[Harkon's POV]
Flames. Flames everywhere.
That was nothing new. For the last three weeks, that's all Harkon had dreamed about. Every single time he closed his eyes, there it was... fire.
But now that he was awake, he could do all kinds of wonderful things, like helping his dad with the caravan chores, drinking water, or breathing. But first the bandages. He had to put them on to avoid being recognized. You see, for the last four months, something strange had been happening to his body.
It was growing scales. Lizard scales, thin and green, on both of his arms. Not as a sign of disease; in fact, Harkon was honestly quite happy that it happened. It meant the boy could learn how to use magic. Just like almost every other human blessed, or cursed, with this ability, his body was beginning to change. Harkon knew those changes weren't dangerous to his life.
Most people awakened the ability to use magic at a young age, and it usually happened in quite a violent outburst. The magic also made humans develop some... abnormal features. In some, it made them grow scales; in others, antlers. Sometimes it changed their skin color to purple or made their hair unnaturally white at a very young age.
These two facts, combined with the general fear of magic, caused common people to be afraid. In the north, fear meant death. Unfortunate, but true. But the boy didn't mind that much.
After all, they were going to Steenmar, the largest city on the continent and home to many magic schools. If he was lucky enough, Harkon would get accepted as an apprentice by a mage, learn to control his powers, and repay his father, Harald.
He never remembered his mother; she had died after giving birth to him. But his dad was his entire world. He still remembered how his father had protected him from angry villagers trying to find him, how he'd given Harkon his last portions of food when they escaped to the forest, and how he'd negotiated with merchants to let them travel with the caravan. After all of that, how could he not repay him?
"Harkon! Come here!"
The voice echoed.
"Yup! Coming, Master Otto!"
Harkon replied quickly. Master Otto, the leader of the caravan and richest of all merchants within a ten-mile radius, was the one who agreed to keep Harkon and his dad in exchange for work. He was a balding man in his fifties with a long brown beard. He was kind. Maybe one day he would repay Otto's kindness with gold.
"You've overslept again? Your father's already here helping us get everything into the wagons, and then we're going. Oi, is your skin getting any better?"
Otto said this while looking at Harkon's bandages.
The boy instinctivly tried to cover them with his hands.
"Nah, Otto, that's exactly why we're going to Steenmar, to find a cure for this. Remember?"
Said the man standing next to the merchant Harald, Harkon's father. A man in his forties with long blond hair and an even longer beard.
"The boy's disease, riiight..." Otto said with a bit of doubt in his voice. Harald's eyes narrowed quickly. "You know, in a couple of days we should arrive at a nearby village. I've got a friend there who's a doctor," he continued.
"No offense, Otto," Harald said quickly. "But we've tried everything."
"Alright then," Otto responded slowly. "Well, boy, go help your dad. Whoever doesn't work doesn't eat."
"Will do, Master Otto."
Harkon and his father both waited until the merchant disappeared into the camp. After that, they both breathed in unison.
"Oooh. I was scared for a second," Harald said.
"You think you were scared? My heart was ready to jump out from my mouth. You'd have to catch it then," Harkon responded.
The two of them quickly turned back to packing the stuff.
"So, Harkon another night full of flames?"
"Yeah. Nothing changed. I don't even know why. Does this mean something?"
"Don't worry, son. It's just dreams. For now, we've got to worry about our survival."
Harald said this while lifting animal skins from the ground and throwing them into the wagon the place where he slept. Men of the north weren't afraid of sleeping in the open, but Harkon had been given the chance to sleep in one of the wagons due to his "disease." Yet another thing he was grateful for.
"I suppose you're right, Dad," Harkon said.
The rest of the day went on just like that, tending to the horses, fixing the wheel, or doing anything Otto wanted. Day after day, they all looked the same to Harkon. But he wasn't complaining. He knew that with each time he woke up, he was closer to becoming a mage, earning a lot of money, and helping his father.
And after a whole day's work, Harkon and his father sat down, staring at the orange sky.
"You know, my boy, at this pace, we should reach the city in about three months," Harald said as he sat next to his son. Thanks to the clear sky, the sunset was perfectly visible.
"Yes, Dad, I know. It's just… to be honest, I'm kind of scared. What if people find out again? What if they will try to kill me again? Kill us."
"Son."
"I'm just, you know, excited and scared for what's about to…"
"Son."
"Yes, Dad?"
"Listen to me. I know you're scared. You think I wasn't scared when you were born? Of course I was. I was terrified. But I also know you. I know what you've gone through, and I'm telling you now that you will succeed."
"Yeah. Well… I'm sorry, Dad. It's just…"
"Ahh, there you two are!" Otto appeared from behind a wagon with two bowls of soup. "Did you get so worked up that you forgot to eat?"
"We didn't, Master Otto, we were just too busy solving the world's problems," Harkon replied.
"Hahaha, I see, I see." Otto laughed while handing them both a bowl.
"But as everyone knows, everything is much easier to solve with a full stomach," Harald added with a smile.
Harkon started to devour his food quickly. Days spent in the forest without food had taught him to eat fast.
"Whoa, calm down, boy. This soup isn't going to fly away!" Otto said, smiling. "You know, at the pace we are moving now, we should be in a nearby village in a couple of days. I'll finally see my daughter."
Harkon looked at Otto with surprise.
The merchant quickly took note of it and said:
"I had to leave her there. The North isn't as safe as it was all those years ago. Something's changed. People are disappearing more often than ever. Some are talking about a new cult appearing, apparently they speak about the 'child of the devil.' What nonsense."
"A cult?" Harkon asked, a bit of fear in his voice.
"Oh, don't worry about that, boy. We should be fine." Otto's face, once sad, now turned completely serious. "Tell me, you two, you're not actually traveling to Steenmar because you're looking for a cure, are you?"
Harkon's hand stopped, the spoon frozen just before his mouth. His entire body froze, and he looked at Otto with fear in his eyes.
"Otto, of course we are," Harald said quickly.
"Sorry, but I don't think that's the case. Mysterious skin disease, lost in a forest, traveling to the city of wizards… Tell me, boy. Are you a mage?"
Harkon looked at the ground. He couldn't force his eyes to stare at anything else. His stomach felt heavy. After all his kindness, Otto had found out they'd been lying to him this whole time.
"Otto, what are you...?" Harald said before Otto looked at him dead in the eyes.
He then waited for a long second. When no answer came, he said:
"Well, I guess that's all for today," he replied quietly. His tone shifted from suspicious to monotone.
"Otto, wait, you can't tell anyone," Harald almost begged.
"Tell them what?" Otto replied. "I asked a question and didn't get an answer. I have no idea what's true in this situation."
Otto smiled at them warmly and walked away.
After that, both Harald and Harkon looked at each other and laughed for a while before Harkon said:
"Sorry, Dad, but I'm getting really tired."
Harald stood up from the ground, walked out of the wagon, and said,
"I get it. For a while, I was scared as hell too. Well, goodnight, son."
"Goodnight, Dad."
*****
That night, the visions of flames were even more realistic than usual. Harkon could almost feel the fire on his skin. The fire... THE FIRE!
Harkon woke. The wagon was in flames! Screams tore through the night. As fast as he could, without even putting on the bandages, he rushed out of the wagon to look for his father.
"Daaad! Daaad?!"
He screamed at the top of his lungs, confused. He didn't know what to do, what was happening! An attack? Did someone forget to put out the fire? Did someone drop a torch after drinking too much? He smelled something strange in the air but couldn't recognize it. What the hell was going on?
"Boy. Go..." Harkon immediately turned his head to where the voice came from.
Right next to him, Otto was sitting with two spears in his body. His head slowly tilted down.
The boy couldn't believe it. A couple hours before, he had been talking to people. They were alive! And now?
He wanted to vomit, to scream, but then he saw them.
A group of figures in reddish-black cloaks moved through the night as if born from darkness. They were capturing people one by one and cutting their throats. And worst of all, the person they were holding now was his father.
Their eyes met. Harald looked at his son with complete seriousness. His mouth moved, as if trying to say a single word...
"R–u–n."
Before one of them cut open his throat.
The time slowed down for him. All of their memories together began to flow through his head. Every single word, every single action, they were all gone.
"NO, no this has to be a dream, any second I will wake up and spend another peacefull day with him I will... I will," Harkon told himself.
Yet everything remained as real as it could be.
"DAD!" He screamed and began to run in the direction of his father corpse, before a mysterious hand grabbed him by the neck.
"Ha. Got one."
Harkon didn't even turn to see who it was; he was, he just kept struggling and kicking. But deep down, he knew this was one of the same men who had slaughtered his father.
"Hm, I think this one's a bit too small. Wasn't he supposed to be older? The Black Knight escaped with him seventeen years ago, right?"
Said another voice.
The first one replied:
"Hey, look at his arms! Are those... scales?"
The other figure walked to Harkon slowly and took a look at them.
"Take him alive. We'll bring him to the Grandmaster."
But then, something strange happened. A white flash appeared among the people who had killed Harald. This wasn't a spell, nor could it be an illusion. It moved fast, much faster than arrows. It was a man.
Dressed in white clothes, perfect camouflage in the snow. He moved with terrifying speed. Before anyone could react, he cut off several heads with a swiftness Harkon had never seen before.
That woke him up a little. He tried to turn around to see who was holding him, but the grip was too strong. The two men who held him decided not to fight honorably. They grabbed Harkon and tried to run as far and fast as they could.
All he could do, restrained by these two, was watch the camp slowly get smaller.
But the flash wasn't chasing them, not at first. He was thirsty. Thirsty for blood. He kept running around, slicing down anyone nearby. Those who tried to fight him didn't last long. The man was quick and merciless.
When he was done, he went after the remaining two who were trying to escape. They didn't get far. He caught them in the middle of a frozen lake.
"Don't move, or I'll kill the bastard!" one of the kidnappers shouted.
The flash said nothing. Now Harkon could see his face, barely, in the moonlight. He was young, late teen, with white hair.
Who is this person? Harkon thought. Whoever, no *whatever*, he is, he's my only chance to live.
"I said don't move, you!"
This time, Harkon heard fear and almost sadness in the kidnapper's voice.
The man moved. Slowly but surely, he walked toward them. The crunch of snow beneath his boots was the only sound.
"Fuck, there's no mistaking it," one of the men said, trembling. "That's him. The Black Knight. That fucking devil."
The other man screamed before pulling out a knife and charging the intruder.
With one strike, his hands were cut off and with another, his head. The white-haired man stopped for a moment, then kept walking forward, silent as ever.
Then he rushed. For a moment, Harkon thought this was it, that the man would save him.
Then he saw the blade. It moved straight through his chest, and stabbed the kidnapper's arm in the process.
"What... why?" Harkon said before falling to the ground. He didn't feel the pain.
"Why is it getting so cold?" he thought to himself. His eyes slowly lost their sight, his ears shutting off. He was barely aware of what was happening. A cold darkness slowly started to fill his surroundings.
Before he knew it, he was dead. His lifeless eyes stared into the sky, empty.
The kidnapper barely noticed; he was too busy trying to stop the bleeding. The white-haired man quickly shoved his blade into the kidnapper's mouth.
"Talk!" he shouted. "Are you one of the cult?!"
With the sword in his mouth, the man couldn't answer, only muffled sounds, trying to nod and not get killed.
"Are you one of those who killed Karl the Black Knight?! Are you?!"
The man cried. He knew his fate was sealed regardless of the answer. Slowly, he nodded.
"Then when you see your friends in hell, tell them that hid son Kairos is back for revenge".
The mysterious warrior sliced the sword through the man's skull. The kidnapper died instantly, falling beside Harkon, peaceful, as if they'd both just fallen asleep, covered by a red blanket of blood.
The man swung his sword to shake off the blood. Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned and walked away, leaving the dead behind.