DARK WAR REBORN; From Magicless Boy to World's Hidden Hope

Chapter 5: Whispers from the North

Far beyond the settled lands, where winter never truly released its grip, the fortress of Alnor crouched against a jagged peak like a beast frozen mid-snarl. Black stone drank the weak light of the polar sun; banners of crimson and shadow snapped in the eternal wind. No living tree grew within a hundred leagues, only twisted stumps bleached white by frost and sorcery.

In the highest tower, Ramona waited.

She was five-and-twenty now, slender and pale, with hair the color of spilled ink and eyes that held no warmth at all. The vessel had served her well, beautiful enough to bend mortals to her will, strong enough to contain the ancient power coiling within. She wore robes of deepest violet, embroidered with silver threads that shifted like living smoke when she moved.

A single black raven circled the tower twice, then dropped through the open archway to land on the outstretched arm of the man who stood at her side.

Kaleb did not flinch as the bird’s talons pierced leather and flesh. Blood welled, but his face sharp-featured and scarred along the left cheek remained impassive. He tilted his head as though listening to a voice only he could hear. The raven’s eyes glowed faint crimson.

Minutes passed in silence. Then the bird croaked once and launched itself back into the air, vanishing into the storm clouds.

Kaleb turned to Ramona and bowed low.

“Mistress,” he said, voice smooth “The raven brings word from the south. The spark we sought is no boy, but a girl, Calley of the House of Alard. Daughter of the mund lord we burned. The gift awakens in her late and wild. She flees eastward with her cousin, a boy named Wayne, toward the garrison at Thorneford under Captain Garrick.”

Ramona’s fingers tightened on the arms of her obsidian throne.

“A girl,” she repeated softly. “The prophecy spoke of a child born beneath the blood-red star. A savior to stand against me. The seers were certain it would be male.”

Kaleb inclined his head. “The white mages assumed the same. Yet they tested not only the boy-children these fifteen years and found nothing. But this Calley was never examined, her father had no gift, her line thought barren of magic. Yet the raven confirms: healing, fire called by will alone. Raw power, untrained.”

Ramona rose and paced to the tall window, gazing out over the endless wastes.

“I will not take chances,” she said. “The prophecy child is meant to be my opposite, light to my shadow, boy to my woman. This girl is something else. Still… such a rare bloom in barren soil must be plucked before the Conclave claims her. Send the Seekers. Bring her to me alive. The boy may be disposed of if he resists.”

Kaleb bowed again. “It shall be done.”

When he had gone, Ramona descended a hidden stair behind the throne, deeper than any living servant was permitted to walk. The air grew colder, thick with the scent of old blood and iron. At the bottom lay a circular chamber lit by a single brazier of blue-white flame that gave no heat.

In the center floated a shard of black crystal the length of a man’s arm, suspended in chains of shadow. Within it swirled a deeper darkness; formless, yet watchful.

Ramona knelt. “My lord Dyrk,” she whispered. “I bring news.”

The shadows within the crystal stirred. A voice echoed inside her skull; vast, ancient, laced with cruel amusement.

Speak, my beloved.

She told him everything: the girl, the late awakening, the flight toward Thorneford.

The voice considered every word she spilled.

This Calley is not the one foretold. The blood-star child is a male, as the oracle promised. But the girl is… useful. Threads of fate tangle around her. She will draw the true savior into the open, willingly or not.

Ramona’s breath caught. “Then the child lives?”

He lives. Older than the fools believe. They search cribs and schoolrooms while the wolf already walks among the sheep. Look higher, my sweet. Among those who should have been tested long ago yet slipped the net. Mages past their fifteenth year who showed no spark in childhood. The prophecy hid him well

Ramona rose, eyes gleaming with new hunger.

“And when we find him?”

Bring him to me unbroken. I would speak through his lips before I drink his light.

The flame in the brazier flared higher, then died. Thus, the audience was ended.

Far to the south, Wayne and Calley stumbled out of the Thornwood onto the muddy track that led to Thorneford garrison. They were filthy, half-starved, cloaks torn by thorns. Calley’s hands trembled from the effort of keeping small fires alive each night without flint or tinder.

The garrison squatted on a low hill: timber palisade reinforced with stone, watch-fires burning along the wall. Smoke still rose from a blackened section where recent battle had scorched the wood.

As they approached the gate, a horn sounded, alerting archers to appear on the walkway.

“Halt!” a voice bellowed. “Name yourselves!”

Wayne raised empty hands. “Wayne of Highcrest! With me is Calley, daughter of Lord Alard! We seek Captain Garrick!”

The gates creaked open just enough to admit a squad of armed men. They moved like soldiers fresh from fighting with visible bandages and eyes so hard and weary.

At their head strode a broad-shouldered man in dented scale mail, gray streaking his beard. One arm was slung across his chest in a blood-stained sling. His gaze swept over the two youths and narrowed with instant recognition.

“Alard’s girl,” he said flatly. “And the mage-brother’s whelp.”

Captain Garrick turned to his sergeant. “Clear the yard. Then bring them to my quarters. Alone.”

Inside the small, firelit room that served as his command post, Garrick rounded on them the moment the door shut.

“You have the worst timing in the kingdom,” he growled. “We were hit by orcs at dawn, first raid in over twenty years. Proper war-band, not scavengers. They came straight for the gate like they knew exactly where to strike. We beat them off, but it cost us good men.”

He leaned forward, eyes boring into theirs.

“Now you two show up, reeking of desperation and secrets. Alard sent you, I’d wager my other arm on it. So start talking. Why are you here? And most important, who did you tell you were coming?”

Calley glanced at Wayne, fear flickering across her dirt-streaked face.

Garrick’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Because if those orcs were hunting you, children, then the darkness has already found us all.”