Blood flowed down the paved stones.
"Hadric Valthorne left without a word, his silhouette dissolving into the morning mist. The villagers kept their heads down, too afraid to meet Auren's gaze."
Auren, trembling with fury and sorrow, walked over to his father's body. Edrin's blood pooled beneath him, staining the earth. Without a word, Auren knelt and gently took the bloodstained cloth from his father's tunic—his headband, now a symbol of loss and defiance. Closing his eyes, he pressed it to his forehead, drawing strength from the memory of the man he once called father.
When his eyes opened again, the villagers flinched, some turning away. His gaze swept across the crowd, cold and burning with silent accusation.
"You all watched," he whispered, his voice raw, breaking against the silence. "And you did nothing.."
But before blood stained the stones, before the world cracked apart...there was sunlight.
The village of Rivenstead was hidden beneath towering cliffs and the dense embrace of Eldermire Forest. Cobblestone paths wove between sturdy cottages, their thatched roofs bending under the weight of time. The river Vehlis, clear as polished glass, carved its way through the land, feeding the soil and the people alike. Smoke coiled lazily from chimney stacks, carrying the scent of fresh bread and burning oak.
Life here was simple. The people of Rivenstead toiled with their hands, shaping the earth, harvesting grain, tending to livestock. Laughter often echoed through the fields, and children ran barefoot through the meadows, blissfully unaware of the world beyond.
The morning sun poured over the valley, turning everything golden. Auren was accustomed to early mornings. His father, Edrin, always said that the world belonged to those who greeted the dawn with open arms.
"A day well met is a battle half-won," he'd chuckle, ruffling Auren's hair.
This particular morning, as Auren raced toward the riverbank, he caught sight of Seline near the edge of the meadow, her fingers carefully plucking petals from wildflowers. The soft light kissed her brown hair, making it gleam like burnished copper.
"Picking flowers again, Seline?" Auren teased, a grin spreading across his face. "Planning to charm the spirits, or just the village boys?"
Seline didn't glance up but the corners of her mouth curled into a smirk. "Neither. Unlike you, I have simple joys."
Auren scoffed, crouching beside her. "Simple joys? That's just a fancy way of saying 'I don't know how to have fun.'"
She plucked another flower, tucking it behind her ear. "And what, exactly, do you call fun? Falling into the river trying to catch fish with your hands?"
"That was one time!" Auren muttered, crossing his arms in mock indignation.
She giggled, the sound like bells in the wind. "Oh, I remember. The great Auren, conqueror of fish, master of belly flops."
Auren flicked a blade of grass at her. "I bet you'd be worse."
"I don't have to try. I have dignity," she quipped, twirling a flower between her fingers.
"Dignity won't help you when adventure calls," Auren said with a sly grin. "And trust me, Seline, one day I'll leave this village and see everything beyond these hills. You'll be stuck here, braiding flower crowns for cows."
She nudged him playfully with her elbow. "You make it sound so tragic. Cows have excellent taste."
"They also eat flowers. So really, you're just preparing their breakfast."
She gasped in mock horror. "You take that back."
Auren grinned. "Not a chance. But don't worry. When I return, I'll tell you all about the world. Maybe even smuggle you out."
Seline's smile faltered, just for a moment. "I'll hold you to that, Auren."
With one last playful glance, Auren turned and headed toward the river where his father waited.
Edrin was teaching Auren how to catch fish with his bare hands.
"Too slow!" Edrin laughed as another silver-scaled shape slipped through Auren's grasp.
"They're too fast!" Auren protested, wiping water from his face.
"That's because you're thinking too much. Don't think—feel. The river isn't your enemy; it wants to help you. You just have to listen."
Auren scowled but gave it another try, letting the water run between his fingers. A shimmer beneath the surface caught his eye, and in a swift motion, his hands snapped forward. A fish wriggled in his grasp.
Edrin clapped him on the back. "There you go, lad! Now, you are listening!"
Auren beamed with pride.
But before he could respond, the low, unmistakable sound of a horn echoed through the valley.
The air in Rivenstead grew heavy when the riders arrived.
Hadric Valthorne led them, his armor reflecting the morning light with blinding intensity, their crimson cloaks embroidered with the sigil of House Valthorne: a coiled serpent devouring its own tail. Their horses, well-bred and powerful, exuded a quiet menace, the kind that spoke of battles won and villages razed.
The villagers gathered as they always did when the tithe collectors came. Some bowed their heads in quiet resignation. Others clutched their children close, as if their presence alone could ward off misfortune. Few met Hadric's gaze.
Edrin stepped forward. He did not bow.
"My lord," he greeted, voice steady.
Hadric barely inclined his head, his sharp eyes sweeping across the gathered villagers before settling on the cart of grain sacks waiting by the well. He frowned. "Is this all?"
Silence stretched. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and freshly turned soil, but no one spoke.
Edrin's jaw tensed. "It is."
Hadric swung down from his horse with the practiced ease of a man accustomed to command. His boots struck the ground, and with slow, deliberate steps, he approached the cart. He loosened the twine around one sack, letting a handful of grain spill into his gauntleted palm. Running it between his fingers, he exhaled sharply through his nose.
"This is less than last season's yield," he said, voice edged with suspicion. His gaze flicked up to Edrin. "Where is the rest?"
Edrin did not flinch. "The land was unkind this year."
"Was it?" Hadric murmured. He turned to the gathered villagers, his expression unreadable. "No storms. No flood. No war upon your doorstep. And yet, the tithe is lacking."
Edrin said nothing.
Hadric's lips curled into a smile, though there was no warmth in it. "You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?"
Auren, standing at the edge of the crowd, clenched his fists. His father did not waver, even as Hadric took a step closer, his presence looming.
"I would not," Edrin said. His voice remained firm, but Hadric was not a man who accepted words alone.
With a flick of his fingers, he gestured toward one of his knights. The man stepped forward, seizing a woman from the crowd—a mother with a child clutching her skirts. A gasp rippled through the villagers. The child let out a frightened cry.
Auren moved before he realized it, but a firm hand on his shoulder held him back. Seline's father, the Lorewarden, shook his head slightly. Wait, his eyes seemed to say.
Hadric remained unmoved by the fear. "Your people look… healthy enough. Perhaps they've had more to eat than they should."
Edrin's fingers curled at his sides. "The villagers were starving," he said finally. "I made sure they had enough to last the winter."
"And you decided this was yours to give?" Hadric mused. He turned the grain in his palm once more before letting it fall to the dirt. "You forget, Edrin—what grows in this land belongs not to you, but to House Valthorne."
Edrin's silence was answer enough.
Auren's breath came faster, rage pooling in his chest. He could see the tightening of Hadric's jaw, the way his knights stood at attention, hands at their hilts. This was no mere tax dispute. This was judgment.
Hadric exhaled and turned away, shaking his head as if disappointed. "Then you know the price of defiance."
The words rang through the square like a funeral bell.
Auren felt the shift in the air.The village stood silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air, as Auren's heart pounded against his ribs.
His father stood before Hadric,unyielding, a man caught between the inevitability of his fate and the iron will to face it. Hadric's voice broke the stillness.
Hadric stood tall, his eyes as cold as the blade he would soon wield. "Edrin," his voice rang out, echoing through the stillness, "you stand accused of treason. Theft, defiance, and stirring rebellion against the crown. For this, you will die."
Edrin's gaze remained defiant, even in the face of death. He lifted his head, spitting blood onto the dirt beneath him. "Rebellion? Is it rebellion to feed those who starve? To protect those who have nothing while you hoard what's stolen?" His words were thick with contempt, his voice a rasp from the punishment he'd endured, but it held power—a refusal to break.
Hadric's lip curled into a sneer. "You dare lecture me, peasant?."
Without hesitation, Hadric gestured for his soldiers to advance, their armored footsteps a heavy march of finality.The soldiers closed in, but Edrin fought like a man with nothing left to lose, hell-bent on dragging them all down with him. He staggered to his feet, his movements quick and desperate. With a sharp growl, he lunged at Hadric with the last of his strength, his sword flashing in the sunlight.
The soldiers hesitated for a fraction of a second—a hesitation that was all Edrin needed. He struck with brutal force, his blade catching one soldier across the chest,off-guard he was sent crashing to the ground. But before Edrin could take another swing, a soldier's spear pierced through his side, a cruel, unforgiving wound that sent him crashing back to the earth.
Hadric watched with a twisted satisfaction. "You are nothing," he said, his voice like ice. "And nothing will save you now."
Edrin's body was racked with pain, but his eyes held nothing but defiance. With an anguished roar, he shoved the soldier off him and rose again, his sword gripped in trembling hands.
The sight of him, battered and bloodied, standing against the inevitable, made the ground itself seem to tremble.
Hadric's expression shifted from amusement to annoyance. He raised his hand, and the air seemed to press in on them. A pulse of energy exploded from his fingertips,slamming into Edrin's chest with the force of a boulder. The man crumpled, his breath ragged, but his gaze never wavered from Hadric.
The power of an ascended psych was not something an ordinary man can resist,yet, Edrin stood again.
"I'm not done yet," Edrin rasped, dragging himself to his knees, his sword still in his hand. "Not… while there's still breath in me."
Hadric scoffed, dismissing him with a flick of his wrist. "You're a fool."
But in that moment, something happened. The last spark of Edrin's spirit flared. With a growl, he forced himself upright, closing the distance between them with the desperation of a man who had nothing left to lose. His sword flashed again, and this time, it cut through Hadric's defenses. The blade dragged across his face, leaving a deep gash that split his cheek open, blood spilling down like a river.
Hadric froze, his hand instinctively going to his face. A sharp intake of breath. Pain. Real pain.
For a moment, there was silence.
Edrin collapsed, his sword buried in the earth as he leaned against it for support. A smirk tugged at his bloodied lips. "So, you do bleed after all..."
Hadric's eyes burned with rage, his pulse quickening as the anger built within him. His lips twisted into a snarl, a cruel sneer forming. "You dare..."
But before Edrin could react, the world around him seemed to collapse in on itself. Hadric's power surged again, this time so violently that the air itself seemed to catch fire. Edrin was lifted off the ground, his body weightless, thrashing in the invisible grip of Hadric's magic. His sword fell from his hand, clattering uselessly to the dirt below.
Hadric stepped forward, eyes narrowed with contempt. "You should've known your place," he said, his voice low and full of venom. "But you were too stupid to see it."
The pressure increased. Edrin's chest was crushed by the force of Hadric's will, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His body convulsed, but his eyes remained locked on Hadric's, unwavering, unbroken.
A final defiant glare.
Then, with a brutal, crushing twist of power, Hadric snapped his fingers.
Edrin's body shattered against the earth with an awful crack. The air rang with the sound of bone against stone, and the life drained from him.
Silence returned, heavy and suffocating.
Hadric wiped the blood from his face, his gaze scanning the remnants of the man who had dared defy him. He turned away, dismissing the body with a wave, and walked toward his soldiers.
Auren's world collapsed in that instant, the weight of it bearing down on him like an avalanche. His father, the man , who had fought until the very end....was gone.