A group of merchants and their escort departed from Southall, heading towards Castlecrest, a renowned hub of commerce. Their caravan was laden with weapons, farming and mining tools, and other goods.

After assessing their surroundings, the head of the escort dropped his belongings and announced:

“This is a perfect spot to camp for the night.”

They arrived at a clearing nestled between a mountainside, a forest, and a river — a well-known landmark for its safety. This location, favored by travelers, provided a secure resting place with ample natural resources, including fresh water from the river and wood from the forest, making it an ideal overnight stop.

They began setting up the tents while some gathered wood for the fire. They gathered in a circle once the flames were kindled, sharing bread and dried meat. A chilling wind descended from the mountain, hunting like a predator. The merchants and their guards braced for the night.

“A ghost must haunt this place,” one guard remarked attuned to the strange wind.

“Perhaps it’s a demon,” another speculated.

“There have been no demon sightings in this region,” the captain of the guards interjected, surveying the encircling stones.

A figure cloaked in a tattered hood emerged from the adjacent woods. The guards stood to attention, their guns ready to attack the individual if needed.

“Identify yourself!” the guard demanded in a gruff voice.

The hooded figure stopped and faced the group.

“I am only a traveler seeking refuge,” he said confidently.

The head of the guards eyed him with suspicion.

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“We have no food for strangers, but you may share our fire,” the captain offered.

The stranger nodded and sat down beside the fire. The merchants continued to chat noisily among themselves while the newcomer remained silent, staring absently at the dwindling flames.

As night fell, they settled down to sleep.

“The escort leader has warned us to stay alert; he could be dangerous.”

“Yes, captain!” the guards responded in unison.

The unknown man, later, gave out a sound signal, a short whistle followed by a wolf-like sound. A group of masked, armed bandits appeared.

“Whoever surrenders will remain alive,” said one of them.

The captain and his men watched in bewilderment with weapons in hand, ready to defend the camp.

The merchants saw the difference in forces and most preferred to surrender.

The first volley of arrows hit a guard in the neck. The man fell dead to the ground.

The escort commander tried to fight. He pulled out his sword and rushed towards the nearest robbers. They fired, and the warrior fell to the ground, bleeding from a deep wound to his shoulder.

The attackers killed several guards and brought the others to their knees. They tied the wrists of all the surviving members of the group with ropes.

Then, by the light of the fire, they gathered all the goods they wanted.

They placed the escort leader aside and tied him tightly.

“Make room!” came a female voice.

There was silence and in front stepped Syberta, their leader, a warrior woman with short hair, clad in leather armor and armed with a bow and two knives.”

She approached the prisoner’s face.

“Are you the bastard who walks around with a bunch of bare elbows bragging he’s going to kill me?”

The head of the escort wanted to say something but he didn’t have time.

With a surprising move, Syberta knocked him out of breath with the whip in her right hand.

She was walking around the makeshift camp when she heard a noise from a tent; she readied herself with a knife, went inside the tent, and crept cautiously out. She wasn’t alone. She carried a small child in her arms.

“From now on, this is my baby,” she said as she looked up at the sky, saw the strange color of the moon, and continued. “He will be called Kaer, which in the ancient language of our tribe means The Keeper.”

The attackers left the merchants alive, loaded the goods into their carts with perfect coordination, and left.