Julian drifted in darkness.
Not the quiet of sleep, but the crushing void between life and death — heavy, suffocating, endless. Every heartbeat felt stolen, every breath like it might be his last. Voices rippled somewhere above him — muffled, sharp, fading. Then, a cold hand brushed his cheek. The distant clatter of iron links. Chains.
He tried to open his eyes, but the world swallowed him again.
When he woke, it wasn't to silence.
It was to the slow drip of water and the hiss of steel scraping against stone.
His eyes shot open. The air was damp, thick with the smell of smoke and rot. The low ceiling pressed down on him, wooden beams streaked with black mold. He shifted — and the sound came.
Clink.
Chains.
His wrists were bound in heavy iron, secured to a post sunk deep into the floor. He pulled once, hard, but the chains didn't budge. Panic clawed at his chest as he realized: he was alive, but not free.
The sharpening stopped.
"You're awake."
The voice came from the shadows — deep, gravelly, steady as a mountain. A figure stepped into the firelight: broad-shouldered, his armor a patchwork of metal and leather, scarred and dented from years of battle. One pauldron steel, the other boiled leather. His hair streaked with gray, his eyes sharp as flint.
A mercenary.
Julian swallowed hard. His throat felt raw. "Where… where am I?"
The man crouched before him, dagger glinting in one hand. "You were found half-dead in the mud," he said. "Sword in your hand. Blood all over you. You don't wear a crest, don't bear a lord's colors. Not a soldier." His gaze flicked to Julian's shoulder wound. "And yet… you survived a rider's spear. Strange luck."
Julian's voice faltered. "I— I don't know how I got here."
"Everyone knows something." The mercenary's eyes narrowed. "People don't just appear in war zones.
Julian had no answer.
I died in another world — what good would that truth do him here?
The man studied him for a long moment, then stood. "My men think you're a deserter. They want me to gut you before dawn." He turned the dagger in his hand. "But I think there's more to you."
He slid the blade into its sheath and stepped toward the exit, pulling aside a heavy hide curtain. Harsh daylight bled into the tent, blinding Julian for an instant. Outside, men shouted orders. Horses stamped. Steel clanged. It wasn't a prison — it was a camp.
And when Julian's eyes adjusted, he saw the banners.
Dark crimson cloth, stitched with a black crown impaled by two crossed spears.
The same banners he had seen on the battlefield — the ones flying over the slaughter.
The mercenary looked back. "You'll march with us tomorrow," he said flatly. "Fall behind, you die. Try to run, you die. Raise a hand against us…" He let the silence finish the threat.
Julian's stomach twisted. The curtain fell shut, plunging him back into gloom. Only the fire's faint crackle broke the quiet.
He let his head fall against the post, wrists burning. His mother's face flickered in his mind — her blood, her voice. You're stronger than you think.
But strength meant nothing in chains.
Then a sound broke the stillness.
A low, mournful horn. Long, slow, and distant — yet close enough to make the ground tremble.
Julian froze.
Shouts erupted outside. Orders barked, panicked. The stomp of boots, the screech of steel leaving sheaths.
The curtain burst open.
A young soldier stumbled inside — barely older than Julian, pale and trembling. "They're here!" he gasped. "The raiders— they've breached the line!"
The mercenary was on his feet in an instant, sword already half-drawn. "Hold the front! They're testing us!" He turned to the boy. "Watch the prisoner."
The boy nodded, terrified. The mercenary disappeared into the chaos.
Julian's pulse pounded. He yanked at the chains again, wrists bleeding. Useless. The shouts grew louder — then, the unmistakable sound of steel meeting steel. A scream followed, sharp and wet. The camp was under attack.
The tent flap flew open again — but not with the boy.
A soldier staggered in, clutching his throat, blood spurting through his fingers. His eyes rolled white as he fell face-first, torch spilling from his hand. Fire licked the tent wall. Smoke filled the air.
Julian froze. The body twitched once. Then stilled.
Footsteps followed — slow, deliberate, heavy.
A shadow filled the entrance.
A tall man stepped through, wrapped in furs black with soot and ash. A crude helm masked his face, but his eyes burned with hunger. His axe — chipped and red — dragged along the ground with a slow metallic scrape.
He saw Julian.
And smiled.
Julian's heart hammered. His breath caught in his throat. The raider raised the axe, muscles flexing.
Julian could only brace, every muscle tensed for the end.
Then—
Clash!
Steel met steel. Sparks burst like fireflies. The mercenary was back, his longsword locking the axe in place. His teeth bared, eyes blazing. "Not this one," he snarled.
The raider roared and shoved forward, strength against strength. The mercenary held his ground — then drove his sword deep into the raider's chest. The man jerked, gasped, and crumpled, blood pooling beneath him.
The mercenary tore his blade free and turned to Julian, fire reflecting in his eyes. "Damn it all," he hissed, slashing open the burning tent wall to vent the smoke.
Then he faced Julian again.
"You want to live, boy?"
Julian coughed, choking on smoke, nodding hard.
The mercenary didn't hesitate. He knelt, raised his dagger — and struck the chains. Iron shattered. Julian gasped, wrists free for the first time since waking.
"Then fight," the mercenary growled, pressing the dagger into his palm. "Or die screaming."
Outside, chaos reigned — fire, blood, steel, screams. Men cut down where they stood. Horses bolted, tents collapsed. The banners of the Black Crown burned like dying embers in a storm.
Julian stumbled into the open, dagger clutched tight, the world a blur of motion and flame. His instincts screamed to run.
But then one of the raiders turned toward him — eyes wild, axe dripping. He roared, charging through the smoke.
Julian's whole body trembled. The dagger shook in his grip. His breath came in ragged gasps.
You're stronger than you think, his mother's voice whispered.
He bared his teeth. Tightened his grip.
And when the raider lunged—
Julian met him head-on.