ROLFE: Heir to the ancient throne

Episode 4.

The fire flickered low in the center of Rockwyn. Its smoke shot straight up into the morning sky, dark against the grey backdrop. The rain had stopped, leaving the mud thick and chilly beneath their feet. Jeras’s men stood around the fire quietly and watching. In the middle, Jarvis hung by his wrists from a wooden beam, his upper body bare. 

He had been in that position since dawn after being caught.

Varn walked slowly around him, holding a piece of hot iron that glowed red at the tip. “You can make this end, boy. Just tell us where he is hiding.” 

Jarvis’s head drooped, his face bruised with one eye almost closed. He spat blood into the mud. “Go to the pit where you keep your ghosts.” 

Varn smirked slightly and pressed the hot iron against Jarvis’s shoulder. The sound of sizzling flesh broke through the morning air as Jarvis screamed, his voice bouncing off the walls. 

Jeras observed from his chair, holding a cup of ale with an unreadable look on his face. The men next to him shifted nervously but didn’t say a word. 

When Jarvis’s screams turned into weak gasps, Jeras stood up. He approached Jarvis, examining him like one would inspect a tool. “You were always loyal,” he said softly. “My daughter believed in you. You won’t help her if you die for a traitor.” 

Jarvis raised his head with gritted teeth. “You mean your brother.” 

The words felt heavy in the air as Jeras’s eyes turned cold. “We don’t say that name here.” 

He hit Jarvis hard across the face with the back of his hand. Blood splattered onto the mud. “Keep him alive,” he ordered Varn. “Suffering makes a person talk. By nightfall, he’ll remember everything.” 

Jeras then turned and walked away, his cloak dragging through the dirt. Behind him, Jarvis slumped against his bindings, murmuring to no one, “Hold on, Rolfe. Don’t waste it.” 

***

Deep in the forest far from Rockwyn, under the old oak tree and the smoke-stained roof of Mira’s hut, Rolfe woke to the sound of rain dripping from the eaves. His body still hurt, and the wounds on his back were tight with new scars. He sat up slowly, breathing in the scent of herbs and ash. 

Mira was by the hearth, grinding roots into powder. “You heal quickly,” she said without looking up. “Faster than most men who’ve been beaten nearly to death and brought back.” 

Rolfe rubbed his wrists where the ropes had cut into his skin. “I can’t stay here.” 

“You can’t walk half a mile without bleeding,” Mira replied bluntly. 

“I have to go back,” he insisted. “My brother is alive, he's suffering under Rockwyn while that monster sits comfortably.” 

Mira paused her grinding. “If you go back now, you'll end up in the dark with him. That’s exactly what Jeras wants to lure you in with the remnants of love.” 

Rolfe stood up, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs. “Then I’ll take his bait and use it against him.” 

Mira's expression became intense. “Listen, boy. The storm isn’t finished with you yet. I saw your future in the smoke; it leads through blood and ash, not back to Rockwyn. You'll have your chance to confront him, but that time isn’t now.” 

He faced the door. “Now you sound like the seer everyone feared. The great Mira.” 

“I am,” she replied softly. “And fear is what kept them alive.” 

Rolfe placed his hand on the doorframe. “You said I’d become the heart of the storm. What does that mean?” 

Mira's eyes sparkled in the firelight. “It means that first, the storm must break you.” 

He didn’t respond and stepped outside into the damp morning air. He still did not get what she meant and didn't bother asking again because all he would get is more riddles.

Two days later, Elisa came back. 

During that time, Rolfe focused on gathering strength, tending to his wounds, and walking short distances through the trees. Each night, he heard voices in his dreams: Malcer's whispering, Jeras's laughter, and chains rattling beneath the ground. 

When Elisa arrived at the edge of the clearing, Mira was already outside, holding her staff. “You’ve been walking risky paths,” she remarked. 

Elisa’s cloak was ripped, and her hair was a mess. “There’s no safety left in Rockwyn. The air is filled with fear. My father's men are searching every path.” 

Rolfe came out of the hut at the sound of her voice. “Does he know you helped me?” 

“No,” she replied quickly. “He doesn’t suspect me. Not yet.” 

“Then why did you come back? You should stay safe.” 

Elisa shook her head. “They took Jarvis.” 

Rolfe froze in shock. “When?” 

“I only found out yesterday. They dragged him from his father’s hut.” Her voice shook even though she tried to keep calm. “He’s alive, but ” she swallowed hard, “they’re hurting him for answers.” 

Rolfe clenched his jaw. “Then we go now.” 

Mira struck the ground sharply with her staff. “No. That’s death, not rescue.” 

He turned to her, angrily. “So I’m supposed to just sit here while my brother suffers and a boy is punished for helping me?” 

Mira stood firm as she faced him. “Yes. Until the storm chooses you again. You can’t save anyone if you’re already gone.” 

Her words felt heavy like stones, but Elisa stepped forward and said quietly, “He owes us. Jarvis risked everything to pull you from that post. If you let him die, his death will be on your hands.” 

Rolfe locked eyes with her. “You think I’m unaware of that?” 

“Then show me,” she challenged. 

Mira let out a long, heavy sigh. “You’re all drawn to the same dangerous flame.” 

She turned to her shelves, grabbed a small leather pouch, and tossed it to Rolfe. “These herbs will help you stay alive when you are gone. If you leave, take them with you. But if things change, go south to the Corville clan. Their chief owes me a favor. They’ll take you in.” 

Rolfe caught the pouch in mid-air. “And what about you?” 

“I’ve already made my choice,” she replied plainly. 

Elisa placed a hand on Rolfe’s arm. “If we’re leaving, we need to go now. The watch changes at dusk.” 

He glanced toward the dark forest that stretched endlessly beyond the clearing, then back at Mira. “If I survive this, I’ll come back for him and for you too.” 

Mira simply nodded. “And if you don’t make it, I’ll know the storm picked wrong.” 

That night, as the sun set, Rolfe and Elisa made their way through the forest toward Rockwyn. 

The trees seemed to whisper as they walked by, their leaves making soft sounds like faint voices of warning and mourning. Rolfe felt pain with every step he took, but anger pushed him forward. Elisa walked sil

ently beside him, her face pale yet determined.