The flickering torchlight cast long, grotesque shadows on the rough-hewn walls of the barracks. Luke sat on his bunk, a simple wooden frame covered with a thin straw mattress, the echoes of Alistair's briefing still ringing in his ears. Barbarian activity, rumors of darkness... and then there was his father. Here, on the border, finally within reach.
A knock on the door startled him out of his reverie. A voice, gruff yet familiar, bellowed from outside. "Knight Rayland? It's me, Captain Rayland."
Luke scrambled to his feet, a mixture of nervousness and excitement bubbling in his stomach. "Father!" he shouted back, throwing the door open.
Standing on the other side, bathed in the flickering torchlight, was a man who seemed hewn from the very stone of the fort. His face, weathered by harsh winters and countless battles, was etched with a network of lines. A thick beard, streaked with grey, framed his determined jaw. Yet, in the bright blue eyes that met Luke's, he saw a reflection of himself – a younger, less hardened version.
"Luke," his father boomed, a hint of surprise softening his features. "You've grown." He pulled Luke into a tight embrace, the calloused hand on his back a tangible reminder of the years spent apart.
Luke felt a lump form in his throat. "It's good to see you too, Father." He stepped back, taking his father in. Despite the years, his father exuded an aura of strength and unwavering resolve. "Is it true? Are things really that bad at the border?"
His father sighed, a deep rumble that seemed to emanate from his very core. "Let's say the barbarians are restless, testing our defenses. And these rumors of darkness—they're more than just whispers now. Scouting patrols have reported strange occurrences – unnatural shadows flitting across the northern wastes, whispers on the wind in a language none of us understand."
Luke frowned, the memory of Zubin's words resurfacing. "Darkness? Is there… Is there a connection to what Zubin mentioned?"
His father's brow furrowed. "Zubin? You mean the prince who infiltrated the order as a recruit?"
Luke's surprise must have shown on his face, because his father chuckled, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the cramped room. "Don't worry, lad. Master Aedan informed me of the situation. A clever ploy, that one. But tell me, What did this prince say about darkness?"
Luke recounted his meeting with Zubin the night before he left, the artifact, the grimoire, and Zubin's cryptic words about a looming darkness. As he spoke, his father paced the room, a deep frown creasing his brow.
"Forbidden knowledge," his father muttered, running a hand through his beard. "Sounds like trouble. But Zubin… He wouldn't be involved in something that could threaten the kingdom, would he?"
Luke shook his head, unsure. "I don't know, Father. He seemed conflicted. Determined to fight this darkness, yet apprehensive about the path it required him to take."
His father fell silent for a long moment, then turned back to face Luke, his gaze intense. "Listen, Luke. This border is no place for a fairytale. It's harsh and unforgiving, and the dangers here are real. But there's honor in defending your home, in standing shoulder-to-shoulder with your brothers-in-arms. I'm proud you're here, son. Just remember, stay alert, trust your instincts, and don't be afraid to ask questions."
He clapped a hand on Luke's shoulder, his calloused fingers digging in. "We'll face this darkness together, son. But for now, get some rest. Tomorrow, your training begins."
A warmth spread through Luke despite the chill of the barracks. He had much to learn and much to understand about the darkness and Zubin's intentions. But one thing was certain: he was where he belonged, standing beside his father, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them beyond the icy walls of Fort Boreas.