Kael Draven's hammer rang with steady rhythm, each strike sending sparks leaping into the dimly lit forge. The blade he worked on glowed a ruddy orange, the iron yielding under his practiced hand. Outside, the village of Greythorn hummed with life—merchants bartering, children playing, and the clatter of carts on cobblestones. It was an ordinary day, and for Kael, that was enough.
He set the blade aside, wiping his brow with a soot-streaked rag. "Almost done," he muttered, inspecting the edge. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't need to be. The blade was for Garran, the village's surly hunter, and Garran valued practicality over aesthetics.
"Kael!"
Kael looked up to see his adoptive mother, Elara, standing at the forge's entrance. Her silver hair was tied in a loose braid, and her sharp eyes flickered toward the unfinished blade. Though her frame was frail, her presence commanded attention.
"Garran wants that knife before noon," she said. "He's heading to the northern woods."
Kael nodded. "I'll take it to him once it cools."
Elara lingered, her gaze drifting to the forested horizon. She tugged absently at her shawl, her hands trembling ever so slightly.
"What's wrong?" Kael asked, stepping toward her.
She hesitated, then said quietly, "There's word of soldiers coming this way. King Arcten's men."
Kael's chest tightened. "Why would they come here? Greythorn's just a farming village."
Elara didn't answer immediately. Instead, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her expression unusually grave. "Just be cautious, Kael. Stay out of sight, keep your head down."
Kael frowned, sensing the weight behind her words. This wasn't the first time Elara had warned him to avoid attention, but today, her urgency was different.
"I'll be careful," he said, though unease coiled in his stomach.
---
By midday, the tension in Greythorn was palpable. Whispers of King Arcten's soldiers spread like wildfire. Some villagers gathered in the square, nervously debating what the soldiers could want. Others retreated to their homes, bolting their doors and praying to be left alone.
Kael delivered Garran's blade as promised, but even the normally stoic hunter was on edge. "Hope they pass us by," Garran muttered, testing the knife's edge. "We've got nothing worth taking."
Kael nodded silently, his thoughts clouded. Why would Arcten's forces come here? Greythorn wasn't strategic, and no rebels had been seen in the area.
As he returned to the forge, he overheard a heated argument near the village well.
"We don't provoke them, and they'll leave us be!" barked Old Garrick, the village spokesman. "No one here's foolish enough to harbor rebels."
"And what about Red Hollow?" a younger man countered. "They didn't fight back either, and the soldiers still burned their homes!"
"Enough!" Garrick snapped. "We'll get through this if we keep calm. Panic will only make things worse."
Kael skirted the crowd, his jaw tight. Arguments wouldn't save them if the soldiers meant harm.
---
The soldiers arrived just before sunset.
Kael was hammering a bent hinge back into shape when the sound of hooves echoed down the cobblestone road. Stepping outside, he froze as a column of armored men marched into Greythorn. Their crimson and gold uniforms marked them as King Arcten's own. At their head rode a captain, his cold, sharp eyes surveying the villagers who had gathered nervously in the square.
"By order of King Arcten," the captain announced, his voice cutting through the evening air, "we seek fugitives accused of treason. If any among you harbor rebels or contraband, step forward now, and your lives may be spared."
No one moved.
The captain's lip curled. "Search the village."
The soldiers dispersed, kicking open doors and overturning carts. Villagers scrambled to comply, offering panicked assurances that they had nothing to hide. Kael retreated into the forge, his pulse pounding.
Minutes later, a group of soldiers barged in. Their leader, a scarred man with a cruel sneer, grabbed Kael by the arm. "You work here?"
Kael nodded, keeping his voice calm. "I'm the smith's apprentice."
"Got any weapons hidden away?"
"Just tools for the village—axes, scythes, hunting blades. Nothing more."
The man leaned closer, his breath foul. "Better not be lying."
Kael met his gaze but said nothing. The soldiers rummaged through the forge, tossing tools and half-finished projects aside. Kael's hands clenched into fists, but he stayed silent.
---
By nightfall, the soldiers had found nothing incriminating, but they weren't finished. The captain ordered the villagers to assemble in the square, his expression dark.
"Someone here is hiding something," he growled, drawing his sword. "And if you won't speak, we'll make an example."
Two soldiers dragged Garrick forward, forcing him to his knees. The old man's face was pale but defiant.
"This is madness!" Garrick spat. "We're loyal subjects of the crown!"
"Then prove it," the captain replied, raising his blade.
"Wait!"
Kael stepped forward, heart hammering. All eyes turned to him, including Elara's. Her face was pale, her expression stricken.
"Don't do this," Kael said, his voice steady despite his fear. "Garrick's done nothing wrong. None of us have."
The captain tilted his head, a cruel smile playing at his lips. "And who are you to speak for this village?"
Kael hesitated, then said, "I'm no one. Just a smith's apprentice. But if you hurt him, you'll make enemies of everyone here."
For a moment, silence fell. Then the captain laughed. "Brave words. Let's see how long your courage lasts."
He gestured to his men. "Take him."
Kael barely had time to react before two soldiers seized him. Elara rushed forward, her voice cracking.
"Wait! Take me instead!"
The captain raised an eyebrow. "And who are you?"
Elara hesitated, then said, "I'm his mother."
The captain's gaze sharpened. "Mother, is it? Then tell me—what are you hiding?"
Before Elara could answer, the air itself seemed to shiver. A sharp crack split the night, followed by an arc of lightning that struck dangerously close to the captain. A brilliant light erupted from the shadows, and a figure stepped forward.
The woman moved with deliberate grace, her dark hair gleaming like oil under the moonlight, streaked with strands of silver. Sparks danced between her hands, the air around her charged with raw energy.
"Let him go," she commanded, her voice low and resonant.
The captain recovered quickly, barking orders. "Kill her!"
Lightning erupted from the woman's hands, striking down the nearest soldiers. Chaos engulfed the square as villagers screamed and scattered. The woman strode forward, her strikes precise, her power unrelenting.
Amid the confusion, Elara turned to Kael, gripping his shoulders.
"Go with her," she said, her voice trembling.
"No! I won't leave you!"
"You must," Elara insisted, her eyes brimming with tears. "Kael, you have to."
She shove him towards the stranger, her voice breaking, "Run!"
Kael stumbled, torn between his mother and the chaos unfolding around them. But the stranger grabbed his arm, her grip firm.
"Move!" she hissed.
Kael twisted to look back as soldiers closed in on Elara. She stood her ground, dagger in hand, her face set with fierce determination.
The last thing Kael saw was her charging forward, steel flashing in the firelight, before the stranger dragged him into the forest.