The forest always held an eerie aura, a silent whisper that threaded through the trees and rustled the undergrowth. It was this sensation that Dras had grown accustomed to. It made him feel alive, feel part of something grander. This day was no different. He had been walking for a few leagues when he heard a noise to his right, his heart pounded at the thought of another wolf. But instead, a man stepped out from behind the bush.
A mercenary.
"What do we have here?" The mercenary's voice was a gravelly baritone, grating against the quiet forest ambiance.
"Hello... my name… is Dras," Dras responded, fighting to keep his voice steady. He studied the mercenary before him. He was a grizzled man, scars littering his face and arms, a testament to many battles fought. His eyes were a sharp blue, cutting through the forest's gloom.
"No need to be nervous boy, my name is Vantos. We are a mercenary unit on patrol to Kellis," Vantos said, moving with a confidence that spoke of years of survival in harsh environments. At his signal, a few other mercenaries emerged from the surrounding undergrowth, each as formidable-looking as Vantos.
Dras's heart sunk at the mention of Kellis. "I just came from there... Kellis was raided," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Vantos swore, spinning around with his hands on his hips and a string of curses falling from his lips. "Anyone else?" called out a mercenary with a bow strung across his back.
"No one else. I was the only one out hunting," Dras said. He remembered his family, the village, the laughter, and camaraderie of his people. All gone in a blaze of fire and violence.
"Hey boss, what do we do?" Another mercenary asked Vantos, a mean scar bisecting his face.
Vantos was silent for a moment before he finally spoke, "Send someone down there to confirm that there's nobody left. We will camp here for the night," he said. Then he turned to Dras. "We will take you with us too. We need someone independent to help report this. We won't get paid otherwise," he added with a wry smile.
"Take me where?" Dras asked, his mind still reeling from everything.
"To New Haven, of course," Vantos replied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
A short while later, a mercenary returned from the village. "Nothing there left, boss. They really trashed the place," he reported, grimacing.
Vantos threw a piece of meat and bone into a nearby bush with a curse. "We will leave at first light tomorrow, make sure everyone rests well," he ordered. "Gar, you're on first watch," he instructed the scar-faced mercenary.
As the rest of the group settled in for the night, Vantos approached Dras. "Know how to use those?" he asked, gesturing towards Dras's bow and short sword.
"I used to go hunting near the village, and just yesterday I killed two wolves," Dras responded, his thoughts drifting to the adrenaline-filled chase, the fear, the triumph.
"Impressive. If we get into any trouble, just hang back and fire them off for us," Vantos said, clapping Dras on the shoulder. "What are your plans now?"
"I am going to join the Legion. I want to become stronger. I've heard stories that they are the best warriors in the empire," Dras said, his voice filled with a determination that surprised even him.
Vantos chuckled. "They sure are, but it's no mean feat. I was in the Legionnaires before leaving, couldn't hack my commander at the time," he admitted. "We will get you to New Haven and bring you to the commander of the barracks there. He will let you know if it's possible or not."
The journey to New Haven was long and arduous. The forest grew denser, the sunlight scarce even though it was still early afternoon. Streams crisscrossed their path, and ivy-covered bushes hugged the trees. As they trudged through the undergrowth, Dras found his thoughts wandering back to his village, his family, and the peaceful life he had once known.
The forest was quiet, eerily so, as the group continued their march. Dras, his bow slung over his shoulder, scanned the dense foliage, his senses heightened. Suddenly, a sharp whistle pierced the silence. Before he could react, an arrow embedded itself in a tree beside him.
"Ambush!" Vantos yelled, diving behind a tree stump as a volley of arrows whizzed through the air.
Chaos erupted. Men scattered, seeking cover, their shouts filling the air. Dras notched an arrow, his heart pounding in his chest. He peered from behind his tree, scanning for a target. He spotted a bandit about 80 paces away, aiming another arrow. He took a deep breath and let his arrow fly, then quickly ducked back behind the tree. A cry of pain followed, telling him his aim had been true.
"Gar & Ric, go left and flank them. Bel & Yu, take the right side. The rest of you, push through the center," Vantos ordered, his voice carrying over the din. With a swift, practiced motion, he drew his sword, deflecting an incoming arrow with the flat of his blade.
The mercenaries moved, each carrying out their orders with grim determination. Dras glanced around, spotting another bandit in the distance. He notched another arrow, aimed, and let it fly. The bandit dropped, an arrow protruding from his chest.
The battle was fierce and fast. The air was thick with the twang of bowstrings, the clash of steel, and the grunts of men. Dras found himself in a world of chaos, fighting not just for his life, but for the men who had taken him in.
Suddenly, a bandit broke through the line, charging straight at Dras. Time seemed to slow. Dras dropped his bow, drawing his short sword. The bandit was close now, a savage grin on his face. Dras sidestepped the bandit's wild swing, slashing his sword across the bandit's chest. The bandit cried out, stumbling backwards, and Dras lunged, driving his sword into the bandit's heart.
He pulled his sword free, the bandit collapsing at his feet. He picked up his bow, notching another arrow and joining the fray once more. He took down another bandit, then another, each life taken weighing heavily on his conscience. But he pushed the guilt aside. He knew it was either them or him.
The tide of the battle began to turn. The remaining bandits, seeing their numbers dwindling, started to flee, melting back into the forest from whence they came. The mercenaries let out a cheer, but their victory was tinged with sorrow as they took in the loss of their comrades. Two had fallen during the battle.
"Alright boys, check their bodies to see what they have on them," Vantos ordered, his voice rough with grief. His gaze swept over the battlefield, his expression somber.
As the mercenaries went about their grim task, Vantos turned to Dras. "You did well, boy. Three kills, and all while protecting my back. You've got a knack for this," he said, attempting a smile. But his eyes betrayed the sorrow he felt.
Dras nodded, his gaze falling on the bodies of the men he had killed. The reality of what he had done, of the lives he had taken, weighed heavily on him. But he knew he had no choice. It was either them or him. And he chose to survive.
"I... Thank you, sir," Dras replied, his gaze falling on the bodies of the men he had killed. His mind was a whirl of emotions. Fear, relief, guilt. He had taken lives. It was a thought he couldn't easily reconcile with.
Vantos seemed to sense his inner turmoil. "It's either them or you, boy. Don't feel bad for them. They made their choice when they attacked us. Besides, you'll be doing far worse things when you join the Legionnaires," he said.
His words offered little comfort, but Dras nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He was alive, and for now, that was all that mattered. As night fell, they set up camp by a river, the soft murmur of flowing water a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.
During supper, Vantos brought up a topic that had been playing on Dras's mind. "Do you know how to use a sword, boy?" he asked, finishing his meal.
"No sir, I was never taught how to use one. Only the bow," Dras replied, holding his hands out towards the fire. The night was cold, and the warmth was comforting.
"So who owns the armor then?" Vantos asked, nodding towards the armor plate Dras wore.
"My father's, sir. I found it hidden away in the ruins of our house," Dras said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Vantos frowned. "Strange. You would think someone of his status in the Legionnaires would teach his son how to use a sword," he mused.
"How do you know he was in the Legionnaires? He never said he was part of any army at all!" Dras exclaimed, feeling a pang of betrayal.
"Because that armour you're wearing has a Legionnaires emblem on it. All Legionnaires have those," Vantos explained, pointing with his knife to the emblem on Dras's armour. "What was his name?"
"I think my mother used to call him Kane. I just called him Father," Dras replied.
Vantos was silent for a moment. "What happened to him?" he asked, his voice softer than Dras had ever heard.
Dras swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I'm not sure, sir. When I got back to the ruins of my home, I found my parents. They... they had been killed. My father had a broken sword in his hand. The raiders must have killed them. I couldn't find my sister," he managed to say, tears welling up in his eyes.
Vantos was silent for a moment, then clapped Dras on the shoulder. "My condolences, Dras. Your father was a good man, a brave soldier. I knew him. The commander in New Haven knew him better than I did. I'll introduce you to him when we get there," he said, his voice filled with a sadness that echoed Dras's own.
As Vantos walked away, leaving Dras alone with his thoughts, Dras felt a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, sadness, confusion, but above all, a burning determination. He would find his sister. He would avenge his family. He would survive. For himself, for his family, for his father.
He was Dras, son of a Legionnaire, and he would survive.