The Last Moon of Eldervale

Chapter 5 : The Boy who wouldn't turn back

Alden’s POV

The Knights left Greywood at dawn.

Their horses thundered across the charred village road, hooves kicking up dust and ash. Rowan led the column, riding a tall black stallion whose mane flicked like dark fire in the wind. The other Knights followed close behind, armored and silent, their cloaks trailing behind them.

I watched them from the shadow of a half-collapsed shed the last standing corner of my home. The cold morning air bit at my skin, but the ache in my chest burned hotter than any frost.

Rowan had made it clear he didn’t want me.

He had called me weak.

A burden.

Unfit.

But I couldn’t stay in Greywood. Not with the graves so fresh. Not with the memories smoldering like dying coals.

Not alone.

So when the Knights rode toward the forest trail that cut east through the hills, I tightened the strap of my small pack, stepped out quietly, and followed.

Not on horseback I didn’t have one.

On foot.

I knew the forest better than any outsider. I knew the hidden animal paths between the trees, the dried riverbeds, the narrow hunting routes my father used to take me on. Even exhausted, grief-hollowed, and injured, I could still keep up at a distance.

The Knights rode fast, but I stayed in their shadow, moving through brush and undergrowth, tracking the sound of hooves and the occasional glint of steel between branches.

Hours passed.

My legs burned. My ribs screamed every time I breathed too deeply. Sweat ran down my face despite the cold morning.

But I kept going.

For my father.

For my mother.

For Layla and Tomas.

For Mara.

I don’t know how long I walked before Rowan noticed me.

They had stopped beside a riverbroad, cold, running fast over smooth stone. The Knights watered their horses and checked their gear. Some ate, others sharpened blades. Rowan stood slightly apart, surveying the treeline with that ever-present warrior alertness.

I crouched in the bushes, hoping to slip around them unnoticed.

Then Rowan’s voice cut through the forest like an arrow.

“Boy.”

I froze.

Slowly, I stood and stepped out into the open.

All eleven Knights turned to stare at me. Some with surprise. Some with annoyance. None with kindness.

Rowan strode toward me, boots crunching over gravel, cloak stirring like a shadow behind him. Up close, he towered over me, every inch of him sharpened by battle and authority.

“I told you to stay in Greywood,” he said.

“I’m not staying,” I replied, breathless but firm.

Rowan’s jaw clenched. “Turn back.”

“No.”

The word came out too fast, too shaky but I didn’t take it back. Couldn’t.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t understand the danger. These forests are hunted. Wolves have tasted blood here. You will die following us.”

“I know the paths better than you,” I said quickly. “I know the shortcuts, the safe spots, the caves, the streams. I know where the wolves hunt. I can guide you.”

He didn’t blink.

“And…”

I swallowed hard.

“…I want to be a Knight.”

A few of them laughed.

Fallon barked out, “You? A Knight? You’re smaller than my saddle.”

Armalen smirked. “You’ll die before you even lift a real sword.”

Dutch shook his head. “Rowan, send the boy home.”

I clenched my fists, but Rowan didn’t even glance at them. His eyes stayed locked on mine.

“Why?” he asked quietly. “Why follow us?”

“To honor my father.”

The forest went still. Even the river seemed quieter.

Rowan exhaled slowly.

“You are not strong enough,” he said. “You will slow us down. You will put us in danger.”

“Let me prove myself,” I said, voice breaking but determined. “Test me. Challenge me. Make me fight someone. Anything just don’t send me back.”

Rowan studied me for a long moment.

Then he nodded once.

“Hoseman.”

The fastest of the Knights stepped forward, lean and sharp-eyed. He unsheathed a short sword, its edge polished to a mirror shine.

Fallon groaned, disappointed. “Why him? Let me do it. I’ll crush the boy in three swings.”

Rowan ignored him.

“This will not be a fight to the death,” he said. “First one to yield loses.”

I swallowed. My father’s hunting knife suddenly felt pitiful in my hand.

Rowan raised a hand. The Knights formed a wide circle around us, creating an arena of trampled grass and dust.

“Begin,” Rowan commanded.

Hoseman moved immediately.

Fast.

His blade flashed toward my ribs feintly. I dropped my weight, dodging the real strike aimed at my shoulder. Steel hissed past me, sharp enough that I felt the wind of it.

I swung my knife clumsily. He parried easily. Too easily.

He pressed forward again jab, slash, sweep.

I stumbled back, barely blocking. My arm throbbed. My breathing quickened.

He struck again. I dodged and rolled, scraping my palms on the gravel but staying alive. That alone earned a murmur from the Knights.

Hoseman lunged.

I barely twisted aside and slashed upward desperately. My blade caught his sleeve and opened a shallow cut across his arm.

Gasps.

Even Fallon shut up.

Hoseman stepped back, surprised.

“You’re quicker than you look,” he muttered.

But then he got serious.

He rushed me with real force now faster, harder, relentless. His blade struck my knife, tearing it from my grip. It clattered across the ground.

Before I could reach it, cold steel touched the side of my throat.

“Yield,” Hoseman said softly.

My chest heaved. My legs trembled. My pride stung like fire.

“…Yield.”

He lowered his blade and stepped back respectfully.

Fallon scoffed. “Lost just like I said.”

But Rowan silenced him with a single glare.

Then Rowan approached me.

I forced myself to stand despite the pulsing pain in my ribs.

“You lost,” Rowan said.

“I know.”

“You are weak.”

“I know.”

“You will slow us down.”

“I know.”

A moment of silence.

Rowan’s voice softened just slightly.

“But you did not run.”

My heart pounded.

“And you drew blood from Hoseman.”

Hoseman lifted his arm with a wry smile.

Rowan stared at me, unreadable.

“You showed courage,” he said. “And stubbornness. Enough to get you killed.”

I didn’t move.

Then he finally said:

“…But very well.”

I blinked. “What?”

Rowan turned to his horse and mounted with practiced ease.

“If you wish to follow us follow. But you will obey every command. You will train. You will carry your weight. And if you fall behind even once…”

His eyes hardened.

“…I leave you.”

My breath caught.

Rowan snapped his reins and turned his horse.

“Welcome to the journey, Alden of Greywood.”

The Knights mounted as well, forming their line. Hoseman gave me a nod. Thomas rested a heavy hand on my shoulder as he passed. Dutch grunted something like approval. Fallon only rolled his eyes.

But I didn’t care.

I wasn’t alone anymore.

And for the first time since the Red Moon, something inside me felt alive.

I tightened the straps of my pack, winced at my bruised ribs, and began walking after them down the long forest road.

Maybe one day I really would become a Knight.