The morning sun broke through the thin canopy above the camp, casting warm light over the temporary sanctuary. Lucas awoke to the sound of soldiers clanging armor and hushed conversations between survivors. The camp buzzed with a quiet sense of urgency, a stark reminder that while they were safe for now, the world beyond the palisade remained dangerous.
Lucas sat on the edge of the small cot he shared with Finn, his mind still swirling with emotions. Last night's journey and his thoughts of vengeance and purpose lingered. He glanced at Finn, who was still sleeping soundly, his expression peaceful despite the chaos they had endured.
Determined to make sense of his thoughts, Lucas decided to explore the camp.
The camp was alive with activity. Soldiers sharpened weapons, repaired armor, and prepared rations. Survivors huddled together near fires, exchanging whispered words of comfort. Lucas walked among them, his bright red-orange hair catching the light, a stark contrast to the muted colors of the world around him.
His first stop was a small gathering of villagers near one of the cooking fires. He recognized a few faces—farmers, merchants, and craftsmen from Brighthaven. The sight of them brought a pang of grief, but he pushed it aside.
"Lucas," an older man named Garreth greeted him, his voice weary but kind. "How are you holding up, lad?"
Lucas hesitated before answering. "I'm... managing. It's strange being here. Everything feels so different now."
Garreth nodded solemnly. "Aye. It does. But we're alive. That's something to hold onto, isn't it?"
Lucas tried to smile, but it felt hollow. He shifted the conversation. "What do you think of Astrid? The knight who saved us?"
The villagers exchanged glances before Garreth answered. "She's something else, that one. A true hero. Not like the regular soldiers you see around here. There's a fire in her—fierce and unyielding. She's something else, that one. A true hero. Not like the regular soldiers you see around here. There's a power in her—almost otherworldly."
Another villager, a woman named Marta, chimed in. "I heard she once held off an entire squadron of Bloodlord's soldiers on her own. She's not just strong—she's fearless. I heard she's one of less than a hundred knights in the entire world. They say knights are more than human, blessed with strength and skill that no ordinary soldier could hope to match."
Garreth nodded. "Knights like her are rare, boy. Soldiers follow orders, but knights? They lead. They inspire. They fight for something greater than themselves. Soldiers are trained to fight, but knights? They're born for it. Every swing of their sword, every move they make is beyond anything a normal person could achieve. That's why they're so rare, boy. Most people can't handle the discipline or the trials it takes to become one."
Lucas absorbed their words, the admiration and respect they had for Astrid striking a chord within him. He thanked them and continued his exploration.
As he walked, Lucas noticed a group of soldiers gathered near a forge. The blacksmith, a burly man with soot-streaked arms and a thick beard, hammered away at a blade. Sparks flew with every strike, and the rhythmic clang of metal against metal echoed through the camp.
Curious, Lucas approached. The blacksmith glanced up, his sharp eyes taking in the boy.
"Need something, lad?" the blacksmith asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
Lucas shook his head. "No, sir. Just... watching. It's fascinating."
The blacksmith chuckled. "It's hard work, but there's a certain art to it. Every weapon I make has a story waiting to be told."
One of the soldiers leaned against the forge and smirked. "This here is Old Bron. Best smith you'll find for miles. Keeps us armed and ready."
Bron waved the compliment away. "Bah, I just make the tools. It's the knights and soldiers who do the real work."
Lucas tilted his head. "What's the difference between a soldier and a knight?"
The question made the soldiers pause. Bron set down his hammer and wiped his hands on his apron. "A soldier fights because they have to, boy. For orders, for survival. A knight fights because they choose to. For honor, for justice, for something bigger than themselves. A knight isn't just stronger or faster than a soldier. They're... something else entirely. They can cut down dozens of men on their own, move like the wind, and endure wounds that would kill any ordinary man. They're legends for a reason, boy."
One of the soldiers added, "Knights like Astrid are a breed apart. They don't just follow—they lead. They're symbols of hope, and when the world's as dark as it is now, hope's the rarest thing of all."
Lucas felt a spark ignite within him as he listened. He thanked Bron and the soldiers before moving on, his thoughts racing.
Later, as he walked near the edge of the camp, Lucas spotted Astrid talking with the camp's commanding officer. She stood tall, her silver armor polished and gleaming even after the previous day's battles. Her posture was confident, her presence commanding.
Lucas paused, watching from a distance. He couldn't hear their conversation, but the respect the officer showed her was evident in his body language. Astrid wasn't just a warrior—she was a leader, someone people looked to in their darkest moments.
He didn't pry. Instead, he turned and walked back toward the center of the camp, his heart heavy with thoughts.
That evening, as the camp settled for the night, Lucas sat by one of the fires, staring into the flickering flames. The villagers' stories about Astrid and Bron's words about knights played over and over in his mind.
*Knights fight for something bigger than themselves.*
He clenched his fists. He didn't just want to fight out of anger or revenge. He wanted to protect others, to be a beacon of hope like Astrid. But deep down, he knew the fire of vengeance still burned within him. It was a part of him now, a driving force he couldn't ignore.
Lucas looked up at the stars, his resolve hardening. *I'll become a knight. I'll become someone who can protect those who can't protect themselves. Someone who can stand against the darkness.*
In that moment, Lucas Brand began to forge the path that would define him—not just as a boy seeking vengeance, but as someone who would strive to become a light in a world shrouded in shadows.