In a Blur Vision A forest can be seen, and there the land full of blody land, solider can be seen.
A dull ache pulsed through Alistair's head as he blinked his eyes open, squinting against the dim light filtering through the trees above. Every beat of his heart felt like a hammer against his skull, and his entire body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and pain.
"Where... am I?" He whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible. The ground felt hard and cold beneath him, gritty dirt pressing against his bruised skin.
With a groan, Alistair raised a shaky hand to his temple, wincing as his fingers brushed the tender, swollen skin. His memory was a blur—a chaotic mix of snarls, claws, and a sudden, searing pain in his leg. He tried to push himself upright, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain through his body, causing him to grind his teeth.
"Get up, Alistair. Just... get up, already." he muttered, as though saying it would make it any easier. But the pain persisted, refusing to release its grip on him.
As he lay there, trying to regain his senses, fragments of the last few hours began to resurface. The fierce struggle with the beast, the weight of its paw on his chest, the smell of its breath... and then… a figure. Alistair's brows furrowed as he tried to recall.
There had been someone else. A shadowy figure, cloaked and mysterious, hovering just at the edge of his vision. He remembered the faint scent of herbs and the cool sensation of liquid trickling over his wounds, easing the burning pain. The memory was hazy, like a distant dream, but he could almost see the man's outline—dark, with clothes draped loosely around him, a wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his face.
"Who... who was he?" Alistair murmured, staring up at the sky as if it might offer answers. His fingers brushed against his leg, where the dull ache of an arrow wound pulsed. The figure had been there; of that much he was sure. But why had he helped?
"Just... leave me here?" Alistair's voice cracked as he thought of it, frustration simmering beneath his exhaustion. "He heals me... and then just disappears. What kind of person does that?"
He pushed himself up slowly, ignoring the protest of his sore muscles. His body felt stiff, each movement sending little jolts of pain through him. With effort, he stood, leaning heavily against a nearby tree for support.
Once upright, Alistair glanced around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The forest stretched in every direction, an endless maze of trees and underbrush. The air was thick and humid, with a faint scent of pine and earth. In the distance, he heard the rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of birds.
He shifted his weight, testing his injured leg. Pain shot through him, sharp and unyielding, but he clenched his jaw and took a shaky step forward. Each step felt like a battle, his body screaming for him to stop, but he forced himself to continue. He had to keep moving—staying here was not an option.
The forest was eerily quiet as Alistair made his way forward, every sound amplified by his heightened senses. Each rustling leaf and every snapping twig made him glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the stranger lurking in the shadows. The man's image was burned into his mind—a silent figure with a hat casting his face in darkness.
"Why did he help me??" Alistair's voice was barely a whisper, lost in the stillness around him. His mind raced with questions, each one leading to another dead end.
He took a deep breath, focusing on the path ahead. "Stop thinking about him. Focus on surviving." He tried to sound resolute, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty.
The pain in his leg flared up, forcing him to pause. He leaned against a tree, panting, his fingers digging into the rough bark. "Just keep going, Alistair. You've been through worse."
The words sounded hollow, even to him. But he forced himself to move, one foot in front of the other, each step a small victory.
Just as he was beginning to feel the weight of his exhaustion again, he caught a faint glimmer out of the corner of his eye. He turned, heart pounding, but the vision was gone—a fleeting shadow slipping between the trees.
"Is someone…?" Alistair's breath hitched, his pulse racing. He scanned the forest, half-hoping, half-dreading that he'd see the stranger again. But the forest remained silent, indifferent to his confusion.
"Fine," he muttered, gritting his teeth. "If you want to stay hidden, stay hidden. I don't need anyone's help."
But the words felt empty, a weak attempt to convince himself. Deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, that the stranger was still out there, somewhere.
There at the very back a black figure is hidden beneath the tree. His hat can be seen; he is standing on the opposite side.
As the sun began its descent, casting a warm glow over the forest, Alistair pushed forward, each step a test of his resolve. His leg throbbed, his head ached, and his entire body felt like it was teetering on the edge of collapse.
"Come on, Alistair," he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. "Just… keep moving."
The sky was painted with shades of orange and pink, the fading light casting long shadows across the ground. He glanced at the horizon, taking in the beauty of the sunset, a small comfort in the vast loneliness of the forest.
"I think about tomorrow I should be able to reach the Thassalor's Army Camp and Sailor Point," said Alistair while staring at the sky.
"I am Not Feeling Well... Once I leave this place, I will then plan to survive first... I have.. I have lost too much... My Mom and Dad...They Gone...." said to himself while walking with slow steps on the mud. He was hurt and not able to walk properly; half his eyes opened while walking.
"I mean, I have no option to leave that place. I was wondering to go, but something changed my mind—like to run into the forest and escape. I was dumped." I should have to fight back...but they were many. The main king, the Thassalor king, was more powerful. I would also have died there. I thought to go at that time one step ahead, then something came and changed my mind, and I then began to escape through the forest. That was, I think, the correct decision."
The sound of the tap of the shoes on the ground and the chirping were only there.
"I will surely find my way," she said with gritting teeth. He continued to walk in the forward direction.
The sun is shinning over the field of soldiers of both sides seeing each other. Cold air blew over the land. Talthon on his horse, and the man soilder of the opponent is standing, smiling.
"Who are you? And why are you in our way?" asked Talthon.
"I am Kalirif Karten," replied the man, seeing his sword.
"Whoever you are... I don't want a fight... I don't like fighting you. I request to leave. Talthon said calmly.
"Do you think by just saying I will leave...???" she laughed and said.
"Listen Kalirif? isn't it?? I like you to say that I am very courteous and pleasant to leave. We are on a mission... I don't like fighting with you... Please return," said Tathon with expressionlessness.
"What if I say I don't leave?" Kalirif replied with a serious tone and attentively.
Talthon closed his eyes, and his expression soon changed, and then, with a little anger, his hand palm shacked and tightened because of the little anger. General Ecolier saw Talthon with an expressionless manner, but when the hands started to tremble, he saw that with an expression of surprise.
"So you will not leave... I am still saying and requesting with peace," sh said with gritting teeth and closed eyes.
Kalirif laughed and said, "Hey Soldiers, Did You Hear He said something like peace...ahahahaa?" laughed out the soilders of Kalirif laughed.
"Okay then... if peace is not the option... then... I think I have to be violent!!" He said and jumped down with a great force horse nehes, and then in slow motion, soldier's of thasslaors, one shocked general Ecolier, seen surprised.
"No way...first time I am seeing him this much anger...!!" shocked and said with a low tone.
Talthon opened his eyes and stood still, staring at Kalirif. Kalirif smiled with sweat down looks nervous in his eyes but expression of smiling.
"Ohhh!! See now who is here standing," sh said with a small laugh.
"One last time... final... You will leave or suffer...?" Talthon said with seeing straight into the eyes.
"No," replied Kalirif.
"Ok then....." Talthon said, He removed his sword from his and pointed towards the Kalirif.
"I challenge you for a duel. I don't want any blood of others to be there here... Any soldiers, neither yours nor mine, will interrupt... Now Tell Me...Accept...it."
After hearing from Talthon Everyone of the Talthon's Soldiers Shocked Everyone's Mouth Opened with the sense of worry and surprise. The Ecolier folded his hand after seeing this and thought, "He proved that he is brave and also dedicated to his mission; he removed his sword to challenge someone... Now it's up to you."
"I accept Your Challenge, Mr. Talthon...." Kalirif said with a smile.
"He knows my name... Do I know him or Oh, yes, the enemy should have told him." thought Talthon.
"Sorry God!! I am using it. I have to use this for my own people." Talthon thought while holding and staring at the sword.
"Let's begin," said Kalirif.
The afternoon sun seen faded cool wind blows the leaves from the trees fallen to the ground, the shining of the sun on both of them.
Talthon started to move with small steps, Kalirif ready to strike his eyes on the Talthon.
Kalirif started to put his hand in his pocket; soon he pressed something inside his pocket. Talthon was very near, so he pulled his sword up. Then Kalirif throws something on the ground, which creates a cloudy scene, leaving everyone shocked.
"What is this?" soilders said and started to cough.
Talthon, confused by the cloudy smoke, suddenly became alert, and soon, because of the smoke, the Kalirif disappeared with a smile. Talthon saw that, and then a wave passed. A Kalirif strike came near a sudden attack attempt. Talthon saw him late. The time slowed. Kalirif struck the sword, but Talthon saw and moved back, but the sword of Kalirif swung down the Talthon's arm.
Blood came from that part, and then Kalarif saw that within a moment, "That's too shallow; he is as strong as I thought; he dodged my half of the attack."
Talthon half bent and tightened the area of the blood. Kalirif laughed. The smoked cleared soilders saw both of them face to face.
"He Just Got Damaged... How??" said Ecolier.
Kalarif thought, "He halfly dodged my attack; I was only left with one thermal weapon... I think now I have to fight Hand to Hand Combat.
"Kalarif !!! I think from now on I will not be too soft to you," said Talthon, holding his arms.
Kalirif's mocking smirk faltered for just a moment as he realized his mistake, glancing quickly at the remnants of his equipment.
"Looks like you don't have any more thermal weapons." Talthon's voice was calm but laced with a hint of taunt, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. Kalirif scowled, gripping his sword tighter.
Without another word, Kalirif lunged forward, his sword flashing in the dim, smoke-filled light. Talthon sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the blade, his eyes focused and unblinking. Kalirif's swing was powerful but wild, the blade slicing through the air with a sharp hiss. Talthon pivoted, using Kalirif's own momentum against him as he parried the blow with his own sword, metal clashing against metal with a thunderous clang that echoed across the field.
The soldiers around them flinched as sparks flew from the clash, their faces illuminated by the brief flash of light. Some cheered, others muttered nervously, eyes wide as they took in the sheer intensity of the duel.
Kalirif snarled, swinging his sword again in a vicious arc, aiming for Talthon's side. But Talthon anticipated the move, raising his sword in time to block the strike. The impact reverberated up his arm, and he gritted his teeth, feeling the force of Kalirif's fury in every blow. Kalirif's attacks were relentless, a storm of powerful, heavy strikes designed to overwhelm and break through any defense. But Talthon met each one with equal strength, his movements precise and calculating.
Their swords locked in a deadlock, each pushing against the other, muscles straining as they fought for dominance. Kalirif's face was twisted with fury, sweat trickling down his brow.
"You're still holding back, aren't you?" Kalirif spat, his voice barely audible over the clash of their weapons.
Talthon said nothing, his gaze cold and unyielding. With a quick twist, he broke the deadlock, stepping back just as Kalirif stumbled forward, momentarily off-balance. Seizing the opportunity, Talthon brought his sword down in a swift, brutal strike aimed at Kalirif's shoulder. Kalirif barely managed to raise his sword in time, the blades colliding with a deafening crash that sent shockwaves through the ground beneath them.
Kalirif staggered, grunting in pain as he absorbed the impact. He retaliated with a swift kick, aiming for Talthon's knee. Talthon twisted his leg to the side, dodging the attack by mere inches, and retaliated with a quick upward slash. The edge of his blade grazed Kalirif's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
Kalirif roared in fury, lunging forward with renewed aggression. His sword danced through the air in a series of brutal, rapid strikes, each one aimed to maim or kill. Talthon was forced on the defensive, his movements swift and fluid as he blocked each attack, his feet moving in a precise dance of sidesteps and pivots.
A loud clash of steel on steel echoed as Talthon deflected a particularly fierce blow and he saw an opening. Swiftly, he dove under Kalirif's guard and drove his elbow into Kalirif's ribs. Kalirif gasped; the air knocked out of him, but he recovered quickly, twisting to deliver a sharp jab to Talthon's shoulder with the hilt of his sword.
Pain flared in Talthon's arm, but he pushed through, gritting his teeth as he countered with a powerful backhand slash. Kalirif dodged, but not fast enough—Talthon's blade caught his arm, cutting through fabric and flesh. Kalirif let out a strangled growl, clutching his injured arm for a moment before he regained his grip on his sword.
Around them, the watching soldiers murmured, the tension thick as they watched the exchange with wide eyes. General Ecolier's gaze was unwavering, his hands clenched as he watched his commander fight.
Kalirif, eyes blazing, threw a quick feint, pretending to aim low, then swerved up, his blade flashing toward Talthon's face. Talthon barely managed to dodge, feeling the blade's edge slice a few strands of his hair. In revenge, he lunged forward, his sword aimed directly at Kalirif's chest. Kalirif twisted to the side, deflecting the blow but stumbling in the process.
Taking advantage of the momentary stumble, Talthon drove his knee into Kalirif's stomach. Kalirif doubled over with a gasp, but before Talthon could follow up, Kalirif swung his sword wildly, forcing Talthon to step back to avoid being struck.
The two warriors paused, panting heavily, their eyes locked in a deadly stare. Blood dripped from Kalirif's arm and cheek, his expression twisted in rage and desperation. Talthon's own breathing was labored, his arm throbbing from where Kalirif had struck him earlier.
Kalirif let out a feral growl, charging forward again, his attacks now more frantic, more desperate. His strikes came from all angles, a whirlwind of metal and fury. Talthon met each strike, his focus unbroken, waiting for the right moment to counter.
Finally, Kalirif made a mistake—a misstep in his footwork. Talthon seized the opportunity, sidestepping and bringing his sword down in a powerful, controlled arc that struck Kalirif's shoulder, forcing him to his knees. The impact echoed across the battlefield, and for a moment, everything was still, the only sound being the heavy breathing of the two fighters.
But Kalirif wasn't done yet. With a final burst of energy, he lunged up, swinging his sword in a desperate attempt to land a blow. Talthon dodged, spinning around and delivering a swift, precise strike that disarmed Kalirif, sending his sword flying across the ground.
Kalirif stumbled, his chest heaving as he looked up at Talthon, blood trickling from his wounds. Around them, the soldiers held their breath, eyes wide, as they waited to see the outcome of this brutal, exhausting battle.
Talthon's eyes bore into Kalirif, unwavering and sharp. Kalirif, though battered and weakened, sneered defiantly as he staggered to his feet, fists clenched and trembling. Without a weapon, his options were limited, but his hatred for Talthon burned fiercely, refusing to let him surrender.
"You think you've won?" Kalirif rasped, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes darted to his fallen sword lying several feet away, but Talthon's foot slid into position, blocking any chance of reclaiming it.
Talthon's voice was low, barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a thunderstorm. "You brought this upon yourself, Kalirif. Your obsession with power has blinded you to everything else."
Kalirif, battered and bleeding, raised his head defiantly. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as he glared at Talthon. The flickering light from nearby torches cast long shadows across their faces, adding to the tension on the field.
Talthon held his sword steady, the tip inches from Kalirif's neck. Around them, soldiers watched in stunned silence, barely daring to breathe, waiting to see if Talthon would deliver the final blow.
Kalirif's lips twisted into a smirk. "Kill me now and claim your victory," he sneered. His voice was hoarse, but his tone dripped with challenge. "What's stopping you? Why hesitate?"
Talthon's eyes narrowed, his grip on his sword tightening. But he held back, his gaze cold and unwavering. He didn't answer, only studying Kalirif, as if searching for something beyond the defiance.
Suddenly, Kalirif lifted one hand and clapped, the sharp sound echoing across the battlefield. He chuckled, a dark, chilling laugh that made even his own soldiers shift uneasily.
"Did you really think I'd surrender?" Kalirif said, his eyes gleaming with a wicked glint.
A shadow moved from the edge of the field. A soldier cloaked in dark cloth stepped forward, his face hidden. His hand slipped behind his back, and he pulled out a small dart filled with a strange pink liquid. Without hesitation, the soldier lowered his crossbow from his waist, loading the dart into its thread, then aimed it straight at Talthon.
The world seemed to slow as the soldier fired. The dart whistled through the air, heading straight for Talthon's back. But in the last moment, Talthon sensed it. His instincts screamed a warning. With a sharp swing of his sword, he knocked the dart out of the air, sending it tumbling to the ground where it shattered, spilling the pink liquid across the dirt.
Everyone stared in shock as a thin plume of smoke rose from the spot where the liquid touched the earth. The ground sizzled, the grass turning brown and curling away. Soldiers murmured in fear, their voices barely whispers.
"What… what kind of poison is that?" one soldier muttered, eyes wide as he watched the liquid bubble and burn the ground.
Talthon's face remained calm, but his eyes held a dangerous glint as he looked back at Kalirif. He took a slow breath, steadying himself, but he knew that dart could have ended the fight in an instant. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, focusing his resolve. When he opened them again, his gaze was sharper, colder.
Kalirif's laughter filled the air once more, and he wasted no time. Reaching down, he pulled a hidden dagger from his boot and lunged at Talthon with everything he had left. Talthon dodged swiftly, stepping to the side just in time. Kalirif's blade missed by inches.
But Talthon wasn't finished. He dropped low, his sword angled down, and then with a sudden, powerful swing, he brought it up from the ground. The movement was unexpected, and Kalirif barely had time to react. The edge of Talthon's blade grazed Kalirif's hand, leaving a deep, stinging scratch across his palm.
Kalirif stumbled back, clutching his injured hand as blood seeped between his fingers. His dagger fell from his grasp, clattering onto the ground and skidding across the dirt toward Talthon.
Talthon's boot landed firmly on the dagger, capturing it just out of Kalirif's reach. He stood tall, his shadow looming over Kalirif, who was now lying on the ground, one hand pressed tightly against his bleeding palm.
Kalirif looked up, his eyes wide, his confidence starting to falter as he saw the determination in Talthon's gaze.
Talthon raised his sword, the tip hovering dangerously close to Kalirif's throat. The soldiers around them watched in tense silence, waiting for Talthon to end it.
Talthon's eyes bore into Kalirif with a mix of pity and understanding as he held his sword just inches from Kalirif's throat. The battlefield was eerily silent, the soldiers around them frozen, waiting for the final strike.
Talthon spoke, his voice steady and unwavering. "How many times will you try, Kalirif? How much longer will you push yourself to kill me?" He tilted his head, studying Kalirif with a calm yet piercing gaze. "You're new to this, aren't you? You lack the experience… the discipline."
Kalirif's eyes widened, surprise and a hint of frustration flashing across his face as he processed Talthon's words. His breathing was heavy, and for the first time, a shadow of doubt crept into his expression.
Talthon softened his grip on his sword, lowering it just slightly. "I don't want anyone to get hurt," he continued, glancing around at the assembled men. "But it seems people think violence is the only path, the only answer." With a quiet resolve, he slid his sword back into its sheath, his gaze never leaving Kalirif's.
Turning to his second-in-command, Talthon gave a slight nod. "Ecolier, we're running out of time. We need to move out."
Ecolier responded with a swift, respectful nod and signaled for their troops to regroup. Talthon mounted his horse in one smooth motion, casting a last, almost regretful look at Kalirif. The defeated leader lay on the ground, watching in stunned silence as Talthon and his soldiers prepared to leave.
As Talthon spurred his horse onward, disappearing into the distance with his men, Kalirif slowly pushed himself up from the ground. His face was etched with disbelief and admiration. One of his soldiers, seeing the look in Kalirif's eyes, approached him cautiously.
"Shouldn't we have told him?" the soldier murmured, glancing back at Talthon's departing figure. "Told him that… we're not true warriors. We're slaves forced into battle…"
Kalirif kept his gaze fixed on the horizon where Talthon and his men had vanished. He took a slow breath, a strange mix of respect and awe in his expression. "No… he already knew," Kalirif whispered, almost to himself. "He saw it—saw that we were untrained, that we had no desire to be here. Yet he chose mercy… he's a true warrior in my eyes."
Another soldier nearby nodded solemnly. "May the gods protect him… what was his name? Talthon, right?"
Kalirif's gaze lingered for a moment longer on the horizon before he finally turned back to his soldiers. "Yes, Talthon. May his path be blessed." With that, they watched as Talthon and his army disappeared over the hills, leaving Kalirif and his men standing in silent reverence.
As dawn broke, the sun's pale rays pierced through the cold morning fog, illuminating the quiet world. Alistair lay beneath a tall tree, his body curled around the remains of a small campfire that had long since gone out. The crisp, icy air nipped at his face, and the soft chirping of birds slowly nudged him awake. He stretched, letting out a groggy breath, watching it billow into a misty cloud.
"It's so cold here…" he muttered, rubbing his hands together for warmth before glancing at the horizon. The fog still clung to the trees, shrouding the surroundings in a hazy blanket. His gaze hardened with determination as he murmured, "Today is the day. Today, I escape this place. I'll make my way to the nearest land, and there… I'll grow stronger." He clenched his fists, a fierce glint in his eye. "I'll show that tyrant ruler the consequences of his actions. I'll prove to everyone that there is a place… a place where true peace exists."
Rising to his feet, Alistair walked towards a narrow stream nearby, its clear water flowing steadily. He cupped some water in his hands and splashed it onto his face, gasping as the chill jolted him fully awake. "This water's freezing… I'd better get moving," he whispered to himself.
As the morning light grew stronger, revealing more of the land, Alistair set off, his senses heightened. It wasn't long before he spotted something in the distance—small red flags waving in the breeze. Squinting, he recognized the flags of the Thassalor army, and his heart raced.
"Yes, I've arrived," he murmured to himself, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the military camp from a safe distance. "I just have to be cautious… one wrong move, and it's over." He took a steadying breath, careful not to draw attention, and pressed onward, sticking close to the bushes.
Meanwhile, across the camp, Ecolier sat atop his horse, surveying his men with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze. His expression grew stern as he took in the sight of soldiers resting idly, some half-asleep, others enjoying wine, and a few swaying to a distant melody. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Ecolier's voice boomed across the camp.
"Get up already! This isn't a time for laziness!"
The soldiers stirred, some jolting awake, others groaning in complaint.
"Who thought it was a good idea to let us sleep so late?" muttered one soldier, rubbing his eyes.
Ecolier's sharp gaze fell on him, his voice ringing with authority. "General Ecolier here! All of you, on your feet!" His command carried an unmistakable edge, and his men scrambled to obey, some even stumbling to the ground in their haste.
The sailor commander, wearing a worn cap, straightened up in surprise at Ecolier's presence. He approached Ecolier cautiously, offering a respectful bow before speaking, his breath visible in the frosty air. "Your Majesty! General, sir… I didn't expect you here. Is there something we should be preparing for?"
Ecolier leaned forward, his face hard and unforgiving. "This is no time for questions," he said coldly. "We are escorting a critical individual to the Harakora Kingdom. Our tasks there are of utmost importance. You have until noon to prepare a ship." His gaze shifted to the camp, ensuring his men were focused. "This is not a request. We leave in two hours—get everything ready."
The sailor commander gulped and nodded, realizing the gravity of the situation. "Understood, General. I'll see to it immediately." Without wasting a second, he turned on his heel and began barking orders to his crew.
As the camp prepared for departure, Alistair crouched behind a cluster of bushes at the edge of the sailor encampment, his eyes scanning the bustling activity. He saw soldiers moving with urgency, some loading supplies onto ships, while others readied their weapons. He noticed a few guards, alert and watchful, patrolling the area, their movements sharp and calculated. Alistair lowered his footsteps, moving as quietly as possible to avoid detection.
Unbeknownst to him, his presence was made even riskier by the presence of Ecolier himself, a powerful general not to be taken lightly. But Alistair, unaware of who exactly was in command here, remained vigilant, every instinct on high alert.
Ecolier continued to direct the soldiers with precision, oblivious to the lone figure hiding just beyond the camp's reach.
Alistair sat beneath the large tree, its sprawling branches casting dappled shadows across him as the sun dipped lower in the sky. His back leaned against the rough bark, every inch of him aching, but the familiar weight of exhaustion felt oddly comforting. He let his eyes drift toward the horizon, where the sky was an explosion of deep oranges and reds, streaked with wisps of purple clouds. The warmth of the setting sun washed over him, calming his racing thoughts as he took in the beauty of the quiet evening—a rare moment of peace in his chaotic life.
Not far from where he rested, Talthon stood with his gaze fixed on the same sunset, his face a mask of silent strength. Beside him was Ecolier, the imposing general who rarely allowed himself a moment's pause, his eyes alert and watchful even as he, too, turned to look at the horizon. The low murmur of voices filled the air as soldiers moved around them, preparing supplies and checking the gear that would be loaded onto the ship.
Just then, a sailor commander approached, his worn boots crunching on the gravel as he made his way over to the two leaders. Bowing with a deep respect, he addressed them, "Your Majesty, your ship is ready," his voice steady but deferential, a clear respect for the two men before him.
Talthon turned slightly to acknowledge him, his expression unreadable. He nodded but said nothing, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. Ecolier, however, spoke with a hint of command in his voice, though not unkindly. "Thank you, Commander. Your work is valued." The sailor offered a quick smile, grateful for the praise, and bowed before retreating to the docks.
In the stillness, Alistair crouched low in the bushes, taking care not to make a sound as he watched the scene unfold. The sight of the ocean stirred something inside him; the smell of salt and the soft roar of waves against the shore reminded him of a freedom he'd only ever dreamed of. He glanced around, his eyes picking up the flicker of movement as soldiers patrolled back and forth along the camp's edge. He needed to be careful—this was no ordinary group, and he knew that a single misstep could mean his capture, or worse.
Through a break in the trees, he spotted three figures standing together, their forms silhouetted by the fading light. At first, it was Ecolier who drew his attention; the general's rigid stance and sharp gaze unmistakable even from a distance.
A shiver ran down Alistair's spine as memories of their last brutal encounter flooded back to him. He'd barely escaped with his life that time. He tightened his grip on the sword strapped to his side, his breath held as he peered through the leaves.
But then, something else caught his eye. The man standing beside Ecolier… something about him seemed familiar, hauntingly so. He squinted, adjusting his position slightly to get a clearer view. The man turned, glancing at the sea, and in that fleeting moment, Alistair's world seemed to tilt on its axis.
"No… it can't be," he whispered, his voice so low it was almost swallowed by the sounds of the evening. His heart thundered painfully in his chest as recognition dawned.
"That's… that's my father…" His throat tightened, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. It was impossible; he'd convinced himself that his father was gone, lost forever to the brutal tides of war. And yet, here he was—alive and mere yards away.
The sight of Talthon, alive and standing tall, overwhelmed him, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "Father…" he breathed, his voice trembling with disbelief, his hands shaking as he took a step closer. The memories of his father's strength, his warmth, and the way he'd always spoken to Alistair with such care all rushed back in a single, blinding instant. For so long, Alistair had held onto a faint hope, but seeing his father now, in the flesh, made his heart ache with gratitude and disbelief.
Unable to contain himself any longer, he stumbled forward, his movements catching the attention of a nearby guard. The soldier's eyes widened, and he immediately drew his sword, shouting, "Halt! You there—stop at once!"
The shout jolted Alistair, but he was too consumed by the sight of his father to care about the danger around him. He stumbled forward, his voice breaking as he cried out, "Father! Fatherrrr!" He ran, his legs protesting with each painful step, but his eyes were locked on Talthon, oblivious to everything else.
The commotion drew Ecolier's attention, and he whirled around, his gaze zeroing in on the young man running toward them. Recognition sparked in Ecolier's eyes, and a grimace of annoyance twisted his features. "That boy…" he muttered, his voice thick with contempt. "This brat again? How is he still alive?"
As Alistair drew closer, Talthon's head turned, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of the young man approaching him. His steely gaze softened, realization dawning slowly. "Alistair…" he whispered, his voice low, barely audible amidst the chaos. He seemed frozen in place, disbelief and wonder mingling in his expression as he watched his son come to him, the son he'd thought he'd lost forever.
Finally, Alistair reached his father, collapsing into his arms, overcome with emotion. Talthon knelt to meet him, and Alistair clung to him tightly, his tears soaking into his father's worn armor as he sobbed. "Father… I love you so much. I thought… I thought I'd lost you," he choked out, his voice breaking. "I can't believe you're here."
Talthon held him firmly, his rough, calloused hand resting gently on Alistair's back. Though he didn't shed tears, a small, tender smile played at the corners of his mouth. It had been years since he'd felt anything like this—a sense of peace, a glimpse of happiness in a world marred by violence. Holding his son, he felt a warmth he thought he'd lost.
"Alistair… my son," he murmured, his voice as steady as ever. His eyes softened as he looked at Alistair, taking in the sight of his child now grown, weary but resilient. "You've come so far…"
Nearby, Ecolier's gaze snapped toward the boy, his eyes narrowing in recognition. "This brat… I remember him now. He's the one who tried to flee the village. How is he still alive? SO he is the son of the talthon..i get it,," he growled, his teeth gritted in irritation.
Alistair pulled back just enough to look into his father's face, his own face streaked with tears. "Don't leave me again, Father… please. Where's Mother? And… why are you here, dressed like this?" He glanced at Talthon's armor, the numerous dents and scratches speaking of battles hard-fought. The sight of it only deepened his worry.
Talthon sighed, resting a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Your mother is safe, back in the village," he assured him gently. "She's waiting for my return." His gaze shifted, the hint of a shadow crossing his face. "I'm here on a mission, Alistair. A dangerous one. That's why I wanted you far from all of this."
Alistair's tears slowed, though his eyes remained filled with concern. "A mission… and you're going to fight again, aren't you?" His eyes flickered to the bandage wrapped around his father's forearm. "You're hurt already…" His voice held a tender note, the worry unmistakable. "Please, don't go."
Talthon's grip on his son's shoulder tightened briefly, and he spoke softly, "It's nothing, Alistair. Just a scratch. But you… you must leave this place. It isn't safe."
Alistair shook his head defiantly, a newfound strength igniting within him. "No, Father. I'm staying with you, no matter what," he said, his voice firm. The idea of leaving his father again, of watching him disappear into battle alone, was unbearable.
A look of pride flickered in Talthon's eyes as he took in his son's determination. But his expression softened with worry as he noticed the scars and bruises that marred Alistair's skin, remnants of the hardships he'd endured. "You've been through so much," he murmured, reaching out to touch a particularly dark bruise on Alistair's arm. "My child… you've suffered."
Talthon's brow furrowed slightly. "You have a sword…" he noted quietly, a mix of surprise and sadness in his voice. "Where did you find it?"
Alistair hesitated, glancing down at the sword on his belt. "Ah, this… I found it in the forest, under a tree. It looked worn, but I felt a pull toward it, like it was waiting for me," he explained, his voice soft as he looked up at his father.
Talthon's eyes narrowed, and without a word, he reached out, unfastening the weapon from Alistair's side. He examined it closely, his fingers tracing the hilt and the faint markings etched along the blade's length. His gaze grew distant as he turned the sword in his hands. "This… is…" He paused, his voice barely above a whisper as he recognized the familiar weapon. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed lost in memory before he looked back at Alistair, a mix of worry and determination in his eyes.
"Alistair," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Please, you need to leave this place. It's not safe here… not for you."
But Alistair shook his head firmly. "No, Father. I can't just walk away.he declared, his gaze unwavering..."
Talthon sighed deeply, looking over his son with a mixture of pride and concern. He knew the dangers awaiting them, and having Alistair close only heightened the stakes. With a glance toward Ecolier, Talthon nodded, a silent plea in his eyes.
Ecolier scowled, his cold gaze darting between father and son. "Oh, yes, keep him if you must," he sneered, voice dripping with contempt. "But don't forget," he added, casting a piercing look at Talthon, "we're headed into battle. This boy doesn't even know how to wield a sword properly. At least he knows how to hold it…" He trailed off, his voice laced with bitterness.
As Ecolier's words hung in the air, a soldier approached, his sword raised and poised, ready to remove Alistair from the scene if need be. Ecolier held up a hand, stopping the soldier with a curt command. "Leave him," he said, his voice tense, the corners of his mouth twitching as if it physically pained him to agree to this arrangement. "Get back to your duties."
The soldier nodded, retreating with a bow, leaving Ecolier, Talthon, and Alistair alone for a moment. Talthon looked at Alistair, a glimmer of pride shining through the worry in his eyes. "Stay close to me, Alistair. And whatever happens… be ready."
Alistair nodded, a firm resolve settling over him. The three moved toward the docks, where the ship awaited, the evening's last light casting an ominous glow over the vessel. The waves lapped softly against the hull, a deceptively calm lullaby before the storm they were walking into.
As they boarded the ship, Ecolier watched Alistair carefully, a hint of something calculating flickering in his gaze. He muttered under his breath, "Let's see if you can handle what's to come, boy."
Talthon glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable as he stared at the receding shoreline. The weight of his past, the battles ahead, and the uncertainty of his son's safety weighed heavily on him. ' I brought him into this world to protect him, not to lead him into darkness, he thought, a quiet anguish threading through his heart. '
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