Before arriving to Ravenwood
Three weeks. It had been three long, grueling weeks since I began this journey with Sir Henry. With each mile we put between ourselves and the capital of Darkwood, the landscape grew bleaker, as though the land itself was wilting under an unseen weight. The villages we passed lay hushed and hollow, the people moving like they were drifting in and out of shadows, their faces drawn and eyes hollow. The further we went, the more the empire's decay crept into every corner of the world around us.
I cast a glance at Sir Henry. To most, he was just the empire's famed knight—a figure of discipline and skill. But I'd seen more. Beneath the layers of armor, beneath that polished stoicism, was a man carrying a burden he rarely let anyone glimpse. His loyalty was unwavering, his every movement grounded in a promise he had made to protect me. And yet, even with that unbreakable resolve, I could sense his reservations, the turmoil he kept hidden. Protecting me, the prince born under an omen, a prince whispered about with a mixture of hope and dread… it was a duty he bore with grim determination.
A sudden neigh shattered the silence, the sound sharp, slicing through the dusk. I watched Henry tense, his hand gripping his sword, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the surrounding shadows. "Reveal yourself," he commanded, his voice like a blade of its own, steely and unyielding.
I couldn't help a dry chuckle, murmuring, "Who's he even talking to?" But my humor quickly faded. Dark shapes moved among the trees, emerging like wraiths from the night, their forms cloaked in shadow, their approach silent and swift. This was no common ambush.
"Well, well," came a voice that was low, almost amused. "Look who we have here—Sir Henry Rosewell, protector of the 'doomed' prince." The figure stepped closer, his face hidden under a dark hood. "Isn't it ironic?"
Henry's expression turned as cold as steel, his jaw clenched in fury. His voice cut through the night with a chilling intensity. "Watch your words, wretch. This is Prince Kaito—the one destined to lead Darkwood's people to prosperity and bring doom to its enemies."
The assassin let out a bitter laugh, his lips twisting into a sneer. "The prince, you say?" His voice was drenched in disdain. "That prosperity you speak of—it will end in flames. Kill the knight. Capture the prince if you can. If not—leave them both here to rot."
And with that, the night erupted into chaos.
Sir Henry was a storm incarnate, a figure of might and precision. His armor, emblazoned with the Darkwood raven, seemed to pulse with a faint glow, as though the very soul of the empire had come alive within him. His sword—ancient, enchanted, glowing with a blue aura—sliced through the darkness, each swing leaving behind a ghostly afterimage, a testament to battles fought long before my time.
The assassins moved like shadows, silent yet deadly, their leader's red eyes blazing beneath his hood. Each movement was precise, every strike aimed with lethal intent, his twin daggers glistening with a venomous haze. These were no ordinary enemies; they were the Forsworn, exiled and bound by blood oath to a traitor who still sought to tear down the empire from within.
But Sir Henry was relentless. His sword swung in deadly arcs, his strikes powerful enough to send cracks splintering through the ground. In one swift motion, he unleashed a shockwave that forced half of the assassins back. Yet their leader merely staggered, his lips twisting into a snarl as he muttered an incantation, dark vines erupting from the ground and snaking toward Henry's feet, binding him in place.
For a heartbeat, I thought the knight was trapped. But Henry roared, his blade slicing through the cursed vines with a flash of blue light, dissolving them to ash. The assassin leader vanished into shadow, only to reappear behind him, a dagger poised to strike. Henry spun, parrying the blow, and their eyes locked—Henry's gaze burning with fury, the assassin's filled with malice and the thrill of a kill long awaited.
Their clash was brutal, a deadly dance of steel and shadows. Sir Henry summoned all his strength, driving his sword into the earth and releasing a blinding burst of energy. A barrier of light encircled the assassin, trapping him in its brilliance. The assassin stumbled, his defenses disintegrating under the fierce glow, his cursed blades trembling, their dark aura fading to nothing.
Henry stepped forward, his sword gleaming with a terrible resolve, his voice low and dangerous. "You have no idea what this boy will become," he growled, his words a promise as fierce as the flame in his eyes. "This is the prince who will fulfill Darkwood's destiny."
And with one final, decisive blow, Henry's sword struck true, and the assassin's form collapsed, dissolving into shadow, leaving only silence in the night.