Dim rays of sunlight pierced through the gray clouds, bathing the village of Eryndor in a dull light. Nestled at the foot of desolate hills, Eryndor bore the scars of years of neglect. The houses, built of wood and worn stone, formed a circle around a small central square where an old well, long since dry, stood as a silent witness to better days.
The inhabitants, dressed in worn rags, went about their business, their faces marked by fatigue and resignation. This village, once prosperous, was now a shadow of its former self, a relic of a nation forgotten by the five other powers.
Caelum stood apart, a rudimentary sword in hand. He trained alone, tirelessly repeating the movements his mysterious divine tutor had taught him. Each sword stroke, each defensive movement, seemed charged with a desperate intention: to become stronger.
His breath was ragged. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he executed a series of parries. With each blow struck, he could still hear his tutor's words echoing in his memory: "Strength without mastery is a storm that destroys everything in its path. Be the pillar, stable and unshakeable."
"One day, I'll be as strong as you, Caelum!" exclaimed a small voice.
A group of children had stopped to watch him. The boy who had spoken, thin but with a glimmer of admiration in his eyes, clumsily imitated Caelum's gestures with a stick found on the ground.
Caelum managed a sad smile. He knelt before the boy.
"Keep dreaming, little one. But remember: strength must always serve to protect, never to destroy."
The child nodded vigorously, while other villagers watched from afar, some with pride, others with concern. For them, Caelum represented a fragile hope, a flickering flame in the darkness.
A shrill cry broke the tranquility. Caelum abruptly raised his head, his sword ready. In the distance, dark silhouettes stood out against the horizon. They advanced on horseback, cloaks flapping in the wind. A dozen knights, their blackish armor gleaming faintly, approached at high speed.
"Raiders!" cried a woman, carrying away her child.
Caelum ran towards the central square. He raised his voice to be heard by all:
"Take shelter! Go home and barricade the doors!"
The villagers scattered in controlled chaos, but fear was palpable. Caelum knew that Eryndor's meager resources interested no one. These knights were here for one reason: to exercise their dominion over the weak.
A massive man in armor dismounted from his horse. His massive axe rested nonchalantly on his shoulder, but his cruel gaze said it all.
"You're nothing but rats in a hole," he spat. "Give us everything you have, and maybe we'll let you live."
Caelum gritted his teeth. The sword he held trembled slightly. He wasn't ready for this fight, but he had no choice. He stepped forward, placing himself between the invaders and the remaining villagers.
"You'll get nothing from Eryndor," he said firmly, surprising even some villagers with his courage.
The battle began. Caelum's sword strikes were precise but lacked strength. Each parry, each attack, resonated in the air like a warning of his own inadequacy. The enemy knights, more experienced, pressed him from all sides.
"Is that all you've got?" sneered one of the knights before delivering a violent blow.
Caelum dodged just in time, but a searing pain shot through his left arm. He fell to his knees, panting, his sword almost slipping from his clammy hands.
Suddenly, a roar pierced the din of battle. A figure emerged from the shadow of the ruined houses. Rowan, the renegade knight, advanced calmly, a massive two-handed sword gleaming under the fading light. His eyes shone with cold anger.
"I believe you've crossed the line," he said in a gruff voice.
Without waiting for a response, he threw himself into the fray. His blows were precise, devastating, each movement charged with mastered power. The enemy knights fell one after another, unable to match his technique.
In a matter of moments, it was all over. The survivors fled, leaving behind their dead and broken weapons.
Rowan extended a hand to Caelum, who was struggling to get up.
"You have courage, boy, but courage alone is not enough."
Caelum accepted his help, his muscles trembling with effort.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
"A man seeking redemption," Rowan replied. "And you, you seek to protect. Perhaps we can help each other."
Caelum looked around. The village was in ruins, but the inhabitants were alive, thanks to Rowan. The villagers slowly began to emerge from their hiding places, their faces expressing both relief and disbelief.
"Thank you," whispered an old woman, placing a hand on Rowan's shoulder.
Rowan looked away, visibly uncomfortable with their gratitude. Caelum, however, felt a wave of determination growing within him. He no longer wanted to be this powerless young man, unable to protect his own home.
"I want to become stronger," he said, his voice trembling but determined. "I want to change the destiny of my people."
Rowan nodded.
"Then follow me. The path will be long and difficult, but I can guide you along it."
Caelum turned his gaze one last time towards Eryndor. What he saw was no longer a home, but a field of ashes. He knew his departure was inevitable. The memories of the villagers encouraged him to move forward, but also to fight for a better future. With Rowan, he embarked on an uncertain path full of promise.