Forgotten bonds reforged

The faint sound of hooves on the dirt path broke the stillness of the night as the guards approached. Their lanterns cut through the darkness, casting flickering shadows over the orphanage. The creak of a wooden cart followed, pulled by two sturdy horses, their breath visible in the cool air.

Darnell opened the door, his expression grim. "Captain Hallen," he greeted with a nod. "Appreciate the quick response."

Captain Hallen, a stout man with a neatly trimmed beard, dismounted from the lead horse and surveyed the scene. The tied-up slavers slumped against the wall, still unconscious, while the scattered remains of the skirmish—upturned furniture, debris, and faint bloodstains—painted a vivid picture of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Eleven slavers," Hallen muttered, his tone a mix of disbelief and concern. "At an orphanage, no less. What in the gods' names is going on here, Darnell?"

"Wish I had an easy answer," Darnell replied, stepping aside to let the guards enter. "Let's just say it was a long night."

The guards moved quickly and efficiently, binding the unconscious slavers more securely and beginning to load the bodies of the fallen onto the cart. One of them, a mage with a faint aura of magic around him, cast a spell. A soft glow emanated from his hands as he swept the room clean of blood and debris, restoring the orphanage's interior to its usual, humble state.

Captain Hallen approached Darnell as the guards worked, his sharp gaze taking in the lack of injuries among the caretakers and children. "No one's hurt?" he asked, lowering his voice.

Darnell shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe. "What can I say? Greaves and I make a good team. Sam's swing wasn't bad either, and Lera? She surprised us all."

Hallen raised an eyebrow. "A caretaker and a blacksmith's apprentice fending off slavers? Sounds like a tall tale."

"Well, maybe the slavers were having an off night," Darnell quipped, his grin returning. "Or maybe we're just that good."

Hallen's skeptical look lingered, but he chose not to press further. "We'll interrogate the ones still breathing," he said, jerking his thumb toward the tied-up men. "If this is part of something bigger, we'll find out. But Darnell, this doesn't feel random. Keep an eye on this place."

Darnell nodded. "Understood."

With the slavers secured in the cart and the guards ready to leave, Hallen paused one last time at the door. "If anything else happens, send word immediately."

"Will do, Captain," Darnell replied with a mock salute, watching as the guards mounted their horses and rode off into the night. The cart creaked behind them, fading into the shadows of the forest.

Once the sound of hooves disappeared, Darnell closed the door and turned to face Lera and Greaves. His usual easygoing demeanor gave way to a piercing seriousness. "All right," he said, crossing his arms. "It's time for some answers."

Lera's hands tightened around the edge of the table. "Darnell, I don't think—"

"No," he interrupted, his voice firm. "I've been patient. I've looked the other way when things didn't add up. But after what I saw tonight? Those marks, that light, that magic? You owe me an explanation."

Greaves stepped forward, his voice steady despite the tension in his jaw. "We don't fully understand it ourselves."

"Then tell me what you do understand," Darnell pressed.

Lera hesitated, glancing at Greaves. Finally, she sighed and began to speak. "Five years ago—"

"They're babies, Lera," Greaves interjected. "Be clear."

She nodded, adjusting her words. "Not five years ago—five months ago. We found them at the altar of Aelon."

Darnell's eyebrows shot up. "Aelon? As in… the old god?"

Lera nodded. "Yes. His altar, deep in the woods. It's crumbling now, nearly forgotten. But the children were there, swaddled and waiting for us."

Darnell leaned against the doorframe, surprise flickering across his face. "The old gods… I haven't heard anyone mention them in years. Aelon was bonds and renewal, wasn't he?"

"Yes," Greaves said, watching Darnell closely. "How do you know that?"

Darnell chuckled softly. "Because I grew up on their stories. My parents were followers of the old gods. They taught me their names, their domains, their values. But even so, I don't remember hearing Aelon's name often."

"I've never heard it at all," Sam interjected from his seat near the hearth. "Not until tonight."

Lera turned to him, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Sam gestured to the hammer at his side. "I follow the old god of the dwarves—or, at least, I try to. My craft is tied to the old ways, even if their names are nearly forgotten. But Aelon? That name's new to me."

"Even the dwarven god's name has been forgotten?" Lera asked.

Sam nodded solemnly. "One god, one name. That's all the dwarves had. And even that's fading. The new gods pushed them aside, replaced them with temples and doctrines. That's why I follow what I can."

Darnell's expression hardened as he turned back to Greaves and Lera. "So, what's the plan? These kids are tied to something big, and the slavers won't be the last ones to come after them."

Lera met his gaze, her voice soft but resolute. "We'll protect them. No matter what."

Darnell's usual humor crept back into his voice. "Guess I'm along for the ride, then. Someone's gotta keep you two out of trouble."

As the orphanage settled into a tenuous calm, far away, hidden deep within the celestial grove, the ancient Seer Pool shimmered under the faint glow of the old gods. Its surface rippled with light, reflecting the scene at the orphanage—a quiet room filled with the faint sounds of babies cooing and caretakers whispering.

Aelon sat poised at the edge of the pool, his feline form glowing softly. His amber eyes, reflecting both wisdom and weariness, locked onto the image of the orphanage. "They are beginning to understand," he said, his voice smooth and measured. "The bonds we placed in their hearts are stirring."

The dwarven god stood beside him, his towering form made of stone and laced with veins of molten gold. His voice rumbled like a distant avalanche. "The young smith impressed me tonight. He has the grit and patience of my kin, though his power is raw. With time, he will craft more than just tools—he will shape their future."

The elven goddess, her form a shimmering silhouette of moonlight, stepped forward, her gaze distant. "The elf stirs even as a child. I felt his unease, his sharp instincts. His time will come, and with it, the grace and precision of my people. He will bring clarity when chaos clouds their path."

Across the pool, the orcish god crossed his arms, a smirk curling across his fiery visage. His presence radiated strength, his voice a deep rumble. "The roar of the orc child was satisfying. Even as a half-blood, his spirit burns with the strength of my people. When the time comes, he will break through their enemies like an unstoppable tide."

The Kitsune goddess, radiant and ethereal, her nine tails flickering like golden flames, spoke with a serene tone. "The healer has already begun to show her purpose. Her touch will bind them together, soothe their wounds, and keep their hearts steady. She is the thread that will keep this fragile bond from unraveling."

Aelon's gaze never left the pool. His tone was steady, carrying the weight of their shared purpose. "You all gave fragments of your power to them, knowing it would weaken you. Do not forget why. The new gods grow bold, and they will not let this act of defiance go unnoticed."

The dwarven god grunted, his stone-like form cracking faintly with energy. "We gave what we could because we must. If these mortals falter, there will be no one left to remember our names, let alone our domains."

The elven goddess nodded solemnly. "The marks will guide them, as will their bonds. But they are young and untested. We must trust they will find their strength in unity."

The orcish god growled low, his smirk fading into a serious expression. "Trust or not, they will need to be hardened by fire. The new gods won't wait. Neither can we."

Aelon finally turned to the group, his amber eyes glowing with determination. "Then we watch and guide where we can. May their bonds be their salvation—and ours."

The Seer Pool rippled once more before the images faded into darkness. The old gods stood in silent reflection, the grove's eternal stillness a stark contrast to the storm brewing in the mortal world.