Nick_Stevenson

Varfaún is on the brink of war. The once great kingdom now rots under the rule of King Arrand Galborn, a tyrant whose hunger for power has twisted the land and its people. His armies march under a banner of blood, and in the blackened depths beneath his fortress, something far more sinister stirs.

Delwyn Aldsund was once Galborn’s sworn bodyguard, until she betrayed him. Sentenced to death, she awaited the executioner’s blade, only to be rescued at the last moment by a mysterious cloaked elf, Vaelor. Now hunted by the king’s elite ‘Black Hounds’, she flees across the fractured realm, burdened by questions without answers. Why did Vaelor save her? And what horrifying truth lies at the heart of Galborn’s growing power?

With the rebellion rising and dark forces creeping into the world, Delwyn and her unlikely allies must make a desperate journey to Ember Peaks, the last bastion of hope. But what awaits them is beyond anything she imagined, a hidden stronghold, a council of leaders who know more about her past than she does… and an ancient weapon of legend lies beneath the mountain.

The war for Varfaún has only begun.

DELWYN: Throne of Thorns

Late Afternoon, Near the Rebellion's Camp

The distant clash of steel sent a chill through Delwyn's spine.

She had heard that sound a thousand times before—in city streets, on bloodied fields, in the desperate last stands of men who never made it home.

Because this time, the rebellion wasn't ready for war.

Vaelor had already moved, lowering himself into a stealthy crouch, his keen elven eyes sweeping the terrain ahead.

Delwyn dropped low beside him, peering through the tall golden grass. They were still a mile out from the tree line, where the rebellion was rumoured to be hiding.

Smoke drifted into the sky. Not thick like a razed village—controlled, deliberate.

"This isn't a full-scale attack," Vaelor murmured. "It's precise. Targeted."

Delwyn nodded grimly. "Vale's cutting off their escape."

She could hear it clearer now—the sounds of a slaughter.

Men shouting orders. Steel finding flesh. A horse screaming as it fell.

Vaelor's jaw tightened. "We need to get closer."

Delwyn scanned the land ahead—a rolling dip in the valley led toward the forest, where jagged rock formations jutted from the earth like broken teeth.

She pointed. "Cover there. We move fast, stay low."

They slipped between the rocks, moving swift and silent. Delwyn's breath was steady, her heartbeat slow—this was the part she knew, the part she had trained for.

She crept up beside Vaelor, peering through a break in the stone.

Tents scattered and burning, bodies strewn across the forest floor.

It wasn't a battle. It was a purge.

Delwyn counted at least twenty Black Hounds moving through the wreckage, finishing off the wounded.

And in the centre of it all—mounted on a black warhorse, clad in darkened steel—

He sat tall in the saddle, watching with cold efficiency as his men moved through the camp. A soldier approached him, bowing his head before muttering something low.

Vale didn't react. He simply nodded once.

And then—Delwyn saw something that made her blood run cold.

A group of survivors—bound, beaten, forced to their knees in the mud.

Men. Women. Some barely more than children.

Delwyn's grip on her sword tightened.

Vaelor murmured, "They're keeping prisoners."

Delwyn's mind raced. The rebellion wasn't gone yet. There were still some left.

Which meant there was still a chance.

She exhaled slowly. "We can't take them head-on."

"No," Vaelor agreed. "But we don't need to."

His gaze flicked toward the prisoners.

"If we free them, we change the fight."

Delwyn nodded, a slow smirk forming. A real fight, finally. One that Vale wouldn't see coming.

Chapter 11 – Into the Fire