Cedric Vaelstadt stood at the edge of the balcony, staring out over the sprawling city of Hohenburg. The gentle breeze stirred his hair, and the faint scent of freshly baked bread and smoke of wood burning in chimneys filled his senses.
It was morning, and as the second son of Lord Alaric Vaelstadt, Cedric's role in the management of the family's estates was minimal. His days were filled with training—everything from riding horses to swordplay and maintaining his armor. He would not inherit any land, that responsibility would fall upon his older brother, Friedrich. Cedric, instead, would serve in the military or perhaps take on some clerical duties. His sword, and the promise of service, were all he had.
He glanced once more at the city, the rooftops and towers of Hohenburg. The city was the lifeblood of the Duchy of Vaelstadt, a region of strategic importance to the Empire, both for its fertile lands and its posisiton along the trade routes.
Cedric's family, though not the highest among the Empires or the Duchies noble families, still wielded considirable influence in the city. His Father the venerable Count Alaric had earned respect through his wise and just govenance of the city and their wealth, drawn from trade and agriculture, had afforded them both power and influence at court.
But today, something felt different. The Empire was always teetering on the brink of chaos, but Cerdric felt in the pit of his stomach something, some gnawing sense that something was about to break.
He sighed and turned, about to retreat inside, when a sudden, sharp noise caught his attention—boots clattering on stone.
Knock knock
The steward appeared at the door, his face pale, his brow furrowed with worry. "My lord, a visitor seeks an audience with you."
"A visitor?" Cedric raised and eyebrow. "Send him in."
The steward nodden quickly and scurried away, leaving the heavy wooden door open. Cedric lingered, his mind racing. "A visitor this early—and for me?" He frowned. "Who would want to visit the second son?"
The steward stepped back in, behind him entered—a tall man cloaked in dark, travel-worn garments, his face shadowed by a hood. He was not one Cedric recognized, and his sudden arrival only heightened the unease that had taken root within him.
The man pulled down his hood, revealing a gaunt, weatherd face and sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing. he bowed with quick, fluid motion, his tone respectful yet urgent. "My lord, I bring dire news."
Cedric stepped forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. "Dire news?" His voice low and practiced. "And who are you to deliver such dire news to me?"
"My name is Radomir Volkov," the man said. "I am a captain of the Order of Dread Watchers and I bring with me an opportunity." His eyes held depth of experience, of something darker and far older than Cedric had imagined.
The mention of the Order of Dread Watchers sent a shiver down Cedric's spine. To utter this name in public, was dangerous and admit to being its captain even more so especially from the mouth of a Lesovikian.
The Order was once a revered institution, dedicated to protecting the borders of the Empire from the twisted and unnatural horrors that lurked beyond. But with the Empire's increasing disinterest in the supernatural and rumors of the Orders rebellion, they were crushed, their relic seized and those that survived had been exiled from the Empire.
"The Order was rightfuly exiled from the Empire decades ago," Cedric said, his voice hardening with suspicion. "What could you a Lesovikian from the renegade Order want with the second son of Vaelstadt?"
Radomir's gaze sharpened. "It is not what I want, my lord," he said venom in his tongue "It is what the Order needs—what the world needs." He paused. "We have word of the Corrupted stirring again, and the Empire is not ready."
Cedric froze. The Corrupted? He has heard about them, but they wage endless battles underground with the Dwarves. They had no desire to reach the surface, not since his great-grandfather's time.
His mind race. Could this be what I felt? The tension, the unease...
"I... I don't understand," Cedric spoke, the skpeticism heavy in his words. "What does this have to do with me?"
Radomir's expression softened, but only just. "Because, my lord, you are needed, if we are going to rebuild the Order in the Empire, you are the key. Here you have no prospects, no future, but with the Order you could be part of something greater that this life of idle pivilege."
Cedric's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, "Stop I do not wish to hear it," Cedric glared at the captain, "I will not fight against some impotent monsters, which don't even come to the surface anymore."
Radomir gave the pampered Greifenthal noble a dejected look. "As you wish my lord, but when the walls start crumbling against this 'impotent' enemy, you and your noble friends will realise that your armies are not enough, walk your own path to ruin."
And with an unnaturaly quick twist he left the room before Cedric could utter another word.