The discovery of Dagran's body in Oakhaven barracks sent a tremor through Lord Valerius's northern holdings. It was a crisp, clear morning when a rider, covered in road dust and panting with exertion, burst into the great hall of Castle Valerius. He delivered his grim report to Lord Valerius himself, who sat at breakfast, surrounded by his remaining sons, Gareth, Tristan, and Rowan.
The news hit Valerius like a physical blow. Dagran, a loyal if brutish knight, dead? Murdered in his own bed? And the mark… a broken lion, scrawled in blood. The air in the hall thickened with a sudden, palpable tension. Gareth, the eldest, a man built like an ox with a temper to match, slammed his fist on the table.
"Who dares?!" he roared, his face purpling with rage. "Who has the audacity to strike one of our men, on our lands?"
Valerius, his face a mask of cold fury, held up a hand, silencing his son. His eyes, usually glittering with a cruel amusement, were now like chips of flint. He remembered the scholar, the upstart who had dared to challenge him, the one he'd made an example of at Elara's Point. And he remembered the small, hidden boy he'd glimpsed fleeing into the woods that day. A faint, unsettling chill snaked through him. No, it couldn't be. The boy was nothing. A terrified mouse.
"The broken lion," Valerius murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. "A message. It's a message, not a random act." He looked at his sons, his gaze hardening. "This is no common bandit, no petty thief. This is personal. Dagran was at Elara's Point. You were at Elara's Point."
Tristan, the more cunning of the twins, cleared his throat nervously. "Father, surely you don't mean… the scholar's brat? He was just a boy. Terrified."
"Terrified mice grow into vengeful rats if left unchecked," Valerius retorted, his voice sharp as a whip. "And this 'rat' just killed a seasoned knight. In his own barracks. Without a sound." His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint returning. "No. This is precisely what it means. Someone has returned to settle a score."
A cold dread began to settle over the hall. If it was the boy, Kaelen, as Valerius now seemed certain, then this was more than just a murder. It was a declaration of war. A solitary, determined shadow against the might of House Valerius.
"He wants to bleed us," Rowan, the younger twin, muttered, a tremor in his voice. "One by one."
"Then we will bleed him dry first!" Gareth bellowed, drawing his sword. "I will raise a company, Father! I will scour every inch of these lands until that wretch is begging for mercy at my feet!"
Valerius nodded slowly. "Good. Take a hundred men, Gareth. Not just soldiers, but trackers, hunters. Fan out across the lands surrounding Oakhaven. Send riders to every village, every hamlet. Let it be known that any who shelter this… this ghost, will suffer the same fate as his family. No mercy. Bring him back alive, if possible. I want to look into his eyes when he breaks. But if not," he paused, a chilling smile touching his lips, "a piece of him will suffice. His head will make a fine trophy on the gate."
As Gareth rallied his men, a sense of unease settled upon the remaining sons. They had reveled in the destruction of Elara's Point, viewing it as a minor incident, a demonstration of their father's unchallengeable power. Now, that forgotten act was returning to haunt them.
Meanwhile, Kaelen, miles from Oakhaven, felt the shifting winds. He knew the death of Dagran would not go unnoticed. He imagined Valerius's fury, Gareth's predictable bluster. Good. Let them be angry. Let them commit resources, expose themselves. Anger clouded judgment.
He had buried Dagran's small purse of coin in a hidden hollow outside Oakhaven, taking only what he needed for basic supplies. He couldn't risk leaving a trail. Instead, he made his way north, further into the wilds, towards the foothills of the Dragon's Tooth Mountains. This was where Lord Valerius held his ancestral hunting grounds, a vast wilderness dotted with smaller keeps and lodges used for sport and staging points for patrols. Gareth, Valerius's eldest, would be there often. He was arrogant, predictable, and had a known weakness for isolated taverns and boastful displays of his hunting prowess.
Kaelen began to stalk his next prey. Gareth. He pictured the man's sneering face, the rough hand that had struck his father. A fresh surge of cold determination coursed through him. Gareth would be more difficult, better guarded, but Kaelen had learned patience. He had learned how to use the land, to become one with the shadows.
He thought of his mother, Lyra, and her quiet strength. He thought of Elara, her innocent laughter echoing in his mind. Their deaths, their humiliation, was a wound that would never heal, a driving force that consumed his every waking moment. The broken lion drawn in blood was just the first whisper. Soon, the roars would begin, and the Valerius clan would understand the true meaning of fear. Gareth would be the next lesson.
Chapter 4 sets up the escalation of the conflict. Valerius is aware, and Gareth is now actively hunting Kaelen, unknowingly walking into his crosshairs.