Night fell beneath a thick shroud of clouds and a fine, icy drizzle. Around the village, there was no snow, and the path taken by Faradax’s vanguard could still be seen. The warrior and the elf were inside the mill when the unmistakable crack of breaking branches startled them.

  “I sense something… listen…” Galfrido said suddenly, reaching for the greatsword on his back.

  As if by magic, Begryn vanished into the shadows, bow in hand, arrow drawn. Her violet eyes gleamed like those of a feline in the darkness. A figure cautiously appeared at the mill’s entrance. The elf loosed an arrow in warning, its shaft landing just inches from the stranger’s face. He flinched and raised his sword.

  “Begryn?” he said almost in a whisper, recognizing the dark-feathered arrow.

  “Kalen?” the elf stepped out from the shadows.

  “Thanks be to Kramer!” Galfrido exclaimed, lowering the greatsword he had been ready to cleave in two anyone who dared enter looking for a fight. “What a joy to see you alive! And you as well, companion Anthos!”

  The knight stepped into the mill, sheathing his legendary sword, Eldora. A few steps behind, they saw Anthos appear, carrying little Drako.

  “I’m glad to see you recovered, Galfrido. What… what happened here?” the knight asked, grief heavy in his voice.

  “Faradax and his army,” the elf said, her gaze lost in the fire. “That’s what happened. The bastard struck just like that time in Ghoriak. He left no one alive. We survived only by the grace of Mistilanya… We believe he’s marching with his army toward Trabarioth.”

  “That makes sense,” Kalen said. “I’m certain they think Drako is there, in the Frozen City. I don’t believe it’s the safest place to take him.”

  “Kalen, there’s no other safe place,” Begryn insisted. “We can’t go back, and we can’t cross into Elbarie. To the south lie the orcs of Dorlan, further still, the Wastelands. Doknar is no longer an option. There’s only one road left.”

  “I agree with Begryn,” Anthos added. “Even if we hurry, we might yet arrive in time to warn them. The only one who knows what to do with the child is that sorcerer of yours… Volrath. Keeping Drako with us is only a matter of waiting for death to come knocking sooner rather than later. We’ve already seen that enemies abound… Ertai was proof enough of that.”

  “So you’re saying we should head to Trabarioth anyway, even knowing an army is marching there?”

  “It’s not the ideal choice… but given the circumstances, it’s the only one we have. Besides, the Frozen City will hold… it always has,” Anthos remarked.

  “Then let’s go, deliver the boy to Volrath, and help defend the city,” Galfrido said, setting his greatsword aside. “And now I want you to tell me everything! Especially the part where you killed that bastard Ertai.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The four travelers, together with Drako, finally reunited around a warm fire. The situation was far from ideal—the stench of death and destruction still clung to their nostrils—but at least they had fulfilled the mission. Now, they only needed to hurry to reach Trabarioth before Faradax’s army. It wasn’t an impossible task, truth be told. Moving thousands of troops required time. Four people could travel far quicker, and that was something they all understood well.

  While everyone else went to sleep, the knight decided to stay awake, more to give free rein to his thoughts than to stand watch. He began to dwell on everything that was happening. It seemed as though war was looming over their lands, much like during the Great Invasion of Dorlan more than five hundred years ago. That feeling—that there was no longer a safe place, or that no allies remained—began to weigh heavily on him. He looked up and, in silence, asked Leiorus for strength when he realized someone was watching him.

  He turned his head and saw Begryn sitting directly across from him, on the other side of the fire. The elf’s stealth was often unsettling.

  “Are you alright?” Begryn asked, her gaze fixed on him.

  “Yes, I suppose… A bit battered, maybe. Ertai was stronger than he looked. A true dark druid.”

  “I’m glad… but I didn’t mean physically.”

  “Oh… that…” Kalen began rubbing the back of his neck. “All of this feels unreal. I’ve fought many battles, faced countless creatures. By Leiorus, even before I was a knight, I was already roaming the world in search of adventure. But this feels different.”

  “It is different. This is on a large scale. It’s something Dorlan hasn’t witnessed in centuries. And, whether by fortune or misfortune, we are at the eye of the storm.”

  “It’s not just that… I fear what’s to come—or that the events from here on may shake our very beliefs. What we fight for. What we swore to defend… the most sacred things. I fear this may break us from within.”

  The elf gifted him a beautiful smile, her violet eyes fixed on him, their color shifting in tune with the capricious dance of the flames. The paladin couldn’t help but blush at such beauty and, for once, he relaxed and returned the smile.

  “You will not break, paladin,” said Begryn, never looking away. “If there’s anyone in this world who can defeat their inner demons and remain steadfast in the face of the fiercest storm, it’s you. And it is a fortune to share this endeavor with you.”

  “Thank you, Begryn.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Perhaps now isn’t the time to talk, but when we reach Trabarioth, we owe each other a long conversation.”

  Kalen’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but swallow, the action feeling more like a stone forcing its way down his throat.

  “Good night, Kalen.”

  The next day, after a quick breakfast consisting only of some flavorless tea, they set off northward, first skirting the River of Diamond and trying to find a more discreet crossing than the great main bridge that connected to the city of Epsilia—almost certainly the route Faradax’s army would take.

  They saw in the distance the smoke from the funeral pyre that now marked what had once been the small village of Rivero. The snow around it had melted, revealing patches of green grass, some of them charred. The light, thin rain that had just begun to fall helped extinguish the few remaining flames. From time to time, the paladin turned to look at the group, especially at Begryn—his weakness, without a doubt. He was losing his mind over the words exchanged the night before. None of them spoke, not a single word, for the grief weighing on their hearts was overwhelming. And it was even heavier knowing that the future promised only more destruction, more death, and more pain.