"The essence of power is a show of strength and cruelty, once tasted—the being called man yearns to be glorified in it."

  TEN YEARS AGO

  Lightning tore the sky open with a blinding flash, and thunder rolled across the scorched land like the roar of a beast. A long line of Valedrin soldiers stretched far and wide — a sea of forest green braced against the darkened soil of the wasteland. Banners bearing the sigil of Valedrin—a golden sun rising between two verdant hills—flapped madly on long spears under the assault of the wind.

  Among the second line stood a younger Caelum, clad in fresh Valedrin armor—leather cuirass of forest green reinforced at the seams. Beneath a padded tunic, sturdy olive trousers on high boot. It seemed too large for Caelum's frame, the weight of it a burden his shoulders were not yet used to bearing. His breath came hot and ragged. His left arm bore the kite shaped shield high, trembling slightly, while his right hand quivered on the hilt of his sword. His legs were unsteady, knees knocking together beneath the weight of fear — even with the chill air, sweat trickled down his face from his curly dark-blonde hair.

  His mind raced with thoughts of death. Would it be clean — a beheading? A swift arrow through the throat? Or something slower, more painful? Gutted, impaled, captured and tortured... The thought made his stomach churn. He doubled over and vomited in the dust. He wasn’t alone. Around him, the sounds of others retching echoed between the lines. First battle. First terror.

  The soldier beside him, a grizzled man with a half-shaved beard and a scar over his temple, noticed. “First time?” he asked, eyes fixed ahead. "It's good you feel afraid, but don't capitalize on it."

  Caelum nodded, unable to speak.

  The man grunted. “The worst part ain’t being killed by the enemy really. It’s getting trampled by your own. Steel boots don’t wait for anyone. And if you survive, you’ll lie to yourself — tell yourself you killed for the right reasons. King. Kingdom. Honor.” He spat into the dirt. “You’ll say anything not to lose sleep.”

  The trumpet blasted, not waiting for Caelum to reminisce on what he just heard. A shriek that split the air and set the world in motion.

  The cavalry thundered forward with a unified cry. The earth shook with the fury of hundreds of hooves, and the lines ahead surged. Caelum stood his ground, the world slowing around him. Over the rise, the enemy poured forth like an avalanche — an endless tide of gray and black, storming down the slope with spears glinting and shields raised.

  A voice rose, distant yet cutting through the chaos — Commander Duru, barking orders, likely up front with the spear handlers.

  “Shields up!” came the repeated cry of what had been said.

  Caelum obeyed without thought, snapping his shield into place, heart thumping.

  The grizzled soldier leaned close. “Stay in formation, no matter what. And if it all breaks loose, find a squad. Always safer in numbers.”

  A call rose through the ranks: the Valedrin motto. Caelum shouted it with the others, his voice cracking. Then came the charge. At every pace, his heart pounded louder, threatening to burst from his chest. Arrows darkened the sky, shrieking like birds of prey.

  Caelum’s eyes snapped open. He screamed — pain seared through his shoulder. His shield had caught most of the arrows, but one had struck true.

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  He rolled to his side. Bodies surrounded him — gutted, beheaded, riddled with shafts.

  The ground was slick with blood, and the air thick with agony and steel.

  Gritting his teeth, Caelum grabbed his sword and forced himself upright, limbs trembling.

  An enemy soldier rushed him — Caelum barely dodged, slashing the attacker’s side. He fell back, tumbling to the ground, vision swimming.

  A shadow loomed above — a sword raised.

  Before the blow landed, another blade pierced the attacker from behind. A hand helped him on his feet, he rose—standing before the new recruit. Caelum remember him during their time as greenhorn and missions on patrol— Jusfy.

  —————

  A branch snapped beneath Caelum’s boots as he moved through the woods with Hark, their footsteps muffled by a thick carpet of dried leaves and broken twigs. The moon lit their path in slivers. Down the slope, the trail twisted like a snake, half-buried under the debris of the forest. Between breaks in the foliage, they caught glimpses of movement — shadows, flickers of firelight, and then the flicker of smoke rising.

  They drew closer, slow and careful.

  At the foot of a large rock formation, a camp had been set. Six horses stood tethered, their breaths steaming in the cold night air. Around the fire were six men clad, head and body, in thick, padded garb unfamiliar to Caelum—they all had dark-brown skin, almost blending into the night—the kind of complexion Caelum had only seen among the tribes along the borderlands between Virelia and Cravharn.. Still, No markings. No banners. Mercenaries, most likely.

  Caelum crouched low beside a root.

  Just six men? he thought. Six men took out an entire Valedrin squad, murdered a settlement, and left with six horses loaded with spoils? No lookouts, no signs of caution. It doesn’t make sense.

  They waited, until three were asleep, two sat close to the fire, and one leaned lazily against a tree near the horses.

  He turned to Hark. “Find a spot with a clear view. Back me with your bow.”

  Hark nodded and vanished into the darkness like a shadow swallowed whole.

  Caelum circled wide, knife drawn, creeping toward the man near the horses. He moved with unhinged silence, each step measured. When he was close enough to hear the man breathe, he lunged. One arm wrapped around the man’s mouth, the knife slipped under his jaw and drew a clean line. The man spasmed, then went limp.

  A whistle split the night — Hark’s arrow. It caught a second man through the mouth just as he turned, a muffled scream choking in his throat. He collapsed onto the fire, knocking over a pot of stew.

  Chaos erupted.

  The mercenaries jerked upright, speaking in a foreign tongue—guttal yet silent, scrambling for weapons.

  “Blast your aim, Hark,” Caelum muttered. “Should’ve taken both in one go.”

  He was already moving back, sword drawn, shifting to more open ground.

  The remaining four mercenaries rushed him. One dropped before reaching him, an arrow buried in his chest. Caelum met the other three, blade flashing. Steel clashed in a flurry of sparks. He parried two strikes, stepped inside the third, and slashed across his opponent’s chest with both knife and sword. Another dropped with an arrow between the ribs.

  The last turned to flee. Caelum’s hand snapped forward. His knife flew, striking the man in the thigh. He cried out, stumbled, and crashed to the ground.

  Caelum was on him in a blink, pinning him down.

  “Who sent you?” he growled.

  The man’s lips twisted in pain, eyes wide. He said nothing.

  Hark emerged from the trees, bow still in hand. “Commander! Riders. A mile down the slope.”

  Caelum clicked his tongue. He searched the fallen for something important, snatched up the discarded rope, then returned to the mercenary, yanking the knife from his leg. The man screamed, thrashing.

  “Save your breath,” Caelum snapped.

  He bound the man’s hands behind his back and wrapped the rope tightly around the wound, halting the blood loss — barely.

  Hark had already brought two horses forward.

  Together, they lifted the bound man onto one, Caelum mounting behind him while Hark took the second. Caelum kicked the horse into a steady canter, the two disappearing into the woods, hooves pounding on..

  Back at the ruined settlement, a troop of Valedrin soldiers was already establishing an encampment, tents rising like shadows before the tree line. Torches lined the perimeter, and the air was thick with the scent of ash.

  Ser Soren approached as Caelum dismounted, the prisoner still bound and groaning.

  “We got one alive,” Caelum said, shoving the man forward. “Prepare him for questioning.”

  Soren nodded, expression grim. “We will. Whatever this is — it’s only just begun.”

  Caelum looked back at the woods, still dark and bristling with secrets.

  “That’s what worries me.” He said.