[Meanwhile somewhere in Eldravia]
Eldravia was a place untouched by time. A forgotten land on the edges of the kingdom where no sunlight dared to tread. Thick, dense trees loomed above, blocking out even the faintest hint of the moon. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. Far in the distance, a low, haunting howl of a wolf echoed through the night, but even that seemed distant and weak here in Eldravia.
A lone figure moved through the dark, like a shadow blending with the night itself. His cloak was black, absorbing the very light around him, and the only sound he made was the soft scuff of boots on the wet ground. In his hand, he carried a flickering torch, its light barely cutting through the darkness, casting long, eerie shadows that danced on the gnarled roots of the ancient trees.
Ser Vaelor, dressed in a cloak of midnight, made his way through the tangled underbrush, his steps slow and deliberate. He had been here before — many times before, though no one else knew. He had been summoned. A traitor, some might call him. A man who had betrayed his own blood, his own honor, for a cause darker than anyone could comprehend.
The meeting was set, and there would be no turning back now. He had made his choices.
As he walked, his mind wandered briefly to the last few weeks — the constant tension between him and Kaleon Skarn, the quiet whispers in the halls of Skarnhold, the growing unease in his chest. It was never supposed to be like this. But things changed. Power, ambition, greed — these were the forces that ruled this world. And Ser Vaelor was a man who had come to understand this well.
The soft crackle of dry leaves beneath his boots was the only sound that accompanied him until he reached the clearing. The trees parted here, revealing a stone altar — ancient and forgotten, covered in moss and the marks of countless years. There, seated around it, were figures cloaked in shadows. The Bannerless Men.
A quiet murmur of voices filled the air as the gathered men noticed Vaelor's approach. Some of them stood, others remained seated. All of them, their eyes glinting in the dark, their expressions hard to read.
Vaelor didn't need to speak to know that the time had come. They had all been waiting for him.
"Ser Vaelor," one of the figures said, his voice gruff, like the scraping of stone on metal. "The bloodline grows weak. The time is near."
Vaelor stepped forward, his torch casting light on the men's faces — men who had once been nobility, royalty even, before they had been cast aside, erased from history, their names forgotten in the annals of time. They had become the Bannerless Men, a group of outcasts who now sought to overthrow the very bloodline that had wronged them.
Vaelor nodded, his face a mask of cold indifference. "Ten years," he whispered, the weight of his words heavy in the still air. "Ten years, and the bloodline falls. We must be patient."
Another figure spoke, his voice laced with a venomous edge. "Patience is a luxury we can no longer afford. Every moment that passes, the Skarn bloodline grows stronger. If we wait too long, we risk losing our chance."
"We will wait," Vaelor replied firmly, his gaze hardening. "We must wait. The fall will be slow, calculated, and complete. No one will know it is us until it is too late. I know what I'm doing."
The men exchanged uncertain glances. They had their doubts, but there was something in Vaelor's voice that made them hesitate. Something dangerous, something that spoke of a plan much larger than any of them could see.
"We need to strike when the moment is right," another figure added, his tone quieter now. "When the sons are divided, when trust is broken between them. Only then will we move."
"And how will we divide them?" Vaelor asked, stepping closer to the stone altar and resting his hand on its weathered surface. "We know the Skarn sons are loyal to each other. They will fight side by side, as brothers do."
"Not for long," a voice whispered, almost lost in the wind. "There is a traitor among them already. He will help us."
Vaelor's brow furrowed. A traitor?
"You know who I speak of," the figure continued, his voice more confident now. "Ser Vaelor — it's Lord Darion."
Vaelor froze, his mind racing. Lord Darion? The very man who had been his commander, his lord, the one who had entrusted him with the fate of Skarnhold. It was unexpected. His heart skipped a beat. But then, his face darkened with realization.
Lord Darion had been distant, yes, but what did he stand to gain by turning? Vaelor knew him better than most, but this was... different.
"Are you sure?" Vaelor asked, his voice steady despite the churn of thoughts in his mind.
The figure nodded slowly. "I am certain. He has long harbored resentment for the Skarn bloodline, and now, with Kaleon growing more powerful, his grip on power slipping, Darion fears the future. He fears the inheritance shifting to someone else. Someone younger, stronger. And he sees you as the key to his ascent."
Vaelor remained silent, a surge of conflicting thoughts rushing through him. Darion had always been a proud man. But was he truly capable of this kind of betrayal?
"Is he fully aware of the plan?" Vaelor asked, his hand tightening around the torch. "Does he know how it will unfold?"
"Not yet," the figure replied. "But he will. In time, he will."
Vaelor let the silence linger, his eyes fixed on the stone altar, the symbols etched into it like the markings of some long-forgotten deity. Ten years. Ten years to bring down the Skarn bloodline. But it seemed that the path was now even more treacherous than he had anticipated. It was no longer just about him — it was about Lord Darion as well. A dangerous player, one who was as ambitious as anyone.
Vaelor straightened his posture, his mind made up.
"When do we move?" he asked, his voice suddenly firm, commanding.
The figure in front of him smiled coldly. "The seeds are already being planted, Ser Vaelor. The time will come soon enough. Darion will betray his own blood — and in doing so, he will ensure the fall of the Skarns. And you will be by his side, as you promised."
Vaelor nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. He had made his choices. There would be no turning back.