Written by: Chris Chret © 2026
The forest breathed quietly, like a beast sleeping with one eye open.
Lorian moved among the trees as silently as a ten-year-old child could.
He was not light as a shadow, nor confident as a hunter — but he was no longer a lost boy either. His steps were careful, learned through pain and fear rather than years of experience. The few months spent with Rhydan and the group had taught him more than life ever should have at that age.
He knew where to step.
He knew when to stop.
And most importantly — he knew when to stay silent.
His hands were still thin, but the knife within them no longer felt foreign. He held it tightly, not out of bravery, but out of necessity. The world around him left no room for mistakes.
A few months ago, he would have feared every sound.
Now, the forest was his shelter.
Across the clearing, Rhydan observed the group's movements. In his eyes, Lorian was not a fighter — not yet. But he was something rarer.
A child who survived when others vanished.
And that made him dangerous.
Rhydan's face was tense, his jaw clenched. He did not speak. Nor did he look straight ahead. Something inside him was breaking, and Lorian could feel it, even if he did not understand it.
Behind them moved the others — a mixture of refugees, criminals, former soldiers, and people with nowhere left to return. Their loyalty was not bought with honor, but with survival. And with fear.
— Blackroot Village, — someone whispered.
Blackroot Village was known as a poor and forgotten place — a criminal nest of people who lived off theft, smuggling, and survival. That was precisely why the group had chosen it. It seemed like easy prey, a village that would fall in a single night and be emptied without resistance.
But that was a mistake.
What they did not know was that behind the miserable huts and muddy streets stood a well-organized defense. The fighters of Blackroot were not villagers — they were trained, disciplined, and accustomed to fighting for every step of ground. The village had no weaknesses. No blind spots. The only entrance was narrow and deadly, guarded by a formation that did not break.
Rhydan stopped.
— Something doesn't feel right, — he said.
Lorian turned toward him.
— You say that before every attack.
— This time it's different.
But they had already moved.
There was no turning back.
After several hours of marching, the night swallowed them whole. When they reached the edges of Blackroot Village, the fires were already burning, and the shadows of people moved behind wooden barricades.
The village was prepared.
It was neither cramped nor chaotic. It had a clear formation. Fighters stood positioned with no blind angles. The single entrance was narrow, reinforced with wood and metal. There was no easy breach.
And then she stepped forward.
A woman.
Tall. Powerful. Her movements were fast and brutal. Two knives gleamed in her hands as she moved through the attackers like a storm. Men fell around her as if they weighed nothing.
— What the hell… — someone whispered.
Rhydan stood at the back.
His eyes filled with tears.
— Rhydan? — Lorian asked. — What's wrong?
His lips barely moved.
— That's… my sister, — he whispered.
Lorian froze.
At that moment, one of the criminals raised a bow.
He had the woman in his sights.
— No! — Rhydan shouted and shoved him.
But the arrow had already been released.
It cut through the air and grazed her left cheek. Blood appeared — a shallow wound.
The woman stopped.
She turned.
She saw the archer.
She saw her brother.
Her eyes widened. The knives fell from her hands. She fell as well — to her knees, tears spilling freely.
Rhydan thought she was dead.
She thought he was dead.
— Retreat! — Rhydan shouted. — Everyone, fall back!
The attack stopped. The people withdrew into the forest.
She remained there, unmoving.
Waiting.
All night.
In the forest, the argument erupted.
— He's grown too weak!
— You don't retreat because of one woman!
Rhydan remained silent.
There were no words.
Sometime around midnight, he went back alone.
The people of the village had him in their sights, but at that moment the gate opened.
She stood there.
They collided in an embrace.
— Where were you? — she cried. — Why did you leave me?
— I thought you were dead… — he whispered.
But the shadows moved.
The criminals had followed.
— A trap! — she shouted.
The woman lunged forward, her knives flashing in the darkness.
Lorian burst from the shadows and raised his knife, blocking the first strike — metal against metal, sparks flying between them. But it was not defense; it was desperation. She did not stop. Her eyes were filled with rage and pain, and the next swing was aimed straight at his throat.
Rhydan saw it.
In that instant, he knew — Lorian was in mortal danger.
There was no time for words.
No time for doubt.
With a scream torn from his chest, Rhydan drew both swords.
He threw himself between them.
The first strike knocked the blade away from Lorian.
The second forced her a step back.
— Enough! — he shouted, his voice breaking.
But it was already too late.
Brother and sister, clashing after years of separation. Blood flowed. People fell. Fifty bodies lay motionless.
Rhydan fought his sister for a long time, unwilling to harm her.
— Retreat! — Rhydan shouted again.
No one listened.
Lorian continued.
He killed.
He had already killed two men and struck down a third at a vital point — it was practice to him now.
Then he noticed — Rhydan was gone.
He saw him retreating into the forest.
He ran after him.
She snapped.
She became something no longer human.
Four fell in a few breaths — throats cut with precision, without screams, without mercy. She leapt onto one and drove both blades into his eyes. Bodies slid into the mud like empty skins.
One knife flew from her hand and embedded itself directly into the head of a fighter charging from afar. The body fell without a sound.
Before her, two tried to surround her, attacking from both sides.
Before they could reach her — she was already moving.
With her blade, she intercepted the first attacker, blocking his strike.
The second tried to hit her from behind.
Vaera tore the knife from the fighter in front of her and, in the same motion, turned — blocking the blow behind her while shoving both men into each other. Steel met flesh.
Both fell.
Blood soaked the ground.
She did not stop.
— What is your name?! — someone shouted in terror.
— Vaera — VAERA ASHVALE! — her voice thundered.
Silence.
The survivors retreated into the forest, abandoning the village.
More than eighty bodies remained behind.
Around twenty were from her village.
The rest were the attackers.
A legend was born that night.
Seven thousand knights of Serpentis marched across the cold lands of Skeldor.
They did not come as envoys.
They came as conquerors.
The column was led by their lord — a man who trusted numbers more than courage. The goal was clear: Ironpeak Hold.
It was before dawn.
The archers of Ironpeak Hold opened fire first.
The gate was under constant pressure, but arrows cleared the ground before it. When the attackers were finally forced a step back, the gate opened with a thunderous sound.
And then — he emerged.
Lord Gregoryan Frostborne.
He rode a white polar bear, armored in gray iron. His spear gleamed in the first morning light.
He did not wait.
He marched forward.
The bear trampled, the spear pierced. Ten. Fifteen knights fell in less than a minute.
— RUN!
— THE WHITE BEAST!
The screams spread through the ranks of Serpentis.
Their lord stood at the back.
Hiding among his knights.
And Gregoryan — marched forward, leading his army like an unstoppable avalanche.
Ironpeak Hold remained undefeated.
⸻
In Frosthelm, behind iron bars, Alaric counted days.
Chains. Blood. Pain.
The King of Skeldor stood before him.
— Why are you here?
Silence.
A blow.
— WHY?!
Silence.
Alaric knew — this was punishment for abandoning his friends to die.
He hung in chains, his body a wound that breathed.
The King of Skeldor stood before him, his smile cold.
— Still silent?
Alaric raised his eyes.
There was no fear in them.
Only hatred… and hope.
He knew this was punishment.
He knew he deserved pain.
But he also knew one thing:
The world was not finished with him yet.
And when the chains finally break —
blood will flow.
End of Chapter 6.