Where It All Begins

"Edmund, do you think our heroes will really be able to stop those monsters the women were talking about at the marketplace?" Alaric asked, his voice quiet, almost hopeful.

Edmund grinned, lounging on the straw mattress. "What are you worried about? Nothing stands a chance against us! Have you forgotten the tales Mother used to tell us about King Kaelion and Ronan? Or the kings before them? Eryndral hasn't fallen. Erythoria hasn't fallen. And it won't fall now. That's why so many kingdoms are moving here for protection."

"I know…" Alaric muttered, eyes downcast. "But I'm still scared."

Edmund slid off the bed and knelt dramatically before him. "Then come closer, brave warrior. You'll need a little of my courage."

He placed his hands solemnly on Alaric's shoulders. "Let the moon and sun bear witness to this day! The day Alaric has been found worthy. I hereby bestow upon you the bravery of a thousa—"

The door burst open with a loud crack. Alaric jumped to his feet, startled. Edmund ducked behind him with a squeak.

Rowenne stood at the doorway, eyes flicking from her son to the startled Alaric. "What are you two doing? And why was he on the ground?"

"Nothing, Mother," Edmund said quickly, stepping out from behind Alaric with a sheepish look.

"What was that about bravery again?" Alaric teased, nudging Edmund. Edmund rolled his eyes.

But the laughter died the moment Rowenne stepped inside and shut the door hard behind her. Her face was pale, tense, her movements sharp with urgency. Even the boys, young as they were, could read the fear on her face.

She crossed the room swiftly and knelt before them, her voice low and urgent.

"Listen to me—there's no time to waste. You need to pack. Quickly. Anything you can carry. We're leaving."

She turned and began gathering things with swift precision. But when she looked back, the boys were still standing there, frozen, watching her.

"Where are we going?" Alaric asked quietly.

"Why are we leaving?" Edmund added.

"There's no time to explain. Please, just do as I say!" she snapped, then softened, helping Alaric shove clothes into a cloth satchel.

"Edmund," she said without looking up, "you should run back home. You'll be safer there."

"I am home," Edmund said firmly. His eyes didn't waver. "Mother, let me come with you."

"Please let him come," Alaric added, eyes pleading.

She paused, her hands resting on a folded tunic. Her shoulders dropped as she sighed. "I was only trying to keep you safe..."

Then she nodded. "Fine. You can come."

She tied the bundles tight, one for herself, one for the boys.

"I packed enough of Alaric's clothes for both of you. We won't have time to stop by your home again. Once we're settled, I'll send word to your foster parents to let them know you're safe."

"Thank you, Mother," Edmund said softly.

"But where are we going that's safer than Eryndral?" Alaric asked, brow furrowed.

"I heard a woman in the square say scary things," Edmund added. "About monsters outside Erythoria's walls."

"You worry about what's to come…" Rowenne said, tightening the satchel. Her eyes met theirs, sharp and haunted. "But what of what's already come?"

She slung one satchel over her shoulder, balanced the other on Alaric's head, and turned toward the door.

"Edmund, quickly. Open it."

Alaric opened the door and there he stood.

Tyrannis Durnveil. The Blade Sovereign.

A tall, imposing man with broad shoulders and corded muscle beneath a black warrior's robe. No armor, no embellishments, just sheer presence. A long sword rested at his left side, and two knives were strapped in a crisscross across his back. His raven-black hair was tied into a warrior's ponytail, and his face—stern, weathered, and sharp—was marked with a single sword scar on his left cheek, a silent signature of his craft.

His eyes alone could chill the bravest of hearts.

"Good day, my lady. Little lords," Tyrannis said, bowing politely with hand to chest, voice low and gravelly.

"I am Tyrannis Durnveil, here on the King's order."

Rowenne gave a slight nod, though the tension in her shoulders remained. "Of course. I know who you are. What does His Majesty command?"

Edmund's gaze was glued to the swordsman's face, awestruck. One of his heroes was standing right before him—the Blade Sovereign. He had heard all the tales. The man who could kill with such speed, his victims didn't know they were dead until their bodies fell to the ground.

Edmund had spent many evenings tying his hair in a messy ponytail, pretending to be Tyrannis. Alaric would cheer him on, clapping and laughing while calling him "the Wolf's Heir."

Now, Alaric stood still, captivated not by Tyrannis but by his sword. It was beautiful. The hilt was carved to resemble a howling wolf, etched in silver and leather, worn but noble. No wonder they called him the Wolf Warrior.

"The King requests the presence of the little lord immediately," Tyrannis announced.

Rowenne glanced down at the boys. She hesitated, but only for a breath.

"Yes," she replied. "We will do as the King commands."

"Thank you, my lady. Now...." his eyes swept over the two boys, "...which of you is Alaric?"

Alaric raised his hand sheepishly.

"Please, protect him well," Rowenne said quietly. Her voice was even, but her eyes betrayed the storm within.

"I was personally assigned this task by Sir Ronan," Tyrannis answered. "I won't fail him."

He turned to leave with Alaric, but Rowenne reached out gently to stop him.

"Is it permitted... if we accompany him?"

Tyrannis gave a short bow. "As you wish, my lady."

Together, they walked through the city streets toward the palace, past watchful guards and curious stares, until finally they reached the outer hall. There, a young servant girl appeared from the corridor.

"Take the King's guests to Sir Caidric," Tyrannis instructed.

Then he turned to Rowenne once more.

"My lady, this is as far as I go. You'll have no trouble finding the throne room from here. Sir Caidric will guide you."

"Thank you," Rowenne said.

Tyrannis offered a final bow and disappeared down the corridor, his black robes trailing behind like the shadow of a storm.

"This way, my lady," the servant girl said with a soft smile.

They followed the servant through a series of high-arched corridors until they reached the thick velvet curtains that veiled the entrance to the inner chamber—the throne room.Sir Caidric was already approaching.

"My lady," he greeted with a respectful bow.

"Sir Caidric," Rowenne responded, dipping her head in return.

"What can I do for you?"

"We are here by the King's orders," Rowenne answered calmly.

"Please wait here while I inform His Majesty."

Rowenne stepped forward slightly. "Could you… inform him without mentioning who we are?"

Caidric paused for a beat, understanding in his eyes. "You got it," he said, then disappeared through the curtains.

He returned moments later.

"Please come in and wait for His Majesty. He will be with you shortly."

"Thank you. May I ask one more favor before you go?" Rowenne said as he turned to leave.

"Anything I can, my lady."

"Could you take Edmund to the Hall of Valor?"

"But Mother!" Edmund protested, his brows furrowed. "I also want to see the throne room. And the throne!"

Rowenne knelt slightly to meet his eyes.

"The throne room is just a chamber with many chairs and a glorified seat at the end. But in the Hall of Valor lies something far greater—legacy. It is where the great deeds of knights and warriors are honoured. They call it the Hall of the Honoured. You'll see their portraits, each in shining armor, their names and ranks etched boldly beneath them. Their stories, their legends written in gold beneath that. And their swords... you can touch them. They say those who touch a knight's blade inherit a fragment of their strength. Wouldn't you like to wield the power of men who fought like a thousand soldiers?"

Edmund's eyes lit up, round and bright. Even Alaric looked tempted.

"Let's go, Sir Caidric!" Edmund said, bouncing with excitement.

"Keep your voice down," Rowenne said gently. "You don't want to disturb the King."

"Mother, can I go with Edmund?" Alaric asked hopefully.

Rowenne shook her head. "No, my love. Remember, the King has summoned you."

Alaric groaned in disappointment.

"You'll get to see the throne, and Edmund will see the Hall of Valor. When we return, you two can exchange tales, each of you sharing what the other missed."

"Bye, Mother!" Edmund called as he turned to leave with Caidric.

"Bye, darling. Study their legends well. The last knight in the hall, he's my favorite," Rowenne said with a knowing smile.

Caidric nodded and departed with Edmund, leaving Rowenne and Alaric standing before the throne room.

They entered.

The chamber was vast and beautiful, washed in soft golden light from arched stained-glass windows high above. Sculpted pillars stretched like giants toward the ceiling, and the air was thick with quiet reverence.

Alaric's breath caught in his throat.

The throne stood ahead, regal and commanding. It was made from pure darkwood carved with wolves and crowned with silver. The armrests gleamed with embedded sapphires, and the back curved upward like wings. Though empty, it seemed to radiate presence, as if history itself were seated there.

Alaric felt small. Unworthy.

He stood at the center of the room, drinking it all in, awestruck.

Then the door beside the throne creaked open.

A tall man entered.

Kaelion.

The King of Eldryn.

Alaric had never seen him this close before and he didn't hide it. His eyes followed Kaelion's every step as he walked calmly to the throne.

Rowenne, already on one knee, pulled Alaric gently downward. He obeyed, kneeling beside her.

"You may rise," Kaelion said, his voice smooth and deep.

They stood. Alaric looked up at the King and froze.

There was something hauntingly familiar in his face.

He had never seen it before.

But it felt like he had.

"Rowenne," Kaelion said, his eyes lingering on her for a second longer than formality demanded.

"Your Majesty," she replied.

"And this must be…"

Kaelion turned his gaze to Alaric.

But before he could finish, Alaric stepped forward slightly, his excitement getting the better of him.

"Your Majesty," he said with a slight bow and a spark in his voice, "I am Alaric Eldryn."