It was during the war almost ten years ago. At that time, I led the campaign against one of the fortresses of the Draxoria Kingdom — the fortress of Mrakhard. Several attempts had been made to take this fortress, but all of them ended in failure.
The fortress of Mrakhard towered over the surrounding area like an impregnable bastion carved into rugged cliffs. Its enormous walls of dark stone seemed to rise into the sky, blocking any path for invaders. This fortress was a true marvel of engineering, built to be impervious to both brute force and cunning strategy. Each tower looked like a steadfast sentinel, mercilessly surveying the valley with narrow arrow slits, from which a skilled archer could strike with precision.
The area around Mrakhard was a wild and harsh landscape. The valley was overgrown with low, hardy pine trees, their roots clinging desperately to the rocky soil as if fearing to be torn away by the northern winds. There was no cover to be found: every step across this terrain was visible to the sentinels atop the fortress walls.
Through the valley ran the Eldos River, like a long silver serpent winding between rocks and cutting through the land. Its waters were as dark as metal, reflecting only rare glimmers of light, and it seemed as though something sinister lurked within them, as if the river itself carried the grim memories of the bloody battles fought at the walls of Mrakhard.
On one of the towers, a banner bearing a coat of arms could be seen: the head of an eagle on a spear. Bloodstains marred its surface, it was covered in dirt, and sword slashes were evident on the fabric.
Night had fallen over the forest near the Eldos River, spreading a cold stillness across the surroundings. Nights in this land were rarely so clear — the soft light of the full moon bathed the earth, turning everything into a fantastical spectacle of silver and shadow. The moon was enormous, shining so brightly that even the smallest details were visible — every leaf and every stone reflected its pale glow, and it seemed as though the sky itself had lightened slightly, revealing a thin trail of stars stretching over the forest.
The forest stood in anticipation, its dark, sturdy trees casting long shadows, as if trying to merge with the depths of the night. Between these ancient trunks, rising like columns, moonlight pierced the dense canopy and fell to the ground in scattered patches. The leaves on the trees glimmered as though coated in a thin layer of frost, and a rare, gentle breeze stirred them, creating a strange, barely audible rustle that sounded like a whisper.
The Eldos River, flowing at the base of Mrakhard, appeared semi-transparent, like liquid metal. Its dark waters reflected the moonlight, distorted by the waves, forming intricate glimmers, like sparks under the moonlit sky. The forest was silent, but not lifeless, as though holding its breath in anticipation of what the bright light and strange calm would bring — the calm before the storm.
I sat by the fire, watching the logs crackle as they were consumed by the flames, suppressing my fatigue while discussing the upcoming assault with the knights. We spoke of the battle, the fortress, and how best to breach its walls. Sitting nearby was someone I knew very well — a girl who had joined the army with me almost at the same time from the capital. She seemed calm, almost detached, but her eyes betrayed the emotions she was trying to conceal.
—Tomorrow will be hard,—she said, absentmindedly stroking the hilt of her sword.
—But we'll manage. We always do.
With those words, it felt like she was trying to reassure herself.
I nodded, though there was no certainty in my heart. Long before the battle began, I had grown used to the thought that death was an inevitable part of war. But that night felt especially heavy. This wasn't just a fight. It was something more. I felt a chill creep across my skin.
—I'll go check the guard,— I said, standing up.—It's best to make sure everything's in order.
She nodded silently, but her gaze followed me, and I knew she understood: none of us could truly predict what awaited us.
The night enveloped the camp as I went to check the watch. The walk through the rows of tents felt strange and slow, as if time had slowed down. I found the guard who was supposed to be on duty. He was lying under a tree, peacefully asleep.
Out of anger, I walked past one of the tents, grabbed a bucket of water, and returned to the guard.
— Get up! — I shouted, splashing cold water on him.
He jerked, jumped to his feet, surprised and shivering from the cold.
— Wh… what the hell? — he stammered, trying to hold back his shivers.
— Do you realize what you've done?! — I grabbed him by the shoulder. — The enemy could've attacked while you were sleeping! Because of you, the camp could've been destroyed before the battle even began!
He pulled away, trembling. His eyes showed that he realized his mistake.
— S… sorry, sir!
I exhaled, placing my hand on his shoulder, and gave him a few light pats.
— Go, find someone to relieve you on watch, — I said with an understanding look, since I too was exhausted after the long march. — Until they arrive, I'll take the post.
He ran to carry out the order, and I leaned against the tree under which he had been sleeping, beginning to reflect. Anxiety increasingly overtook me. The forest around was shrouded in darkness, barely dispersed by the moonlight. At first glance, nothing was happening, but the feeling of impending danger wouldn't leave me. My instincts had never let me down.
I started to squint, trying to catch any movement. A light breeze rustled the leaves, creating the illusion that someone was hiding behind the trees. And suddenly, I noticed it: a vague silhouette flickered at the edge of my vision.
The forest seemed to come alive, hiding its secrets behind thick branches. I strained my eyes, listening to every rustle. The air had grown heavy, like before a storm. My attention was drawn to tracks: a few bent blades of grass and a thin layer of disturbed soil. Someone was sneaking, trying not to leave obvious signs of their presence.
Grabbing the hilt of my sword, I began to slowly survey the area. The silence felt ominous. Even the insects seemed to be holding their breath. And then I noticed the silhouette again — crouched low, it slipped between the trees.
— Who's there?! — I shouted, gripping my sword tighter.
In response, a branch cracked, as if someone was hurriedly retreating, trying to move quietly.
The anxiety turned into certainty: they were watching the camp. I turned around and ran toward the nearest guard.
— Everyone to your feet! To arms! — I shouted, raising the alarm.
The camp came alive. Soldiers ran out of tents, grabbing weapons. The enemy no longer hid; their silhouettes became visible in the darkness. The enemy began to attack while our forces had not yet fully assembled.
A small group of warriors took the first blow, defending the camp. The sound of metal clashing echoed across the battlefield, blending with the cries of the wounded. The enemy threw torches into the tents, trying to set them on fire.
The battle raged throughout the night and almost into the day. As dawn broke and the sun began to illuminate the forest, the enemy retreated under the command of their leader. We won, but at what cost?
I walked through the destroyed tents, along narrow paths covered in blood. The sword in my hand was battered and broken. Reaching the center of the camp, I saw her…
By the smoldering campfire lay the body of a girl. A dagger was sticking out of her back. I fell to my knees, pulled out the dagger, and looked at it: the curved blade with an eagle emblem on the hilt. It was the enemy's weapon.
I turned her body over and took her in my arms, wiping the dirt from her face. Tears welled up in my eyes. Her golden hair still shimmered in the morning sun. I ran my hand over a strand, realizing that she was no longer here.
— I'm sorry… — that was all I could utter.
Tears flowed down my face, and the bitterness of loss filled me. I screamed, unable to hold back the pain.
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End of the prologue.