The King's Guard

Kael Draven sat in a wine shop in his village. The shop had old wooden beams and shelves with bottles. It smelled like wine and wood. An old man named Fred, called Sir Fred by locals, cleaned a glass behind the counter. He had scars from his time in the military.

“Your dad doesn’t want you to join the Shadow Corps,” Fred said, looking at Kael, a tall handsome young man with short brown hair and blue eyes. Kael frowned. “I’m old enough to decide what I want.” he said.

Fred put the glass on a rack and turned to Kael. “You can make your own choices. But the Shadow Corps is strange. I was in the military for years and don’t know much about them. They protect the royal family, that’s all.”

Kael shrugged. “Protecting the royals doesn’t sound hard.”

Fred shook his head. “The royals deal with dangerous things. You might have to die to protect them. Your dad wouldn’t want that, not after losing your mom.”

Kael went quiet. His mom died when he was young. His dad, a blacksmith, used to make weapons for village guards and visitors. After her death, he stopped making weapons and stayed home, keeping to himself. Kael thought about how his dad had changed.

Fred put a hand on Kael’s shoulder. “Just think about it.” he said, then went back to cleaning glasses.

The shop was small, lit by lanterns. The shelves had bottles of different sizes and colors. Kael liked the place and had been coming here for years. The wooden floor creaked when he walked, and the counter was worn from use. The lanterns made shadows on the walls.

As the night went on, the last customers left the shop. Kael started helping Fred close up. He picked up empty glasses from tables and wiped them down with a cloth. Fred counted money at the counter and locked the cash box. It was quiet outside, with only crickets making noise. Kael went to the windows and closed them, pulling curtains over them. Fred stacked bottles behind the counter. They worked without talking much, used to the routine.

Kael finished closing the windows and walked back to the counter. Fred was putting away the last bottle. “All done, Sir Fred,” Kael said.

“Good job,” Fred said, nodding. “Let’s lock up and go. It’s late.”

As Fred started turning off the lanterns, the door opened with a loud bang. A group of men walked in. They wore dirty clothes and carried old weapons like knives and clubs. Their leader pointed a knife at Fred. “Give us the money,” he said.

Kael stepped in front of Fred. His heart was pounding like a drum against his chest, but he kept his voice steady. The warm glow of the last lantern cast long, flickering shadows on the wooden floor as he reached out and seized the broomstick leaning beside the counter. His knuckles whitened around the handle.

“We’re not giving you anything,” he said coldly, meeting the leader’s eyes without flinching.

The man gave a barking laugh, teeth yellow in the lamplight. “Brave words for someone holding a stick.”

Then, without warning, he lunged.

Steel flashed through the air. Kael reacted instinctively, lifting the broomstick just in time. The blade scraped against the wood with a high-pitched screech, and he twisted his arms, knocking the knife clean out of the man’s grip. It clattered onto the floor, spinning to a halt near Fred’s feet.

The man staggered back, clutching his wrist and snarling in pain. “You little—!”

Before he could finish, another thug let out a yell and charged at Kael from the side. His boots thudded heavily against the floorboards. Kael spun, ducked low, and swept the broomstick hard at the man’s shins. The blow landed with a sickening thud. The attacker cried out as his legs gave way beneath him, sending him crashing headfirst into a table. The wood cracked on impact, and the man crumpled to the floor, groaning.

Fred, wide-eyed but not frozen, snatched up a half-empty bottle from the counter. As a third thug lunged towards him, Fred swung the bottle with both hands. Glass shattered against the side of the man’s head, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes, blood trickling from his scalp as he rolled onto his back, dazed and whimpering.

Two men remained, both now hesitating—uncertain, glancing at their fallen comrades. One, larger and breathing heavily, let out a grunt and charged at Kael with a roar, club raised.

Kael moved fast. He jabbed the broomstick into the man’s stomach, making him double over with a loud wheeze. Without hesitating, Kael brought his knee up, then slammed his foot into the man’s lowered face. The thug dropped to the ground, eyes rolling back.

The final man took one glance at the chaos—his leader clutching a broken wrist, two groaning bodies on the floor, and Kael still standing tall—and bolted for the door.

“Oi!” Kael shouted, and in one smooth motion, he hurled the broomstick. It struck the fleeing man across the calves. The thug tripped, sprawling flat on his face with a grunt.

Kael dashed after him, leapt forward, and landed a clean punch across the man’s jaw. The thug’s head snapped sideways and hit the floor with a dull thud. He lay still.

The shop was quiet again. Kael was breathing hard. Fred looked at him. “You did good,” he said. “Let’s tie them up and call the guards.”

They dragged the men to the back of the shop and tied them with rope. Kael felt okay about stopping the robbers. “See, I can handle myself,” he said to Fred. “My dad doesn’t need to worry.”

Fred shook his head. “You’re strong, Kael. I taught you how to fight. But the Shadow Corps is different. It’s dangerous.”

Kael didn’t agree. “The choosing ceremony is tomorrow. I’m going to sign up. If I get in, no one will tell me what to do. If I don’t, I’ll listen to you and my dad.”

Fred looked at Kael for a long time. “It’s not my place to decide,” he said. “If your dad says it’s okay, I’ll take you to the city for the ceremony.”

Kael smiled and nodded, his thoughts already racing ahead to the conversation he’d soon have with his father. He could almost see himself standing among the ranks of the Shadow Corps, a dream finally realized. “Thanks, Fred. I’ll talk to him tonight. He’ll understand.”

"Let's get out of here, lad," Fred said, glancing at the overturned tables and scattered debris left behind by the bandits. "It’s been a long night, and tomorrow’s going to be even longer.”