Ships towered above the waves like ghosts, dark silhouettes that reached to form long menacing shadows across the battlefield. The salty bloodied air was filled with cries from the wounded soldiers, suppressed by the deadly quiet. All eyes turned toward the largest of the ships, its mast borne with a fearsome black spire emblem of 'The Blackspire Alliance' , a jagged black spire splitting the horizon in two with crimson streaks signifying blood.
These whispers broke through the crowd like brush fire, breaking the silence.
"It's them. The Blackspire Alliance."
That's their leader! He's here!" somebody shrieked, panic seeping into her voice.
Even the bravest of fighters gave way, their hands shaking as they raised their arms. Talthon stood there, his gasping breathing full of dust that hurt his eyes, his sword clutched hard within his hand, but cracks lined its steel. His face normally unmoving betrayed in a flicker of shock before it hardened into anger.
The great ship had stopped, its hull groaning at the waves' pressure. Alliance guards in black and crimson armor flooded the deck, their presence crushing, oppressive, as if just before a storm was to break. Their leader rose from his throne-a breathtaking contraction filled with whites-only places where intricate gold wove its patterns-and darkness clawed at him around. His mask, burnished and pristine, hid his face, making him an enigma of authority and terror.
He lifted one hand gloved, his voice bellowing across the war-torn field, cold and collected:
"Point at him...Surround him." Commanded the Leader.
His guards followed in stiff, automated compliance, drawing their kit and leaping from the ship to the ground. Alliances were shooting arrows nocked and aimed at Talthon, their tips glinting in the dying light of the evening.
Talthon didn't flinch despite being surrounded by enemies. He gripped his sword the tighter and muttered through gritted teeth, "So. they've come to finish it."
The leader of the alliance came down the ship's ramp with unhurried grace, each step echoing in the stillness. Soldiers from either side—Corovus's and Talthon's—knelt in unison, their heads bowed in reverence and fear. Even Ecolier, with his great pride and cruelty, was upon his knees upon the earth, his voice trembling as he spoke his orders to his own men.
Kneel! Defile not the league!
However, Talthon did not move back and looked at the man robed in white. Liquid orange hues painted this sunset across the room in surreal colors as if nature itself was a witness to the storm that brewed within.
Far in the distance, Alistair watched with horror, his heart thumping like war drums. He clasped his sword hilt hard in his fingers and clenched himself hard into pure rage and inability.
"I can't just stand here," he whispered to himself, teeth gritted. His voice grew louder, defiant. "I'll kill them. I'll kill that masked coward!"
He sprang out of the boat without hesitation, full of rage.
Alistair, no! Talthon bellowed, his voice cracking with desperation.
Before Alistair had a chance to hit the ground, Ecolier barked out a command from his knelt position. "Catch him! Don't let him interfere!"
An assortment of guardsen came running to grab Alistair, their pace swift and synchronized. Alistair dodged the first; his blade swooshed air with a good whoosh. The next guard lunged at him, but he ducked, swinging his leg as wide as it would go, knocking the soldier completely off his center.
Talthon watched in frustration, his voice booming again. "Alistair, stop! You're not ready for this!"
But Alistair was relentless, driven by a mixture of fear, anger, and protectiveness. He swung his sword wildly, shouting, "Let me go! I'll kill him!"
A guard finally caught hold of Alistair's arm and twisted it behind his back. Another threw dust into his eyes forcing him to falter. They pinned him to the ground though he thrashed and growled like a cornered animal.
The leader of the alliance paused his descent, looking at Alistair's defiance. He tilted his head slightly as if intrigued by the move but said nothing. His mere presence suffocated, and his silence was more unnerving than any words could have been.
Talthon's eyes went ablaze with anger, but he didn't budge. He knew that just one wrong step would mean death for everyone. "You brought this on us," he mumbling under his breath, his voice hardly audible over the din.
He had paused in mid-descent, looking at Alistair as if to dare him. Cutting himself short, he had bent his head slightly when words, sharp as a knife cutting through heavy silence, cut him short.
Talthon, he said, his voice almost conversational; "speak, tell me of it...Where is it?"
Talthon clamped his jaws tight, creasing his seamed face. He didn't utter a word - his silence a challenge.
The leader laughed low, as if he were to be amused at Talthon's defiance. "I'll ask you one last time," he said in a voice dripping with chilling authority. "Tell me where it is. And I will spare you. Just tell me where. I want it. Give me the location. Give it to us, and you might just live to see another sunrise.".
Finally, Talthon spoke, his voice a growl of defiance. "No," he spat, his eyes ablaze with rage. "It belongs to me, to the guardians of this world. A tyrant like you, who kills and expands without mercy, is not even worthy enough to step foot near it.".
The leader laughed a small, mocking laugh. "Fool," he said, and his amusement repressed itself immediately beneath a cold decision. "Then you'll die.".
"Don't you dare touch him!" Alistair shouted, thrashing about as the guards subdued him. His voice cracked in half, showing fear and fury blended together.
The leader's head jerked sharply in Alistair's direction and the fading sun caught his golden mask. "He is your son, is he not?" he asked Talthon, with a voice as dispassionate as carved stone.
Talthon hesitated for the flash of an instant before he said, "Yes, he is.".
"Interesting," the leader said, almost as if to himself. Then his voice hardened, cutting through the air like a blade. "Then I will kill him first."
Talthon's eyes grew wide as he regained his temper. "No! You leave my son out of this!" he roared, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "If so much as a finger so much as touches him, then I swear you will see me tear you apart piece by piece!
One of the soldiers from the alliance stood forward and spoke with a sharp, commanding voice: "You dare stand before the commander of the Blackspire Alliance without showing respect? Understand your place!!
Talthon snarled but didn't budge an inch. His gaze was firmly fixed on the leader, whose calm only seemed to inflate his anger. The leader finally drew his sword, a blade of gleaming black steel with crimson runes glowing faintly along its edge. He started walking towards Alistair in slow, deliberate steps.
"No!" Talthon roared, his voice raw with desperation. He tried to charge forward, but with a wave of the leader's hand, archers stationed on the ship loosed their arrows in unison.
Talthon's heart pounded as the arrows rained down. He dodged some with inhuman speed, but the volley was relentless. Several arrows pierced his armor, embedding themselves into his flesh. Blood began to seep from the wounds, staining the battlefield beneath him.
"Father!" Alistair screamed, his voice breaking as he struggled even harder against his captors. "No! Don't hurt him!"
The leader paused, watching Talthon struggle to remain standing despite the arrows jutting from his body. He tilted his head, almost as if impressed.
Ecolier, kneeling nearby, smirked and smiled.
Talthon's knees buckled, but he remained upright, his hand still gripping his sword. "I can't fall here... Not now. Alistair needs me."
Suddenly, another volley of arrows was fired—these ones tipped with a strange pinkish liquid. Talthon's eyes widened as one struck his arm. He felt an immediate numbness spreading through his body.
"A tranquilizer..." Talthon muttered under his breath, his voice weak. "Cowards..."
Alistair's cries grew more frantic. "You're killing him! Stop it! STOP!"
The leader watched in silence, his sword resting lazily at his side. Finally, he raised a hand. "Enough," he commanded.
The soldiers holding Alistair released him at their leader's signal. The boy stumbled forward, running to his father with tears streaming down his face.
Alistair fell to his knees, gripping his father's arm as if to anchor him. "Father, no... Please, stay with me! Don't leave me!" His voice cracked, heavy with desperation, tears streaking his dirt-stained face. The blood pooling beneath Talthon seemed to spread wider, a silent reminder that time was slipping away.
Talthon raised a trembling hand, resting it on Alistair's head. His touch, though weak, carried the weight of a father's love. "Alistair... son..." he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, "You don't need to worry about me anymore. From now on... you must walk your path alone."
"No! No, Father! Please, don't go!" Alistair's cries grew louder, his grip tightening on Talthon's arm. His knuckles turned white as he shook his head in denial, his tears falling freely onto the cold, blood-soaked ground.
"Son..." Talthon's hand wavered as he raised it to the air. His eyes, glassy and unfocused, sought Alistair's. "I can see you... right in front of me."
Alistair, his voice breaking, sobbed, "Yes... yes, Father! I'm here! I'm right here, sitting in front of you!"
Talthon's lips curled into the faintest of smiles. "You're here..." he murmured, as though reassuring himself. "I always knew. You know, Alistair... every boy born into this world... comes with the burden of responsibility. The responsibility... of a true man. Respect those who respect you. Protect your dreams... at any cost." His eyes glistened, tears finally breaking through his stoic demeanor, though his tone remained unwavering.
The setting sun cast a golden hue across the battlefield, its light filtering through the trees. The mysterious wanderer stood at a distance, cloaked in shadows beneath a lone tree, watching silently. His cloak billowed in the evening breeze, his face hidden, the scene before him reflected in the cold glint of his sword hilt.
"Father... I promise, I'll do whatever you want," Alistair choked out, his voice thick with sorrow. "But please... don't leave us. Mother is waiting... I can't do this without you!"
Talthon's voice faltered, his breath coming in short gasps. "Son... I believe in you. Go beyond... Always look straight ahead... and keep moving forward. You have now... all the responsibilities of a man. A warrior." His body shuddered as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, steam rising faintly in the chill air. "I will remember you... in heaven... or in hell. We've shared... so many memories. I always knew... this day would come." He coughed violently, blood spilling down his chin. "But I've had... a great time with you." he vomit some blood. "Plan to live..and move where you are heading....."
His gaze shifted upward, as though seeing something unseen. A soft smile graced his face. "Farewell... Filius." With a final surge of strength, Talthon raised his sword, planting it firmly in the ground. Both hands gripped the hilt as his head bowed low, his body trembling before becoming eerily still. Steam curled from the blood at his knees, a faint hiss breaking the silence.
"No! Father! No!" Alistair screamed, his voice echoing across the field. His tears fell like rain, his heart breaking with every sob. He grabbed his father's lifeless form, shaking him as if to bring him back. "You can't leave us! You were my hero... my childhood hero!" His cries dissolved into anger, his grief boiling over. He turned toward the leader of the attackers, his eyes blazing with fury. "You bastard! You think you've won?! You'll pay for this... I swear it."
The leader of the enemy forces, calm and composed, turned to walk back to his ship. "Let's see how you'll kill me," he called over his shoulder. "Accepted."
Alistair's rage consumed him as he lunged forward, sword in hand. "You just watch!" he screamed. Alliance guards rushed to restrain him, grabbing his arms before he could advance.
"Your Highness!" Corovus Kein's voice cut through the chaos as he approached the leader. "What shall we do with this boy? The son of Talthon?"
The leader paused, his voice dismissive. "I don't care. Do what you want with him."
Corovus smirked. "I'll take him as a slave. He'll work for me, doing whatever I command."
"Fine," the leader replied coldly. "My purpose here is complete. Leave the dead where they are. Let them rot."
Alistair struggled against the soldiers restraining him, his screams of defiance growing hoarse. He was forced to his knees, his sword ripped from his grasp. As the soldiers dragged him away, his gaze locked on a figure in the distance—the wanderer.
The wanderer stood unmoving, his cloak whipping in the wind. Alistair's heart pounded as their eyes met, a silent connection passing between them. But before Alistair could act, the figure turned, walking away toward the horizon. The wind carried his cloak behind him, the setting sun casting long shadows over the battlefield.
The evening light dimmed as the soldiers hauled Alistair toward the enemy camp. The waves of the distant sea crashed faintly against the shore, a haunting melody accompanying the end of one life and the beginning of another.