Trials at Dawn

Taron Emberfall discovered that learning the art of swordsmanship was much harder than it looked in the old tapestry pictures he'd seen as a child. Those regal knights, shining armor, and perfect strikes were worlds apart from the sweat, bruises, and mental strain he faced at the old watchtower courtyard. Yet he kept returning each morning, drawn by a strange mix of determination and destiny.

On his second day of training, Taron arrived at daybreak, the sky still streaked with pink and orange. He found Sir Aldren leaning against the rickety fence, watching the horizon as though guarding against unseen threats. The old knight's gray hair caught the early sunlight, revealing lines of weariness around his eyes.

"You're here early," Aldren said, his voice gruff. "I wasn't sure you'd show."

Taron slipped inside the gate, fidgeting with the burlap-wrapped sword at his hip. He'd taken to wearing Emberlight in a makeshift sling rather than carrying it in the open, hoping to avoid attention from curious townsfolk. "I want to get better," he replied simply.

Aldren nodded. He tapped the ground with his cane. "Your father had that same stubborn streak. Let's see if it does you any good."

Before Taron could respond, the knight motioned him toward a small patch of packed dirt that served as the training yard. Lorena wasn't with them today—she'd opted to help around Greenwood, distributing supplies to those who'd fled nearby farms. So Taron felt both a sense of freedom and a pang of nerves. Without his mother's watchful eye, he had only himself and Aldren to rely on.

They began with basic stretches, footwork drills, and overhead swings—just as they had on day one. But Aldren quickly pushed Taron beyond what he'd done before, adding more complex strikes and parries. Taron's arms burned, and his shoulders ached. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. Each time he swung the broken sword, Emberlight's glow pulsed faintly, as though trying to guide him toward the right angles and movements.

"Focus on your footing," Aldren barked when Taron tripped over his own ankles for the third time. "You can't land a decent strike if you're off balance."

Taron exhaled a shaky breath, planted his feet, and raised Emberlight again. This time, he tried to let the blade's subtle warmth flow up his arm. He timed his swing with the sword's quiet, ember-like heartbeat, almost as if it nudged him. It worked. The strike cut through the air more cleanly, leaving a faint sizzle when it connected with the wooden post they used for practice.

"Better," Aldren allowed, though he didn't look particularly impressed. "If you can tap into that synergy, you might stand a chance in a real fight."

Taron lowered the blade, panting. "So this—this connection. Did my father have it too?"

Aldren's gaze shifted, as though recalling a memory he'd tried to bury. "He did. Emberlight responded to him like a loyal hound. It's a sword forged with old magic—maybe even dragon-forged steel, or so the legends say. Not many swords have that sort of bond."

Dragon-forged? Taron let the words sink in, recalling the swirling patterns etched near Emberlight's hilt that resembled scales or flames. Suddenly, the idea that this was more than a hunk of steel felt even more real. "And… you think I can master it?"

Aldren sighed. "I think you can learn. Whether you ever master it depends on your resolve—and how much time we have before these creatures overrun Greenwood."

He gestured for Taron to start another sequence of strikes, so Taron set aside his questions and poured himself into the practice. Swing. Parry. Thrust. Over and over, sweat dripping into his eyes, his muscles screaming. Yet the more he pushed, the more a small kernel of confidence took root within him, fueled by Emberlight's persistent glow.

Rumblings in Town

By the time Taron stumbled away from training, the sun stood high overhead, bathing Greenwood in midday warmth. He thanked Aldren, who dismissed him with a curt nod, promising they'd do it all again tomorrow. Despite his fatigue, Taron felt a flicker of pride. He was improving, slowly but surely.

Exiting the watchtower yard, he noticed the town was oddly bustling. People hurried along the main street, carrying bundles of wood or crates of food. A group of town guards marched past with grim expressions, swords clinking at their belts. The entire place felt wound tight, like a bowstring ready to snap.

Taron wove through the crowd until he spotted a familiar figure leaning against a wooden railing—Minna, the huntress from the neighboring farm. She'd come to Greenwood alongside her father after hearing rumors of monstrous attacks. She wore a quiver slung across her back, though Taron noticed she lacked her usual cheerful air.

"Minna," he called, stepping over. "Everything okay?"

She turned, eyes lighting up briefly in recognition. "Taron, hi. Didn't realize you were in town." Then she sighed, shifting her weight. "Actually, nothing's okay. Word's just come in that another caravan was attacked on the southern road. My father wanted to help, but the guard insisted we stay put. They're worried the creatures might circle around and strike here."

Taron frowned. "Any survivors from the caravan?"

Minna shook her head. "Not many details. A few riders escaped, apparently. They're the ones who carried the message." She chewed her lip, scanning the crowd. "Where have you been? You're all sweaty—doing chores?"

He hesitated, debating how much to share about Emberlight. "I've been training with Sir Aldren, the old knight out by the watchtower. Trying to, you know, get better at defending myself."

Minna's eyebrows rose. "Aldren's training you? That's interesting. Didn't know he took on students. But if these rumors are all true…" She lowered her voice. "We might all need to learn some fighting skills soon."

Taron nodded grimly. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Just then, Captain Eliana—a tall woman in partial armor—marched down the street, flanked by two guards. Her gaze swept over the townspeople. She cleared her throat, raising her voice. "All able-bodied folks willing to defend Greenwood, gather at the central square at dusk! We'll discuss plans for ramping up patrols and fortifying the walls. Anyone with combat experience or hunting skills, we need you."

Minna and Taron exchanged glances. "Guess that includes you," Taron said, eyeing her quiver. "You're handy with a bow."

She gave a half-shrug. "Maybe. I've hunted wolves, but nothing like these monsters. If I volunteer, I might just get myself killed. But it beats hiding in a corner."

Taron felt the weight of Emberlight at his side. He, too, had a choice: remain on the sidelines or step into the fray. He thought of his father, a Knight of Ember who'd given everything to protect people he'd never met. Could Taron do any less?

"I'll be there," he said.

A Mother's Concern

Taron eventually found Lorena in the makeshift refugee shelter near Greenwood's center. The town hall, once used for civic events, now bustled with displaced families: mothers cradling infants, elderly folk resting on straw mats, and worried farmers murmuring about lost crops. Lorena stood beside a table, ladling stew into bowls for a line of hungry children.

Her face lit up when she saw him approach. "You're back," she said, setting aside a half-filled bowl. "How'd training go?"

He shrugged, still catching his breath. "Tiring, but I'm getting the hang of it, I think."

She studied his bruised forearm, a result of a botched parry, and her eyes flickered with concern. "Did Aldren push you too hard?"

"No," he said softly. "It's just part of learning. We, uh… might need the skills if these attacks get worse."

Lorena's expression clouded. "I know. I've heard even more families arrived today from the south. They've seen horrors—the creatures burned their barns and… well, it's grim."

Taron's stomach lurched. "I ran into Minna. She said another caravan got hit. Captain Eliana's calling a meeting at dusk to talk about fortifying the town. I'm going."

Lorena paused, her hand resting on the ladle. "Going how? As a volunteer?"

He nodded, glancing at the ragged children in line for stew, their faces etched with confusion and fear. "I can't just stand by, Mom. If Aldren's training me for a reason, it has to be this."

Her eyes filled with a mixture of worry and pride. "I don't want to lose you," she whispered, setting down the ladle. "But I can see your father in you every time you talk about protecting people. I won't stop you."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, then embraced her briefly. "I'll do my best to stay safe. I promise."

A Gathering at Dusk

By the time the sun dipped below Greenwood's rooftops, the crowd in the central square had grown sizable. Taron spotted burly farmers clutching pitchforks, a few local hunters with bows slung across their backs, and even a handful of men and women wearing mismatched pieces of armor. In a more peaceful era, this might have looked like a ragtag festival. Now, it was an assembly of worried citizens ready to fight.

Captain Eliana stood atop a small wooden platform near the old fountain. A torch mounted beside her cast a flickering glow over her stern features. Taron worked his way through the throng until he found Minna, who offered a tight smile. He also noticed his mother lingering at the edge of the crowd, as if wanting to see what happened without stepping fully into the fray.

"Good evening," Eliana began, her voice carrying in the hush. "I won't waste words. We all know Greenwood's under threat. The roads are dangerous. Creatures—whatever they are—have attacked caravans, outlying farms, and even tested our walls. We must strengthen our defenses and organize patrols. Those who can fight must be ready."

She motioned to a map pinned to a wooden easel. It showed Greenwood's walls, the main gates, and the surrounding farmland. "We'll form squads of volunteers to patrol in shifts, day and night. Each squad will be led by a guard or experienced hunter. The rest of you—be prepared to man the walls if we sound the alarm."

A young guard stepped up with a quill and parchment. "Anyone who's volunteering, please come forward, state your name and skill set."

The crowd murmured. A few people stepped up right away, including a muscular blacksmith's apprentice who claimed he could swing a hammer like a war mace. Then a trio of hunters declared their willingness, though they admitted they'd never faced anything supernatural. Slowly, the line grew.

Taron felt his heart hammer. This was the moment. He took a breath, slid Emberlight's burlap cover aside—just enough to feel the comforting warmth—and moved forward. Minna followed, bow in hand. When their turn came, Captain Eliana eyed them both.

"Names?" she asked, her tone brisk.

"Taron Emberfall," he said. "I've been training under Sir Aldren. I can fight… at least, I'm learning."

Minna cleared her throat, stepping up. "I'm Minna Reed, farm huntress. Good with a bow."

Eliana's gaze lingered on Taron, perhaps noting his youth or the odd shape beneath the wrapping at his hip. "Aldren recommended you?"

Taron hesitated. "Not exactly. But he's teaching me. I'm willing to help if you'll have me."

Eliana seemed ready to question him further, but then shrugged. "We need every able arm. Step aside and wait for instructions."

They nodded, stepping back into the throng. Taron exhaled, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. No turning back now. Over the next half hour, a small but determined group of volunteers formed—maybe two dozen in total. Captain Eliana rattled off instructions: half would patrol the walls at night, the other half would patrol the roads during daylight. Everyone was to remain on alert for unusual activity.

"Any sign of these creatures," she concluded, "and you raise the alarm. Don't try to fight them alone."

Taron rubbed his neck. He recalled all too well Aldren's stories of people who'd faced such monsters underestimating their unnatural strength. Better to be safe than heroic, he reminded himself.

Finally, the meeting broke. People clustered into small groups, exchanging anxious chatter. A few guards passed out battered helmets or padded leather jerkins. Taron was handed an old leather vest that smelled faintly of mildew but felt sturdier than his tunic. Grateful, he slung it over his head.

Minna tested a new bow string while Taron eyed her quiver. "Got enough arrows?"

She shrugged. "Never enough. But it'll do."

Night Patrol

Captain Eliana had assigned Taron and Minna to the second shift of the night patrol—starting around midnight—so they had time to rest and gather supplies. But Taron was too wired to simply go to bed. He wandered through Greenwood's lamplit streets, noticing more guards than usual. Citizens peeked from shuttered windows. Occasionally, a donkey brayed or a dog barked, making everyone jump.

Eventually, Taron found himself outside Borus's forge, drawn by the rhythmic clang of metal. The blacksmith worked tirelessly, hammering a curved piece of steel that threw sparks in every direction. When Taron approached, Borus paused, pushing sweat-soaked hair off his forehead.

"You need something, farm boy?" Borus asked. It wasn't rude, exactly, just direct.

Taron tapped the edge of the borrowed leather vest. "I'm part of the patrols now. I was wondering if you had any spare blades or gear that might help."

Borus snorted. "I'm forging as fast as I can for the volunteers. My backlog's a mile long. But if you're Aldren's new pet project, I guess I can rummage for something." He set down his hammer, disappeared into a small storeroom, and came back with a short sword in a cracked leather sheath. "This might be better than nothing, though it's not fancy. You sure you can handle two blades?"

Taron hesitated, glancing at Emberlight's bulge under the burlap. "I actually have… my own sword. It's just that it's… it's a bit different."

Borus raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Oh?" But he didn't pry. "Well, take it anyway, in case your special sword breaks or something. Might as well have a backup."

The short sword felt sturdy in Taron's hand, if a bit mundane compared to Emberlight's mystical pulse. "Thank you," he murmured.

Borus grunted. "Stay alive, kid. You're no use if you end up in a grave."

Taron couldn't argue with that.

By midnight, Greenwood's streets were darker, with fewer torches burning. Clouds drifted across the moon, making the alleys and corners even more shadowy. Taron met Minna at the town square, where half a dozen other volunteers gathered in a hush. A guard named Emric—a stocky fellow with a short spear—led them.

"All right," Emric muttered. "We'll split into pairs, each patrolling a section of the wall. If you see anything, call out. Don't go chasing shadows. We regroup here in two hours, then rotate."

Taron was paired with Minna, which suited him just fine. He trusted her more than a random volunteer. They took the western stretch of the wall—ironically the same area where a creature had been spotted the night before. A chill wind blew, carrying the scent of damp earth and old wood.

Climbing the wooden ramparts, Taron peered over the top. Beyond Greenwood's rough palisade, the moonlight washed across rolling fields and a dark line of trees in the distance. It all looked hauntingly still, as though the world itself held its breath.

Minna paced a few steps away, scanning the horizon with an arrow nocked, ready to draw. "I hate this silence," she whispered. "Makes me feel like something's lurking out there, waiting."

Taron nodded. He understood. A normal night might have the chirp of crickets, a rustle of the wind in the bushes. Tonight, even the breeze felt unnaturally subdued. Emberlight's warmth was the only comforting presence, a steady hum against his side.

They continued along the rampart, occasionally passing a fellow volunteer or guard. No one spoke more than a few words. A single torch burned every hundred feet, leaving large swaths of the walkway in near darkness.

After maybe an hour, they reached the southwestern corner, where the palisade angled sharply. Taron peered over the edge, squinting at the open field. Something caught his eye—a flicker of movement, though it might have been a trick of the torchlight on the tall grass.

"Minna," he hissed, nudging her. "Down there."

She strained to see. "I don't see anything."

Taron felt his heart race. For a moment, he thought he spotted a hunched shape, but it vanished before he could confirm. "Might be nothing," he admitted, "but keep watch."

They waited in tense silence. A minute passed, then two. Minna exhaled. "Just nerves, maybe."

Suddenly, a chill ran down Taron's spine, like an invisible hand brushing the back of his neck. He spun around, scanning the darkness behind them. The rampart was empty, but that sense of being watched wouldn't fade.

"That's it," Minna muttered. "Let's walk back to the main post. If there's something out here, we should tell Emric."

They hurried along the walkway. Taron couldn't shake the feeling that something lurked just beyond the feeble torchlight, waiting for them to let their guard down. He gripped the short sword Borus had given him, feeling Emberlight's pulse grow hotter.

Back at the central guard post—a small tower that overlooked the gates—Emric stood checking in with another pair of volunteers. He turned when Taron and Minna rushed up.

"See something?" he asked, eyes darting to their tense expressions.

"I'm not sure," Taron admitted. "Thought I saw movement near the southwestern field, but it was too dark."

Emric frowned. "That's near the orchard side. Hard place to see at night." He rubbed his chin, deciding. "I'll alert the next patrol shift to keep an eye there. Might just be an animal, but we can't be careless."

Minna stifled a sigh of relief. "Agreed."

Emric nodded. "Finish your shift. Another hour to go. Then you can rest."

They walked away, footsteps echoing on the wooden planks. Taron's nerves hummed, and Minna's posture stayed taut. But the next hour crept by without incident, the oppressive silence enveloping them again.

A Secret Meeting

When Taron's shift ended, the next group of volunteers took their place. Minna offered a tired nod, then slipped away to wherever her family was lodging. Taron decided to check in with Aldren, suspecting the old knight might still be awake. Something about the night's tension made him yearn for guidance, even if it was just a gruff scolding.

He made his way back to the watchtower. Moonlight revealed the crooked fence and the single window of Aldren's cottage glowing faintly. Taron hesitated, wondering if it was rude to knock so late. But a moving silhouette inside suggested Aldren was up.

Just as Taron raised a hand to rap on the door, it opened, revealing Aldren standing there with a lit lantern. He looked Taron up and down, eyebrows knitted.

"What are you doing out at this hour, boy?" he grumbled.

"Patrol duty," Taron explained, stepping inside at Aldren's curt gesture. "I thought I saw something outside the walls. It vanished. Figured I'd see if you had any advice."

Aldren huffed, setting the lantern on a cluttered table. "Advice? Don't get yourself killed, for starters." He eased into his armchair, rubbing a bandaged knee. "But if you want more than that, I can tell you these creatures don't like bright light or massed defense. They prey on fear. If they sense weakness, they strike."

Taron swallowed. "Then we'd better keep morale up."

Aldren nodded. "Exactly. Fear is half the battle. The rest is skill. Which reminds me—tomorrow, be at the yard earlier. We'll work on coordinated strikes. If you ever face more than one creature, you'll need precision or you'll be torn apart."

A creeping dread needled at Taron's thoughts. "Thanks," he murmured, glancing around the cramped cottage. His eyes caught on a piece of parchment spread across a small desk—some kind of map, marked with scribbled notations. "What's that?"

Aldren's expression tensed. "Nothing for now," he said firmly. "Just old records from my days with your father. Unless you're prepared for a lot of complicated stories, I'd suggest you get some sleep. Dawn training will come quick."

Taron wasn't sure if Aldren was hiding something significant, but he let it drop. He stepped toward the door. "Good night, sir."

"Night," Aldren muttered. As Taron left, he thought he caught a flash of concern in the old knight's eyes—like a man grappling with the knowledge of horrors about to resurface.

Dawn's Revelation

Early morning arrived with a golden glow that revealed a troubling sight: a wisp of gray smoke curling into the sky beyond Greenwood's walls. Taron discovered it while standing near the southern gate, finishing the last of his volunteer shift. The watch reported no attacks within the town overnight, but something clearly burned in the distance.

He found Minna again, the two of them sharing a worried look. "You think it's another farm?" she asked.

Taron pursed his lips. "Possibly." The memory of his own abandoned orchard tugged at his heart. At least Lorena was safe within Greenwood. But how many others had nowhere to run?

A runner arrived from the western gate, panting. "Captain Eliana's called a meeting—urgent. She wants all volunteers who can ride to come with her to investigate the smoke."

Minna grabbed Taron's arm. "Let's go."

But Taron hesitated. "I promised Aldren I'd be at training early. He might want to come too."

Minna frowned. "All right, but don't take too long. We're leaving soon."

He sprinted back to Aldren's cottage. The old knight was outside, apparently waiting, Emberlight's battered training dummy propped nearby. Aldren's eyes narrowed when Taron explained the smoke and Eliana's request.

"Another attack," Aldren said flatly. "We need to see if it's those creatures."

Taron nodded. "Come with us, then? You know how they think."

Aldren grimaced, rubbing his wounded knee. "I'm not as spry as I used to be. But if this is the best shot we have at confirming the threat, I'll go." He motioned Taron to help him retrieve a battered sword and a small shield from inside the cottage.

Within minutes, they joined Minna, Captain Eliana, and a few others at Greenwood's western gate. The group was small—seven in total, including Taron, Aldren, Minna, and three mounted guards. They set off at a brisk pace, the morning sun at their backs.

They rode—or in Aldren's case, limped along on horseback—toward the plume of smoke. It wasn't far, half an hour's travel. As they drew closer, the stench of charred wood and scorched crops grew strong, assaulting Taron's senses. Soon they reached the source: a modest farmstead with a single-story house and a couple of outbuildings, all in blackened ruins. Smoke still curled from the rafters of the barn, reduced to half-collapsed timbers.

Captain Eliana raised a hand, signaling the group to halt. Crows circled overhead, cawing ominously. Taron's stomach churned. This wasn't a random fire—he could see claw marks gouged into the wood, furniture overturned in the front yard, and footprints in the ash.

Minna dismounted, bow in hand. "I don't see survivors," she said, voice tight.

Aldren urged his horse closer to the wreckage, scanning with a seasoned warrior's gaze. "Looks like they were attacked last night. This was no accident."

One of the guards cursed under his breath. "Is there anyone left?"

Captain Eliana surveyed the devastation. "We'll do a quick search. Be cautious."

Taron and Minna scouted the perimeter while Aldren and Eliana inspected the house. It was a grim task. The barn's door had been torn off its hinges, livestock either missing or—Taron shuddered—dead among the rubble. Closer to the charred wall, he spotted a cluster of footprints unlike anything he'd seen: elongated, clawed impressions, definitely not human.

Minna crouched down, brushing ash from the tracks. "They came in force," she murmured. "At least three or four, maybe more."

Taron gripped Emberlight's hilt through the burlap wrap. A surge of anger pulsed within him. These monsters had to be stopped.

Aldren and Eliana emerged from what was left of the house. The knight looked grim, the captain paler than usual. "We found… signs of a struggle," Eliana said quietly. "At least one body, but it's badly burned. Hard to say if anyone escaped."

A silence fell, broken only by the crackle of embers in the rubble. Taron closed his eyes, picturing the orchard he'd left behind. How many more farms would end up like this before Greenwood rallied proper help?

Eliana squared her shoulders. "Let's head back and report. We'll muster more scouts to check the other homesteads."

Minna bit her lip, glancing around. "And if we do find survivors out there somewhere?"

"We'll bring them in," Aldren answered, with a note of weary resolve. "Greenwood is the only safe haven we have left."

Taron nodded, relief warring with guilt in his chest. He was glad Greenwood still stood, but these tragedies kept piling up. If the creatures were growing bolder, soon even Greenwood's walls might not hold them back.

They mounted up again, hearts heavy. As they turned away from the ruined farm, Taron felt Emberlight thrum at his side, as though attuned to his anger and sorrow. He couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out—if the monstrous attacks continued at this pace, an even greater catastrophe might be looming.

He threw a final glance over his shoulder at the smoldering wreckage, silently pledging to do whatever it took to prevent more destruction. The broken sword might not be whole, but Taron's resolve was. Whether by luck, training, or raw will, he'd stand against the darkness threatening to swallow Arinthia.