The Last Moon of Eldervale

Chapter 4 : Knights of the Fallen

Rowan’s POV

The smoke stung my eyes as I guided my Pegasus through the charred remains of Greywood. The scent of burned wood, blood, and death clung to the air like a suffocating blanket. From the sky, the village looked like a wound upon the earth, blackened and smoldering. Even with the wind beneath my wings, my stomach turned. The Red Moon had passed, but its mark lingered.

I landed carefully on the outskirts, hooves of my steed kicking up ash, the ground cracked and uneven from the fire. Eleven of us in formation my Knights and I dismounted, the leather and steel of our armor heavy on muscles honed for war. I drew a deep breath. Silence followed us, except for the occasional crackle of dying flames and the soft moans of the wind through ruined timber.

The priest and an elderly baron who had been overseeing Greywood approached hesitantly, their faces etched with grief. Behind them, a boy knelt near a grave, shaking, exhausted, and hollow-eyed. I recognized him immediately as the survivor the elder had mentioned: Alden. There was something about him. Something raw. The way his hands gripped the dirt around him. The way he refused to meet my gaze.

The priest spoke first, his voice carrying both authority and sorrow. “Knights of the Pegasus… you have come.”

I nodded, letting the reins of my steed slide through my hands. “We have. But tell me first what I should know. What happened here?”

The elder swallowed hard. “Wolves,” he whispered. “Monstrous beasts. They came in the night, under the Red Moon. They slaughtered everyone… unstoppable.”

I clenched my jaw, the pieces falling into place. These were no ordinary wolves. Legends spoke of cursed beasts that devoured entire hamlets. I had fought many creatures, but none like these. I could feel the gravity of the priest’s words pressing against me.

Behind me, my Knights dismounted, the sound of boots on rubble sharp. Each of them carried the weight of stories untold, the aura of battle-hardened warriors:

Thomas the Huge, standing nearly a head taller than any of us, arms like twisted oak, his presence alone a fortress.

Fallon the Slayer, a man whose eyes burned with the fury of a hundred battles, steel clenched in hand.

Hoseman, the fastest rider in the kingdom, already scanning the ruined village with a hawk-like precision.

Armalen the Slayer, twin to Fallon in reputation, his blade as ruthless as his resolve.

Dutch the Giant, a behemoth with shoulders broad enough to shield three men, a slow, deliberate strength that few could challenge.

And of course, myself, Rowan, once called the Rogue Knight, banished by the King for reasons too long buried in politics and betrayal. Yet the boy in the dust, the priest beside him, the elder leaning on his staff all of them they needed us. Whether they knew it or not.

I stepped forward, letting my voice carry across the ruin. “I am Rowan, once Rogue Knight of the Kingdom. These are my companions Thomas, Fallon, Hoseman, Armalen, Dutch. Together, we ride for justice, for protection, and for vengeance where it is due.”

The priest’s face tightened at my introduction. “I do not do business with a Rogue,” he said firmly, almost with disgust. His hands pressed together. “You were banished by the King himself. I cannot place our faith in one who defies the Crown.”

I allowed a faint smile, cold and even. “And yet,” I said, my voice low, steady, “I think you need me more than I need you.”

A sharp inhale, a pause. The elder glanced between the priest and me, uncertain. Finally, the priest’s shoulders slumped slightly. He had no other choice. None that could truly protect what little remained.

“We have seen the carnage,” he admitted reluctantly. “And we have no defense left. The wolves… they came from the forest in overwhelming numbers. Even the bravest men fell within minutes.” His eyes swept over my Knights, lingering on the steel of their armor and the glint of weapons, the unspoken promise of force. “We were powerless.”

I crossed my arms, feeling the familiar weight of command settle over me. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

He did. Every word was a dagger to the heart. The village, once lively and vibrant, was decimated overnight. The Red Moon had drawn out the beasts. Families slaughtered. Children torn from their beds. Livestock crushed and consumed. The priest spoke with a tremble, and yet there was clarity in his recounting, a careful detailing of how the wolves moved like shadows, coordinated, intelligent, monstrous.

I listened silently. My Knights shifted behind me, tense, prepared. Even Thomas the Huge’s massive frame stiffened as he absorbed the enormity of the loss. Hoseman’s hands never left the hilt of his blade. Dutch muttered something under his breath a low curse but I did not turn.

When the priest finished, I knew what he expected of us. Not revenge. Not yet. Survival first. Action second.

The elder spoke next, voice raspy. “You must go to the palace. Inform the King. Tell him the threat that approaches. Warn him before the curse spreads to the Capital.”

A laugh, bitter and short, escaped me. “The King?” I said. “The same man who starves his people, who hoards his wealth, who lets villages rot in famine while he sits behind gold and stone? He will not help.”

The priest’s eyes burned into mine. “Then all the more reason to inform him. He cannot ignore this. The curse does not choose loyalty, Rowan. If it reaches the Capital, he will not be spared either.”

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration simmering. The man had a point. Even a tyrant fears his own mortality. Even the corrupt cannot escape the bite of the Red Moon’s wolves.

He handed me a map, edges worn, the ink faded but legible. “The palace is treacherous. Guards loyal to the King may not recognize your authority. You must move carefully. This will guide you through the safest passage.”

I examined the map. It was crude but effective, highlighting routes into the Capital, secret gates, and safe houses along the way.

Fallon leaned closer, voice low. “We move at dawn, Rowan?”

I nodded. “At first light. We cannot linger. The wolves will not wait for anyone. We ride to the palace. We deliver the message. And then…” My voice dropped. “Then we decide the next step.”

Armalen’s blade scraped softly against his armor. “Then we strike?”

“Then we strike if we must,” I replied. “But first, survival. The Kingdom must know. And this boy” Thomas gestured toward Alden, still kneeling, silent, fragile “will guide us through the villages. He knows the forest paths better than any of us.”

Thomas the Huge stepped forward, placing a hand on Alden’s shoulder. “You’ve survived this night. That counts for something. You’ll help us survive the next.”

Alden looked up, fear and grief etched deep, but determination flickered in his eyes. I saw it. That raw, unrefined steel that forms in the hearts of those who have lost everything.

“No Thomas i have enough on my plate already than to have a weak boy continue this journey with me” I snapped

The priest’s voice softened, almost pleading. “You must hurry. There is no time to linger. Pray that the King heeds your warning.”

I tightened my cloak, feeling the leather and steel press against my chest. “We will deliver your warning,” I said. “Whether he heeds it or not is another matter entirely.”

We spent the remainder of the day preparing. Saddle our horses, check weapons, secure rations. My Knights were methodical,efficient, lethal. Each one carried the weight of countless battles.

The sun dipped behind distant mountains, casting long shadows across the charred village. The wind picked up, carrying the faint scent of smoke and ash. Wolves, I knew, were still out there. The curse had not finished with this land.

I mounted my steed first, pulling the reins tight, feeling the familiar tension in my shoulders, the pull of the leather, the readiness of muscle and mind. One by one, my Knights joined me. The Pegasi snorted, their wings flicking against the twilight. The priest and elder watched from the ruins, silent, their eyes a mixture of hope and fear.

I gave the signal, a tilt of my head and the horses began to move.We journey across the hills, above the smoke and ruin, silhouetted against the horizon. The map lay folded beneath my armor, routes memorized. Our journey had begun.

Behind us, Greywood lay in ashes. Behind us, death had touched all that we knew. Ahead, uncertainty. But forward we would go.

And as the wind whipped past my face, and my Knights followed in perfect formation, I allowed myself a single thought:

We would reach the palace and deliver the warning.

And if the King could not protect his people… then we would prepare to protect them ourselves.

The Red Moon’s shadow had not yet left the land. But neither had hope.