Rylan's return to his barracks was greeted by silence. The men, some awake and sharpening weapons, others asleep in uneasy slumber, barely noticed his entrance. He couldn't shake the chill from his bones, despite the warmth of the torchlit halls. Images from the night replayed in his mind: the Drakkenfell scouts, the Va'Korin wolf, and the fleeting glimpse of Lady Aria's face as she'd listened, eyes filled with something between determination and worry. He felt as if he had crossed an unseen threshold and that nothing would be the same.
He barely managed to find his bed before sleep claimed him. But rest was short, and morning came with a jarring shout.
"Rylan! Up and ready yourself!"
Captain Aldric's booming voice broke through the haze of sleep. Rylan shot up, his body stiff and aching. He fumbled for his boots, heart pounding, and stumbled to his feet, following Aldric into the dawn-lit courtyard. Dozens of soldiers were gathering there, some murmuring anxiously, others adjusting armor or checking weapons. It was clear this wasn't a routine drill.
Aldric turned to him, his face serious. "Lady Aria's orders. You're to join the war council meeting."
Rylan's breath caught. "Me? In the council?"
"Yes," Aldric said, though his expression softened slightly. "You've proven yourself worthy of more than border patrols, Rylan. And your report last night has sparked a chain of decisions. Now, keep up."
Together, they made their way to the Great Hall, where the war council convened. Inside, a long table was set with maps, scrolls, and tokens representing the various factions of the Shattered Realms. Seated around it were nobles, commanders, and knights clad in Eryndor's royal blue, their faces hardened with years of war and burdened with the weight of what lay ahead.
Lady Aria stood at the head of the table, her face as resolute as the banners hanging on the stone walls behind her. As Rylan entered, her gaze flicked to him, a nod of acknowledgment giving him silent permission to approach.
"Captain Aldric," she began, her voice calm but commanding, "and Rylan of Tressam. Thank you for joining us. The report Rylan brought back last night confirmed our suspicions. Drakkenfell is planning to strike, and soon. Their scouts are moving through our border territories as we speak, and our time to prepare is quickly slipping."
One of the older commanders, Lord Eamon, let out a huff, his scarred face twisting with frustration. "The Iron Empire has bided their time since last winter. And now, they see our alliance with the Va'Korin clans as a threat. They won't risk Eryndor gaining power in the north."
Lady Aria's gaze was steady. "Precisely. Drakkenfell wants Eryndor fractured, and they'll use any method to ensure we remain divided. But we're not without allies. The Va'Korin clans have offered aid, and the shamans have sent their spirit-beasts into the borderlands to protect our scouts." She turned her attention to Rylan, her gaze calculating. "Rylan has witnessed this firsthand."
A murmur rippled through the council. Aldric stepped forward. "I suggest Rylan be placed on a scouting mission to secure our northern borders and gather intelligence. If he's already made contact with Va'Korin's spirit-beasts, they may recognize him as a familiar presence."
Lady Aria nodded thoughtfully. "Agreed. Rylan, this mission will take you far beyond the safety of our territories. We'll need you to travel north, into the wildlands. You will be meeting with a Va'Korin shaman, one of their most trusted, to secure their alliance formally and establish an agreement on shared scouting territories. Their warriors know the northern lands better than any Eryndorian scout."
Rylan's throat went dry. The wildlands of Va'Korin were infamous for their dangers—twisting forests, shifting rivers, and creatures that defied human understanding. Yet despite the fear that coiled in his stomach, he felt a strange thrill. This was a chance to not only prove himself but to work directly with one of Eryndor's most elusive allies.
He straightened, squaring his shoulders. "I accept the mission, Lady Aria. I won't fail you."
A faint smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I believe you won't, Rylan." She gestured to Aldric. "Prepare him with what supplies he'll need. And Rylan—be mindful. The shamans of Va'Korin respect strength and wisdom, but they trust no one easily."
With a nod of dismissal, she turned back to the council, her voice fading as Aldric led Rylan out of the hall.
Outside, the courtyard was bustling with soldiers preparing supplies for the journey north. Aldric led Rylan to the armory, where a set of lightweight yet sturdy gear had been laid out for him. The captain examined him for a moment before picking up a sturdy iron sword and a cloak lined with fur, handing them over.
"You'll need both," Aldric said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The Va'Korin wildlands are cold and unforgiving. That cloak should protect you from the worst of the frost. And the sword… well, that's for any other dangers you may face. The clans don't protect outsiders, not even allies."
Rylan took the sword, feeling its weight in his hand. It wasn't fancy, but it was well-balanced, its edge sharp. He secured it to his belt, then draped the cloak over his shoulders, feeling a surge of anticipation. With this gear, he felt truly like a scout of Eryndor—no longer just a commoner, but someone with a duty to his kingdom.
He turned to Aldric. "Any advice, Captain? About dealing with the Va'Korin?"
Aldric's face softened, and he let out a weary sigh. "The clans value honor above all else. Show them respect, and they'll do the same. But they're proud, and they see themselves as protectors of the land. Don't try to impose our ways on them. Earn their trust, Rylan, and you may find allies worth a thousand swords."
Rylan nodded, feeling the gravity of the captain's words. He knew that the Va'Korin were unlike any ally he had encountered. They were fierce, proud, and possessed of a loyalty to their land that was almost sacred.
"Thank you, Captain," he said, his voice steady. "I won't forget it."
By noon, Rylan was on horseback, leaving the gates of Sunhold behind him. The road north was rough, winding through thick forests that gradually grew darker and denser as he approached the border of Va'Korin. The silence of the wildlands was a stark contrast to the bustle of Sunhold, each sound amplified by the vast, lonely expanse around him. Birds called from above, and occasionally, he caught glimpses of animals darting through the trees. His senses were on high alert, every sound and movement drawing his attention.
As night began to fall, Rylan made camp near a stream, setting up a small fire and spreading out his fur-lined cloak for warmth. The darkness was thick, pressing close, and a strange tension hung in the air, as if the land itself was watching. He was about to close his eyes when a faint sound reached his ears—a low, rhythmic chant, carried by the wind.
His hand flew to his sword, but he stilled himself, listening closely. The sound grew closer, rising and falling in haunting, lilting tones. A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and cloaked, eyes gleaming faintly in the firelight. The newcomer bore a staff carved with intricate symbols, feathers and small bones hanging from its top.
The figure stopped a few paces away, regarding him with an inscrutable expression. "You are far from your lands, Eryndorian."
Rylan rose slowly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though he sensed it would do him little good if this figure meant him harm. "I am here as an envoy of Eryndor, to meet with the shamans of Va'Korin."
The figure inclined their head, a faint smile crossing their face. "The Va'Korin do not welcome outsiders lightly. But your presence was foretold."
Rylan's brow furrowed. "Foretold?"
"Yes," the figure replied, the strange, melodic tone of their voice sending a chill down his spine. "The spirits spoke of one who would cross the boundary in search of truth. If you seek to stand among us, you must prove yourself."
He straightened, steeling himself. "What do you ask of me?"
The shaman extended a hand, gesturing to the dark woods. "The Beast God has watched your journey. His favor is not easily earned. If you wish to walk among us, you must face the wildlands alone, without your blade or cloak. Only then will you be known to the clans."
Rylan swallowed, his pulse quickening. Stripped of his defenses, in unfamiliar, hostile land… it was a test he hadn't expected. But as he looked into the shaman's gaze, he saw no malice, only expectation. This was their way—a test of trust and courage.
He nodded, unfastening his sword and cloak, laying them by the fire. "I accept your terms."
The shaman's gaze softened, a hint of approval in their eyes. "Then the wildlands will judge you. Survive the night, and you may yet call the Va'Korin allies."
Rylan nodded, heart pounding, and stepped into the shadowed woods, feeling the weight of the land settle around him as he faced the wilds alone, hoping that somewhere, the goddess and the spirits of Va'Korin watched over him.