2025-05-25 18:24:13
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The Child
Meanwhile, in Aerondale, the royal dining hall was bathed in an ethereal glow. Sunlight spilled through towering stained-glass windows, casting golden patterns across the long table of polished oak. The walls, lined with intricate tapestries depicting Aerondale’s victories and ancestral glory, seemed to shimmer faintly in the warmth of midday.The clink of silver cutlery and soft murmurs of nobles filled the air—a calm rhythm of court life. King Theron Ashford sat at the head of the table, regal in his crimson doublet embroidered with the phoenix crest of his house. His posture was impeccable, every motion deliberate. But his eyes—cool, silver-gray—missed nothing. They swept the room with quiet calculation, even as he cut into a piece of roasted venison.To his right sat Queen Elara, cloaked in soft ivory silk, her dark hair braided with pearls. Her beauty was as striking as ever, yet there was something amiss—her face, usually composed with effortless grace, looked pale. Shadows ling
Chasing Ghosts
Calen approached the bar, his boots making soft thuds on the worn wooden floor. The bartender, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair and a jagged scar along his jaw, glanced up from polishing a tankard. His eyes narrowed slightly, sizing Calen up.“I’ll take a glass of your Eryndall dark,” Calen said, voice calm but firm.The bartender arched an eyebrow as he poured the dark, frothy ale. “Don’t see many asking for that who aren’t from here.”“I’m just a traveler,” Calen replied, accepting the mug without flinching. “Passing through.”The bartender gave a dry grunt, but something about Calen’s stance—too still, too watchful—betrayed the truth. “You’re not the usual kind of traveler. What are you really looking for?”Calen met his gaze. “Information. I was told someone named Garron Blackbriar might be found here.”The bartender’s hands paused. His eyes flicked up sharply. “Who told you that name?”“I don’t think that matters,” Calen said evenly. “I need to ask him something. It’s imp
Bounty Hunters
Calen didn’t waste a moment.The second Carmen disappeared into the back corridor of the tavern, he was already on his feet, slipping out the door and into the cool night air. The streets of Eryndall were quieter now—lamplight casting long golden streaks across damp cobblestones, the sky above a canvas of deep violet, veiled with thin mist.He pulled his hood higher, face angled downward. He was a traveler, nothing more. And he couldn’t afford to linger too long in a place like this—not with his name whispered in the wrong corners of the realm.The Hollow Hearth. Carmen’s words echoed in his mind.South quarter. He moved swiftly, passing shuttered shops and flickering lanterns. But as he turned past a crumbling statue of some forgotten knight, he froze.Voices.Men’s voices—loud, rough, and far too alert for the hour.He pressed himself against a mossy stone wall, hidden beneath a warped wooden awning. On the street ahead, a group of men stood at a crossroads, half-shrouded in mist. F
The Information
Suddenly, the soft clatter of plates and low murmur of conversation in the tavern broke under a sharper voice—firm, older, and edged with concern.“Carmen? Everything all right over there?”The words cut through the air like a knife. Calen turned just enough to catch sight of the innkeeper standing behind the bar, a linen cloth draped over his shoulder, another clenched in his weathered hands. He didn’t blink. His gaze was locked on Calen—sharp, assessing, protective.The flickering lamplight highlighted the lines of suspicion on the man’s face. He was no stranger to trouble, and by the way his shoulders stiffened, he was already preparing for it.Carmen didn’t flinch. Her body remained poised and unmoved, though her voice reached him with clarity. “I’m fine,” she said with calm precision. “This man just wants to talk for a moment.”Calen nodded slowly in support, keeping his hands visible on the table and his body language carefully neutral.The innkeeper narrowed his eyes, his stare
I Only Want To Talk
It had been several days since Calen Storm first set foot in Eryndall, yet the city—grand as it was—offered him nothing but silence. Its towering spires and gilded domes might have held the whispers of thousands, but none spoke the truth he sought. Each morning, he walked the length of the stone bridges and winding alleys, passing under hanging lanterns and between marble arches, all while the city moved around him—alive, indifferent. Street performers played zithers on corner plazas, vendors shouted over carts of fruit and perfume, and nobles swept past in embroidered cloaks. Yet not a single voice could tell him what had become of his father.The trail, if it ever existed, had long since faded into the dust of time. All he had were stories—half-remembered, conflicting tales passed down by soldiers who had once marched under the banners of the Drakhtarion Rebellion. Some said Aldric Storm had fled to the mountains. Others whispered he had journeyed through Eryndall to find allies amo
The Hunt Begins
It started with whispers.Posters, hastily nailed to market stalls and village gates, bore the unmistakable sigil of the crown—the golden stag pierced by a sword. And beneath it, the name that once commanded loyalty, awe, and fear:CALEN STORM.“WANTED. BY ORDER OF THE KING. TEN THOUSAND GOLD ROYALS FOR HIS CAPTURE — ALIVE.”No crime listed. No justification. Only a decree.And yet, it was enough.Within hours, bounty hunters flooded the streets of Aerondale—some local, many foreign. Mercenaries, assassins, outlaws seeking royal favor. The scent of gold had drawn them like vultures to a battlefield.They moved in packs.They wore armor bearing no sigils—only leather dyed black, swords strapped to their backs, and cruel grins that meant business. Some rode warhorses bred in the frozen north. Others carried siege crossbows, nets woven with iron hooks, or enchanted traps imported from the eastern provinces.Even among the shadows, one name echoed louder than the gold reward:“The God of
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