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

Nightfall, Edge of the Rebellion's Camp

Darkness settled over the ruined camp like a thick shroud. The fires had died down, leaving only embers glowing in the night, casting flickering shadows across the battlefield.

Delwyn and Vaelor lay hidden among the jagged rocks, watching as the Black Hounds patrolled the wreckage.

The prisoners had been moved to the northern edge of the camp, tied to thick wooden posts near a broken supply tent. At least a dozen survivors. Some were wounded, others simply too exhausted to fight.

Commander Edric Vale was nowhere to be seen now—probably tucked away in a secured tent, resting after ordering a massacre.

She inhaled slowly. "We go in quiet. We take out whoever we need to, but no unnecessary fights."

Vaelor nodded, adjusting the grip on his dagger. "We get them free, arm who we can, and vanish before Vale realises we were ever here."

Vaelor gave her a look. "It never is."

They moved like ghosts, slipping between the ruined tents and smouldering debris. The stench of blood and burnt canvas clung to the air, thick and cloying.

Delwyn kept her steps light, her breathing measured. The Black Hounds weren't fools—they had set up a perimeter, but they weren't expecting survivors to come back.

She and Vaelor used that arrogance against them.

A single guard patrolled near the prisoners. He was young, barely older than a recruit, his armor too polished, too new.

She came up behind him, fast and silent. One arm around his throat, the other pressing a dagger up under his ribs.

He made a strangled noise—then fell limp.

Vaelor caught the body before it could hit the ground.

They crept toward the prisoners. The bound men and women barely stirred, their heads bowed, their bodies slumped.

One of them—a young woman with short-cropped hair and a bloodied face—lifted her head just slightly as they approached.

Delwyn pressed a finger to her lips. Silent.

The woman blinked blearily, then gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Vaelor moved quickly, cutting their bindings while Delwyn kept watch.

One by one, the prisoners came to life.

Some of them could fight. Others were too weak. But none of them wanted to die on their knees.

Delwyn crouched in front of the woman who had first spotted them. "What's your name?"

The woman swallowed, flexing her freed wrists. "Mira. I was with the eastern scouts before… before they found us."

Delwyn nodded. "Can you hold a blade?"

Delwyn smirked and handed her the dead guard's sword. "Good. We need to move—fast and quiet. We can't save everyone if we get caught now."

Vaelor whispered, "We'll take them through the east pass. The trees will cover us until we reach the ridge."

Delwyn glanced at the other prisoners, some still struggling to stand.

Chapter 12 – Shadows in the Ruin