It was too late.
Figures emerged from the shadows—tall, cloaked in black armour, their swords gleaming menacingly in the firelight. These weren't just bandits. These were trained knights.
Before Taren could move, one knight closed in on him, his sword slicing through the air. He barely raised his blade in time to block the strike, the force knocking him backwards. He crashed to the ground, his sword falling from his hand.
"Get down, you filthy servant," the knight sneered, his face cold and unfeeling.
Taren clenched his teeth, not stepping back. He forced himself up to his feet and launched again, his blade slicing through the air, but a knight easily parried. Another knight swung at him too fast to defend against, the blade slicing across Taren's side, sending him reeling in agony.
He stumbled backwards, seeing the world blur as blood dripped from the wound.
"Get away from him!" Osric bellowed, his voice strained. He'd managed to find enough strength to charge forward, his sword swinging wildly, but he was too slow.
Taren tried to concentrate through the agony, but it was all too swift. He hurled himself at the nearest knight, his sword plunged deep into the knight's side, but another sword came at him, cutting across his chest, and he fell to the ground, gasping for air.
Osric was down, too—blood-soaked and barely conscious.
More knights closed in, their weapons raised. They had them cornered.
Taren's vision blurred over as darkness closed in upon him. The echoes of footsteps in his ears came to no meaning at first. Then, out of a haze, there materialized a figure—a crook-backed, elderly form of quiet power.
Taren tried to concentrate, but his body was playing tricks on him. His vision blurred further, the weight of unconsciousness pulling him under. The old man's figure grew distant, a flicker of something unfamiliar in his eyes.
And then—nothing.
Everything went black.
Taren's eyes fluttered open slowly, the world around him a blur of shapes and colours. His head felt heavy, his body aching, but there was a strange warmth beneath him—a softness that didn't match the cold dirt of the battlefield.
He blinked, bewildered, and when his eyes cleared, he saw long, silvery strands of hair just inches from his face. The scent of lavender and fresh herbs tickled his senses.
'Princess Aeliana?'
But as he slowly shifted, trying to sit up, the warmth beneath his head shifted too, and the figure above him moved. Taren's heart skipped a beat as he looked up, expecting to see Aeliana's pale, delicate face.
Instead, he was staring into the face of a man, not a woman. The stranger had long brown hair, a few shades lighter than Osric's, and a rough, weathered face, marked by time and experience. His eyes were calm but intense, a deep shade of amber that seemed to pierce through Taren. He was a bit older than Osric, his features sharp but somehow softer than the knights had been. Dark, practical clothes had seemed simple but sturdy, with a faint, almost invisible air of authority around him as though he had seen far more than anyone could guess.
The man straightened slightly as Taren's eyes snapped open fully, his expression calm but unreadable.
Taren's heart started racing, and a cold sweat broke out on his skin as confusion and fear flooded his mind. How? Where am I? His chest constricted. He pushed himself up, wincing at the pain.
"Who...who are you?" Taren's voice was rough, hoarse from the battle and the shock. His eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the princess, but she was nowhere in sight. Only the man with the brown hair stood before him, calm and unbothered, as if the situation were nothing out of the ordinary.
The man's lips curled slightly into a small, knowing smile, though his eyes were full of something more. He stood up fully, and offered Taren a hand; Taren did not take it. He stared at the man's outstretched hand, his mind spinning from everything that had been said.
"My name is Agraj Vepal," the man said smoothly in his deep but very soothing voice. "I'm the man who saved you and your friend yesterday."
Taren's mind tried to make sense of it, but his confusion only deepened. 'Agraj?' He didn't recognize him at all. The man didn't look like a royal knight, nor did he carry the intimidating aura of the soldiers who had attacked them. But there was something in his eyes—a quiet power, something that set him apart.
Taren felt a knot in his stomach. It was as if everything was too much: the weight of it all, the battle, the knights, the princess of it. He shook his head, trying to push the fog of exhaustion aside.
"Why… why would you save us?" Taren asked, his voice steady despite the whirl of emotions inside. "We're nothing. We're just slaves."
Agraj's face didn't change, but there was a flicker of something—maybe pity, maybe understanding—in his eyes. "Not just slaves, Taren,"
he said, his voice low but strong. "You are far more than that. Both of you are far more than you realize. But you're not ready to understand yet. Not until you've seen the truth."
Taren's eyes narrowed, but before he could speak Agraj turned away and gestured toward the distant trees where a fire burned softly in the distance.
"Rest for now," Agraj said. "We have a long journey ahead."
Taren's chest constricted as he turned to look where Osric lay, still and silent. Panic threatened to overwhelm him for a moment, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. "Osric.?" His voice cracked, but steady breathing made him rush in relief. His friend was alive, but that didn't stop Taren from feeling the weight of the moment.
He reached to push himself up with one hand, but smart pang of pain in his arm sent him stumbling. His legs buckled under him and he gave a sharp gasp as he bit down on the groan that rose into his throat as his wound seemed to flare up.
Taren clenched his fist, testing the movement in his arm. The pain was still there, but it wasn't as overwhelming. The wound wasn't fully healed, but it felt stable.
"Why did you help us?" Taren asked quietly, still trying to make sense of it all. "You've used up your energy. We're just… slaves. Why bother?"
Agraj looked at him, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile at the corner. "You think I saved you out of kindness?" He raised an eyebrow. "No....I saved you because you I was ordered to look for Princess Aeliana. The world isn't kind. And you're about to see just how unforgiving it can be."
'Ordered?' Taren was confused. 'But who?'
Taren's throat shut, and for a moment he couldn't speak. Not the words; the weight behind them was cold.
Agraj's voice softened but the sharpness in it told him otherwise. "Rest. I have done all that I can. There's more coming, though, and you won't survive unless you are strong enough to face it."
Taren swallowed hard, nodding stiffly, still trying to make sense of the man's words. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a small, stubborn flicker of hope burned in his chest. Whatever was coming, he'd need every ounce of strength to face it.
---
The carriage rolled steadily toward the Hazan Nation. Taren rode beside it, his mind swirling with fragments of the previous night. Osric, riding to the left, remained alert. Agraj flew overhead, his wings casting shadows.
As the city of Hazan came into view, the massive gate loomed ahead, guarded by knights. Agraj descended and addressed the group, his tone firm. "This is Hazan. Breathe deeply and take in its spirit, but be warned—strength and respect are rewarded here, while weakness is punished."
The knights at the gate straightened, pushing open the massive doors. They motioned for the group to dismount. "A royal carriage from the Shinkai Academy awaits."
Taren and Osric exchanged a look before following Agraj to the carriage. Hazan's capital was full of towering buildings, fine silks, and confident people who carried themselves with authority. It was unlike anything they had known, and the city's vibrancy contrasted sharply with their past struggles.
The royal carriage gleamed under the sunlight, its wheels polished and intricate carvings along its sides. It was a sight far beyond the drab carts they were accustomed to. Taren and Osric stared in awe at the extravagance.
---
Taren had spent all the day exploring the city, crossing empty streets where the silence settled at night. With people asleep, he knew that he wanted to continue since he felt an urge inside to know more. He turned towards a quieter part of the city, where the buildings rose into the air, like tall sentinels watching the secrets locked within themselves.
Hours passed, and the city seemed to grow stiller with every step. Taren stumbled upon an area that felt strange, hollow, as if the air itself was thinner here. Something about it felt off, but he couldn't shake the feeling of mystery. He followed the pull of his curiosity, and after poking around, he found a hidden tunnel entrance, half-buried and forgotten.
He stepped inside, the walls cold and damp, and began walking. The tunnel stretched on and on, its narrow path winding deeper into the ground. The further he went, the more it felt like he was the first person to set foot here in ages. No sign of life, no footprints, just the soucentrehis own footsteps echoing off the walls. It was as if the tunnel had been waiting for him.
An hour passed, and right when he thought he could not walk anymore, he saw light ahead. A door, even older and rusted, existed at the end of the tunnel. Taren pushed against it, and it creaked open, showing him a large, empty hall. The room was expansive, nearly empty, but something about it felt old. As he stepped inside, the air changed.
Suddenly, the hall around him began to change. The floor cracked and groaned beneath him, and before he knew it, the space was no longer a hall but an old, forgotten garage. Dust hung thick in the air, and in the center of the room stood a massive figure. A white coloured beast, unlike any Taren had seen before. Its fur was thick and matted, its size as large as a house. The wolf-like creature was still, almost frozen in time, eyes closed as though it had been resting for centuries.
Taren froze, not knowing what to do. The beast did not move, did not growl or attack. It seemed as if it too had been waiting for something-or someone. Taren could feel the weight of time in the air, the silence stretching across the room, as if the creature had been here for hundreds of years, unnoticed and forgotten. He couldn't understand how such a place, with such a beast, had remained hidden for so long.