two-handed axe, gripping its handle tightly between his meaty fingers.

“Watch your tongue, whelp. I am Darwin, third in line to House Norder, ruling house of Eastend. You have willingly struck Kirtoll, second in line to House Norder. For your crimes, I sentence you to death,” Darwin announced in a threatening tone.

The man responded with a mad, bellowing cackle, waving his axe wildly before him with one hand and stroking his bushy brown beard with the other. “Great fortune! Aye, lads?” As he spoke, two more men emerged from behind the trees, covered in the same poor, leather armor. Unlike the first stranger, however, these two wore no helmets, and they were armed with daggers rather than hatchets. “We followed you for your meat, nothing more. Now we've got our ourselves grub for weeks and two princes for ransom. We'll soon be as wealthy as kings, aye lads?” he continued with an arrogant smirk.

Growing fear was clearly imminent in Darwin's eyes as the three men now stood before him with their weapons drawn. A palm suddenly gripped the boy's shoulder from behind, tugging him back. With a loud gasp, Darwin turned around. Despite the severity of his wound, Kirtoll had risen to his feet once more, and had drawn his steel. “Take this one..” Kirtoll softly muttered into Darwin's ear as he leaned onto his shoulder. “Kill him while I hold the other two..” he continued.

For a brief moment, Darwin glanced into his brother's eyes and nodded. With a loud grunt, he stepped forward and thrust his blade through the air, aiming its edge for the axe wielder's neck. The dagger wielders stepped aside, and Kirtoll approached them with his steel high in the air.

“Pathetic!” the talkative bandit growled as his gargantuan, rusted iron clashed with Darwin's expensive, royal weapon. The lad's attacker was a formidable foe, meeting every one of Darwin's unyielding offensive strikes with a powerful defensive block, in spite of the hefty weight of his axe. As the youngest of the two brothers drove his blade forward, the bandit saw an opening and wheeled around, driving his weapon towards Darwin's neck with unstoppable force. With the swiftness of a cheetah, Darwin ducked down, narrowly evading the axe's sharpened edge which grazed the tip of his hair. The boy then rose up from his position, and drove the crown of his blade upwards, towards the bandit's neck.

Unbearable pain shot through Darwin's forearm, drawing a scream of agony from his throat as his opponent grabbed his wrist mid-air, and began to viciously twist it, tearing the muscles within asunder. Darwin's blade slipped out of his limp, grievously injured hand, and the bandit lifted him into the air by his arm, painfully stretching out the muscles beneath and around the entire limb. Darwin peered around, rapidly eyeing his surroundings. Kirtoll and the other two men had disappeared from sight. Had he been abandoned by his brother?

Once more, the attacker burst into a cacophony of untamed laughter, a barrage of saliva raining down upon Darwin's wincing face as he cackled. “You've got balls, lad; I'll give you that. I can't kill you, but I sure as hell can keep this arm of yours as a trophy.” The bandit rose his battle axe up into the air, tilting it to the side and preparing to bring it down. With a powerful cry, he swung his weapon down towards Darwin's shoulder.

The glistening, steel head of a halberd caught the head of the axe in the middle of its descent, halting it in place mere inches before Darwin's arm. “What?” the bandit cried with surprise as the weapon, which seemed to have appeared out of thin air, blocked his swing. Turning to his side, a colossal mountain of a man stood beside him him.

The being's figure was one of ungodly proportions. The newcomer was at least seven feet tall, with inhuman bodily bulk. His entire body, from head to toe, was covered in an enormous suit of armor, at least five times thicker and heavier than any that would be found in Eastend. The surface of the man's armor was colored a bizarre, bright white tint, almost as if the metal had been covered entirely with snow. His tabard bore the colors of House Korefhaester; a deep royal purple, accompanied by the crest of a mature lion's face engraved near his heart. The weapon responsible for saving Darwin's life was an immensely lengthy steel halberd, almost as tall as its wielder, whose head was the size of a human head.

“Who the fuck are you?” the bandit growled, his voice engulfed in fury as he drew his axe back, assuming an aggressive stance once more.

The newly arrived knight remained silent. Stepping forward, he drew his halberd back and drove it towards the other man. With precision and swiftness, the axe-wielder raised his weapon to block the strike. Darwin reeled back and watched, gawking as the giant who had saved his life struck with enough force to knock the bandit's axe back, thwarting his iron defense easily. Pushing his offensive, the giant drove the crown of his halberd through the man's ragged leathers, and into his heart.

With ease, the masterly crafted steel drove directly through the bandit's form, like an unused chef's knife slicing through a garden tomato. Groaning, the lad's savior drew his halberd back, pulling it out of his opponent's chest and leaving a gaping hole in the dead man's torso.

“I owe you my life, sir!” Darwin exclaimed with enthusiasm as he stared up at the heavily armored soldier. “You bear the colors of House Korefhaester. Who are you?” he inquired, curious to know the identity of the fighter standing before him.

From the winding dirt path, Kirtoll limped forward, clutching his wound tightly with his palm. “Bartholomew Byriddien,” the injured lad called out as he approached the pair. “Known more commonly as the Northborn Lion.”

Darwin's eyes widened at the mention of his savior's title. “I've heard stories,” he said. “I am forever in debt to you, sir Bartholomew,” he continued.

“Aye, we both are,” Kirtoll continued with a nod.

The Northborn Lion rose his halberd upwards, and slung it in its sheath which was strapped to his back. “I was instructed to ride ahead and inform King Darius of our arrival,” the Northborn Lion spoke in a powerful, booming voice which commanded respect and ringed with authority. “I did not expect to find his sons, near death in the mud.”

“Father sent us to hunt for meat for tonight's feast,” Darwin quickly replied, motioning his hand to the nearby wheelbarrow, which had miraculously remained untouched through the conflict.

Bartholomew spared a glance to the cart, and then returned his hidden gaze to the Norder lads, nodding. The knight turned around and approached a nearby tree, beside which a large, royally bred black mare stood silently, awaiting its rider's return. Leaping onto the horse's saddle, he gripped the reins tightly and set his gaze upon the path to Sunhold. “Keep moving. Her majesty is no more than five miles away from here, and will arrive soon.” Tightening the reins, he pulled on them, wrenching a powerful neigh from his onyx steed. “Don't run into trouble again,” he growled, as the horse's hooves began to race along the dirt. Within seconds, the Northborn Lion was out of sight.

The two lads watched as Bartholomew rode off towards the castle. With a tired sigh and a painful grunt, Kirtoll reached for the cart's handles. Darwin reached for one of his brother's hands, and shook his head. “Let me push it. You're wounded,” he spoke softly.

Nodding, Kirtoll retreated from the wheelbarrow, and Darwin rose his injured hand up to grasp the handle. The lad ground his teeth together harshly, ignoring the pain of the damage caused to his arm.

A tense silence once more arose between the two as they continued their march through the forest. This time, however, the tranquil quiet remained undisturbed, for both of them had been defeated, and neither of them wished to talk about it.