Orden let out a sigh, surveying the wreckage of his beloved ship. It was a total wreck, shattered across the beach. Years of savings, gone. Supplies ruined, scattered across the sand. How they survived the crash was a miracle, a blur of fear and the young lady's inexplicable actions. He didn't like it, but the brat had saved them, somehow.
"At least the young lady is safe," Orden thought, a flicker of relief in his chest. He stood tall, scanning the horizon. It felt too serene, an unnatural calm. His sword felt heavy in his hand, his grip tightening unconsciously. A knight trusted his instincts, and they screamed caution.
"Sir Orden," Arcia's voice called out, soft yet firm. She was scavenging what she could from the ship, a newfound resourcefulness replacing the initial shock. She reminded him of his old master, a stern exterior masking a kind heart.
A grotesque, goblin-like creature leaped from the underbrush, shrieking as it lunged towards Arcia.
"Lady Arcia, get back!" Orden roared, interposing himself between her and the creature in a heartbeat. The creature's claws raked against his sword, a sickening thud echoing through the air. The impact jarred his arm, but Orden stood firm.
The goblin hissed, circling him. It was smaller than the beasts he'd faced in training, but faster, its translucent form shifting unpredictably. Orden tensed as the creature feigned a lunge, then sprang at his side. He blocked with his makeshift arm guard, the leather of his jacket offering meager protection. He thrust his blade forward, a calculated strike. The creature recoiled, a screech of pain filling the air.
It recovered quickly, launching itself at Orden's chest. Its claws tore into his armor, but he held firm, using his body weight to smash it to the ground. Raising his sword high, Orden drove the blade through the monster's chest, pinning it to the earth as its writhing form dissolved into a sickly puddle.
Panting, Orden turned to Arcia, his eyes hard but his voice soft. "Are you unharmed, my lady?
She nodded, concern lingering in her gaze. "Orden, are you hurt? That was close. I would hate to see you injured."
He knelt before her, resting the tip of his sword in the sand. "No harm will ever come to you, not while I still draw breath. Even if it costs me my life, I will protect you."
As the words left his lips, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He had overexerted himself. The beach faded, the sound of the waves replaced by jeering laughter and the sharp clang of metal.
He was no longer a knight, but a scrawny boy, dragged through an alley by two guards. His wrists were bound, his heart pounding. He struggled, but their grip was iron.
"Caught red-handed, the filthy rat," one guard sneered, shaking the small purse of coins Orden had tried to steal. "Trying to steal from the Lord of the land himself. Ambitious, aren't you?"
They threw him to the ground before an imposing man in a fine coat. Lord Ravencroft, Arcia's grandfather. His face was stern, lined with age, his eyes sharp and intimidating.
"You dared to steal from me, boy?" the man's voice was like gravel.
Orden scrambled to his knees, his stomach sinking. He remained silent, hunger pangs convulsing within him. He hadn't known who he was stealing from. Desperation had clouded his judgment.
Ravencroft snapped. "Thieves in my lands are shown no mercy." He gestured to the guards.
The guards tightened their grip, dragging him towards the courtyard. Orden's protests turned to pleas, but it was futile.
"Enough."
The voice cut through the air like a blade. A younger man stepped forward, dressed in a simpler coat, yet carrying the same commanding presence. Morsten Lovencroft, Arcia's father.
"Father, this is a child," he said. "Punish him, yes, but killing him serves no purpose."
Ravencroft's eyes narrowed. "He's a thief, a parasite. He'll grow into worse. A weed must be cut when it's a sapling."
"Or, if we give him a chance" the younger man countered, "he could grow into something better. If given the chance. I will eventually govern this land, father. Give me this one chance."
After a tense pause, Ravencroft relented with a wave of his hand. "Do as you will. But his blood won't stain our courtyard."
Orden, though relieved he wouldn't be executed, still felt the pangs of hunger.
"Now then, let's get you something to eat," the young man said with a smile that could light up the entire courtyard.
Orden's punishment was harsh – manual labor in the estate's kitchens and stables. But it was life, and he clung to it with both hands. Over the years, he watched the Ravencroft family, learning their values and their strength. He eventually became a knight of House Ravencroft. The day he knelt before Arcia's father to pledge himself to their family, a weight lifted from his shoulders. He was no longer a thief or a slum rat. He was a protector. As a slum born orden knew, he knew about all the malice that a slum rat held in their hearts , and how if given an opportunity they will pounce on it no matter the cost, this was one reason for ordens dislike for bram because he knew the levels of desperation that drives them.
When the young lady was born, Orden swore to protect her at any cost. Lady Arcia, even as a child, had shown him kindness. She brought him scraps of food, spoke to him as an equal. Slowly, respect turned to devotion, and devotion to loyalty. Orden, eternally grateful to Arcia's father, carried this loyalty, even when tragedy befell House Ravencroft. While other vassals turned their backs, Orden remained loyal to the family who had given him a second chance.
The memory dissolved, pulling Orden back to the present. Gone was the pristine beach; they were now in a coastal cave, covered in seaweed and moss. The wreckage of their ship was visible in the distance. Towering before them was a creature, a grotesque fusion of man and deep-sea monstrosity. Its translucent, jelly-like skin glistened under the pale light, swirling with iridescent hues. Its body was formless, a floating, undulating mass of flesh, yet distinctly humanoid. Long, slick tendrils, like venomous ropes, hung down from its back, their tips twitching with unnerving intelligence. They pulsed slowly, rhythmically, as if breathing. Two slits of nothingness for eyes, no nose.
Orden now fully realized the severity of their situation. The creature's tentacles were latched onto the crew's heads, their bodies dangling near a rock. The creature seemed to be preparing for something, its tentacles spasming with a revolting sound. The weight of the tentacles seemed to drag at his consciousness, pulling him deeper into some dark void. Panic gripped him for a fleeting moment, but then he felt a sharp, painful kick to his side.
"Orden!" Bram hissed, his voice urgent.
He was awake. His eyes were wide, desperate. Orden groaned, shaking his head, trying to push through the dizziness. The hallucinations were already beginning to swirl around him. A flash of images. A memory. Lady Arcia in danger. But he couldn't think straight, couldn't break free. The tentacles dug deeper into his skull, pulling the visions tighter, almost suffocating him.
"Snap out of it!" Bram hissed again, kicking Orden in the chest. The pain jolted him awake.
Orden's senses sharpened. The grip of the creature's tentacles seemed to loosen slightly, as if distracted. He forced himself to focus, fighting the rising flood of images.
Bram's kick, though painful, was the lifeline he needed. With a strained breath, Orden met his gaze, clearing enough to focus.
"Wake Arcia up," Bram whispered, urgency lacing his voice. "Arcia's dagger, it's our only chance to fight it."
Orden scanned the scene, his gaze settling on Lady Arcia. Her body was limp, the creature's tentacles wrapped tightly around her head. Her expression was vacant, trapped in whatever twisted vision the creature had cast upon her.
But he couldn't reach her yet. Not while Solveig lay next to him, unconscious, her head caught in the creature's grasp. Orden clenched his fists, willing himself to focus. His mission was clear: wake Solveig up first. She would help him wake Arcia. If they could free themselves from this nightmarish grip, they might stand a chance of survival.
"Solveig!" Orden hissed, shaking the woman beside him with all the strength he could muster. No response. Her chest rose and fell, slow and shallow. They did not have much time. If the creature noticed them before Arcia was awake, their chances of survival would be impossible. Desperation surged through him. He had no other options.
"Wake up, Solveig!" Orden hissed, kicking her again.