Aelor's journey north had been long and uncertain, the forest stretching endlessly before him, and the weight of the chains still heavy on his wrists. But as the day wore on, the trees began to thin, and the landscape started to change. The air felt fresher, and the scent of earth and pine was replaced by the faint hint of smoke. It wasn't long before he stumbled upon the small village that Rylan had mentioned.
The village was quiet, tucked away in a secluded part of the land. A few stone cottages sat along the main path, and the occasional figure passed by, too absorbed in their own business to pay much attention to the traveler in a hooded cloak.
Aelor tried to ignore the gnawing fear in his chest and asked a few villagers about the blacksmith named Gordon. Most of them were indifferent or unsure, but one older woman pointed him toward the far side of the village, where a modest stone building stood, smoke billowing from the chimney and the sound of metal clanging from within.
Aelor hesitated for a moment before walking toward the blacksmith's shop, the sound of the forge growing louder with each step. As he neared, the acrid scent of hot iron filled the air, mingling with the smoke, making him feel both at home and uneasy all at once.
He paused at the door, his heart racing, his breath catching in his throat. His mind still grappled with the events of the past day—Rylan's words, his actions, and the weight of everything that had happened. The thought of encountering someone new made him anxious. The last thing he wanted was to explain himself to a stranger, especially now, with his future uncertain.
Aelor reached up and pulled the hood further over his head, concealing his face as much as possible, and then knocked softly on the door. He waited, every second stretching out as if the very act of knocking might alert the world to his presence.
The door swung open abruptly, and Aelor stepped back slightly, his heart skipping a beat. The man who stood before him was tall and broad-shouldered, his skin tanned from years of working at the forge. His hair was a silvery-gray, streaked with age, and a thick mustache hung down from his upper lip. The man's eyes were sharp, and though he appeared somewhat gruff, there was something kind about his presence.
He looked down at Aelor, who was standing on the threshold, the hood of his cloak hiding most of his features.
"Aye?" The man's voice was rough, but not unkind. He raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for an explanation.
Aelor swallowed hard, his throat dry as he stammered out the only words he could manage. "R-Rylan… sent me."
The blacksmith's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Rylan's name, but something flickered in his gaze—recognition, or perhaps understanding. He stepped back from the door, opening it wider, and nodded toward the shop behind him.
"Come in," Gordon said gruffly, his tone leaving little room for argument. "No need to stand out there. You look like you've traveled a long way."
Aelor didn't hesitate, his body moving almost automatically as he stepped inside. The heat from the forge hit him immediately, and the air was thick with the scent of molten metal and the rhythmic sound of hammer striking an anvil. The shop was modest but well-kept, with tools hanging on the walls and weapons of various shapes scattered about.
Gordon closed the door behind him and gestured toward a nearby table. "Rylan... He's been sending a few people my way lately. You must be the one he mentioned."
Aelor glanced up, confused. "He mentioned me?"
The blacksmith nodded, his face softening slightly. "Aye. Rylan's a good lad, though he's been… a bit distant lately. But I know what he meant by sending someone to me. You look like someone who needs shelter, and if you've come this far, I'm guessing you're in need of more than just a place to rest."
Aelor nodded hesitantly, but he couldn't find the words. What had Rylan told this man? Did Gordon know what was happening? Did he understand the gravity of the situation?
Before he could voice his questions, Gordon interrupted, his voice soft but firm.
"Don't worry," he said, walking over to a small workbench and pulling out a leather pouch from a drawer. "Rylan's been good to me in the past. I'll help you however I can. But first, you need to rest. It's been a long road for you, I can see that much."
Aelor couldn't bring himself to argue. His body was tired, his mind still rattled by the last few days. He was here now, with no clear path ahead, but at least for a moment, he could take a breath.
Gordon poured him a cup of water and set it on the table, then motioned for Aelor to sit. "Drink. And we'll talk once you've had a moment."
Aelor hesitated, but eventually sat down, the weight of the chains on his wrists suddenly feeling more pronounced. He reached for the cup and drank deeply, letting the cool water soothe his parched throat. His thoughts were clouded, but one thing was clear—he had no choice but to trust this stranger, at least for now.
He had to believe that Rylan had sent him for a reason.
Aelor sat in front of the fire, the warmth from the flames flickering against his skin, but it did little to ease the chill that had settled deep in his bones. He had been through so much in such a short time, and yet the reality of it still hadn't fully settled in. His mind buzzed with thoughts of Rylan, the betrayal, the flight from the village, and now the strange kindness of this blacksmith who had opened his door.
Gordon, noticing Aelor's quiet contemplation, had begun to remove something from beneath his worn tunic. Aelor blinked in surprise as the man carefully took off what looked like a prosthetic leg—an iron creation, meticulously crafted, but clearly showing the wear and tear of years of use.
Aelor stared, his eyes wide. "What... what happened?" His voice trembled, a mix of curiosity and concern. The blacksmith's leg was unlike anything Aelor had ever seen, but what struck him most was the absence of an answer to his question—why would someone need such an iron leg?
Gordon's face softened, the lines of age and hardship deepening as he leaned back slightly, a sigh escaping his lips. For a moment, Aelor wasn't sure if he was going to answer, but then the old blacksmith met his gaze, his expression serious.
"I was attacked," Gordon said, his tone grave. "By wolves. A pack of them—bigger, faster, and more vicious than any I'd seen before. They tore into me, tore off my leg, and I thought I was done for." He paused, taking a moment as though reliving the memory. His fingers absentmindedly brushed against the edges of his iron leg as if the wound was still fresh.
"But then…" Gordon continued, his voice low. "Someone saved me. A figure appeared out of nowhere, faster than I could blink. All I saw was a black shape—a shadow, no, a smoke, thick and swirling, like the night itself had come alive. And those eyes…" His voice faltered, his expression darkening as he looked into the flames. "They were red. Red like a hungry beast's, glowing, glowing in the dark. And then it was gone, like smoke in the wind, leaving nothing but a bloody mess of wolves. I never even caught a glimpse of their face."
Aelor's eyes widened as the story unfolded, his thoughts racing. The description sent a chill through his spine, stirring something deep inside him that he couldn't name. A dark figure, fast as the wind, with blood-red eyes, a shape so unnatural it seemed to be made of shadows, but with the strength of a man. It sounded like nothing he had ever heard of, yet something about it felt eerily familiar.
"What happened to you after?" Aelor asked, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter the tension hanging in the air.
Gordon shifted uncomfortably, his hands resting on the iron leg now placed before him. "I was left for dead, and I probably would've been if not for that figure. But they never gave me a chance to thank them. Or even see their face. By the time I regained my senses, they were gone. All that was left were the bodies of those wolves—mangled, dead, like they'd been crushed by something massive." Gordon paused, looking at Aelor. "No ordinary man could've done that."
Aelor felt a tightness in his chest as he processed the blacksmith's words. The figure Gordon described—fast, deadly, and wrapped in black smoke—sounded far too familiar. Something in Aelor's gut told him that what Gordon had encountered wasn't just some wandering warrior. It was something darker, something unnatural. But why would it help someone like Gordon?
Aelor swallowed, trying to push the unease down. "You think this figure is connected to the darkness spreading across the land?" he asked, voice shaking.
Gordon nodded slowly, his face grim. "Could be. I've heard rumors, whispers of dark forces rising. But I don't know. I only know what I saw—and what I didn't. That figure, it wasn't like any man I've ever known, but it wasn't like anything else either." He looked at Aelor, his eyes searching. "What do you think? You seem like you know a thing or two about dark magic. You've been on the run from something, haven't you?"
Aelor was silent for a moment, contemplating the blacksmith's question. His mind kept flashing back to the stories of the Ashen Divide and the dark magic that had been reawakened. Could this figure be a part of that magic? Or was it something entirely different?
He shook his head, trying to focus. "I don't know," Aelor admitted softly, his voice a mixture of fear and uncertainty. "But I think... I think it's connected. Whatever is happening, it's bigger than anything the Council has told us. It's like something from the old wars is stirring again." He paused, his gaze falling to the fire. "And I'm not sure I can stop it. But I have to try."
Gordon studied Aelor for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I don't know what's going on, kid. But I've seen things that don't make sense. And I know that sometimes, you don't have to understand everything to know you've got to fight."
Aelor felt a wave of gratitude for the blacksmith's words, but at the same time, the weight of his own situation was more than ever clear. The darkness was spreading, and his future felt uncertain. But he had no choice but to keep moving forward, and now, with the strange encounter of the black figure fresh in his mind, he knew there was more to this battle than just the forces of the Council or the magic at play. There were things out there—things other than man—that might be pulling the strings.
Gordon clapped a heavy hand on Aelor's shoulder, bringing him back to the present. "Take a rest, Aelor. You're safe here, for now. But don't lose sight of what's important. There are worse things out there than dark magic—and you've already faced a lot of them."
Aelor nodded, the fire crackling softly beside him. There was still much to learn, many questions without answers. But for the first time in days, he allowed himself a moment of peace.