Written by: Chris Chret © 2026
The day was clear as Alaric Thornewood stood before the massive gates of the capital city of Virellion, the heart of the Kingdom of Serpentis. The towering walls rose above him, and upon them were stationed archers with drawn bows, arrows aimed directly at his chest.
With a low, heavy sound, the gates opened. Two knights stepped out from within, swords resting at their belts, moving cautiously. They did not attack — they knew that a single wrong move could mean his death.
"Who are you, and what do you seek here?" one of them asked.
Alaric lifted his head.
"I am from Serpentis. A refugee from the battle of Ravenrock. The only survivor. I have come to become a knight and to serve our kingdom."
The knights exchanged glances, then signaled for him to move forward. They allowed him into the city — but not alone — escorting him straight to the castle.
One of the knights informed the king. Alaric waited outside, until a voice echoed from within:
"Let him enter."
He stepped into the grand hall, filled with banners and torches, and knelt before the throne.
"Thank you, my king, for allowing me to be heard."
The king studied him carefully.
"Boy… who are you?"
"I am Alaric Thornewood, son of the councilor of Ravenrock. On the night the attack began, I survived. I fled toward Skeldor, without direction, without purpose. Along the way, I fought mounted knights from Ashkar and barely stayed alive. I am the last survivor of my city."
His voice tightened, but he continued.
"Later, I was captured by the people of Skeldor. I was a slave… tortured for a long time. Their king tormented me to extract weaknesses for an attack on our kingdom. But I did not speak. One day I escaped, wounded, at the edge of death. A good man found me and helped me. I rose from the dead… and here I am. Kneeling before you, asking to become a knight and serve Serpentis."
Silence fell across the hall.
The king said nothing for several long moments. His gaze was fixed upon the boy before him — not as a refugee, but as someone who had survived what should never have been survived.
A quiet whispering spread through the hall. Some nobles lowered their heads, others stared at Alaric in disbelief. The knights along the walls clenched their fists, as if ashamed to stand alive while he spoke of the dead.
In those gazes, there was no doubt — only respect. For the first time in a long while, the boy of Ravenrock was not seen as a victim, but as a hero who endured.
The king slowly rose from the throne and stepped forward. A servant handed him the sword, and the hall fell silent once more.
"Alaric Thornewood," the king said in a clear voice, "do you swear to serve the Kingdom of Serpentis, to protect the weak, to uphold the honor of the crown, and never raise your weapon against the innocent?"
"I swear," Alaric answered without hesitation.
The king touched him with the flat of the blade on one shoulder, then the other.
"By the power granted to me by crown and land, I name you a knight of Serpentis. Let the serpent be your mark, and honor your path."
The green banner of Serpentis stirred softly behind the throne, as if accepting its new sworn knight.
Alaric smiled — for the first time in many years.
The king ordered the servants to find him a room, armor, and weapons.
"I do not need full armor," Alaric said. "Only for the shoulder. I want a green cloak, a bow and arrows, two daggers, and a short sword."
The king nodded.
"Fulfill his wishes. He is my guest and a man who has walked through hell for our kingdom."
In the Kingdom of Dravion
The ships returned — without Lord Eryndor Frostwyn.
King Aurel Thornevald searched for him with his eyes.
"Where is Lord Eryndor? And why did you return so quickly?"
Some of the soldiers could not meet the king's gaze. Others stared at the ground, as if their guilt lay there with nowhere to be placed.
One of the men stepped forward, his voice trembling.
"Archers… many of them. On the cliffs, ready. Men fell before we reached the shore. We lost many knights. Lord Eryndor…" the man continued quietly, "jumped into the water… and did not resurface."
Silence.
"Without a guide and with so many dead, we could not continue," he added. "And… their ships are prepared for an attack."
Aurel sighed heavily.
"It is better that you returned. Otherwise, I would have lost you as well — and they would have destroyed us with our own ships."
Aurel returned to his chambers.
Later, Nocten entered his brother's room.
"Why did I not know about the meeting? About the attack? We lost men… and a lord with them!"
Aurel remained silent.
"You think with your heart, Aurel," Nocten said quietly, but with a dangerous tone. "I will have to think with blood. And when it begins to flow, remember — you opened the wound."
Nocten, furious, stormed out and slammed the door.
Ships sailed upon the sea.
Eryndor had survived.
They found ships. The next day, they arrived in Dravion.
When the army saw him — the joy was overwhelming. The kings were summoned immediately.
In the courtyard stood Edric's fighters, with Eryndor beside them. Around them — the knights of Dravion.
Aurel approached and embraced him.
"How did you survive?"
"I reached the shore," Eryndor said. "I saw fallen brothers. I hid. When I saw the ships returning, I wanted vengeance. I climbed to the archers… I nearly died. Then Edric and his men appeared. They had nowhere to go. We need allies. We need a leader."
Nocten interjected.
"We cannot trust everyone. Fighters from Serpentis… they may deceive us."
"Edric is a good leader and a good man," Eryndor said.
Aurel proposed:
"We will settle them on Grimreach Isle. We will revive the fortress."
The courtyard erupted.
"Eryndor is a traitor!" one knight shouted. "He abandoned our men and allied with strangers!"
"Lies!" another retorted. "He avenged our knights! Without him, none of us would be here!"
Some looked at Edric with hatred, others with hope. The name of Serpentis was whispered as a curse — and as a possible salvation.
"ENOUGH!" Aurel shouted, his voice echoing through the courtyard.
Silence fell. Only Nocten stood aside, a faint smile on his face, watching doubt take root.
Nocten turned to Edric.
"If you stand in my way — you will be the first I kill."
Edric met his gaze, unafraid.
"I am no traitor. If I were your enemy, I would not have come this way. I do not strike from behind. I would come to face you — eye to eye. I am not afraid."
Nocten turned to his brother.
"Next time, ask me before you decide."
And he left.
As the courtyard emptied, the words did not subside.
Some of the knights looked upon Aurel, Eryndor, and Edric with open hatred — as traitors who brought foreigners into the heart of Dravion. In their eyes, alliance was weakness, and mercy a sin.
Others spoke quietly, but with respect. Of Eryndor as the man who saved them. Of Edric and his fighters as heroes who arrived when all others fell.
In Nocten's eyes, there was no longer only anger. Something deeper was growing — hatred.
Hatred for Serpentis.
Hatred for his brother's decisions.
And hatred for the man everyone was beginning to see as a savior.
That night, Dravion did not gain allies — it gained the seed of division.
And some seeds, when they grow, burn entire kingdoms.
End of Chapter 20