Two loud footsteps, all looked like soldiers mounted on horses, steady and walking towards the end of the place, until they were encountered by two people, Aron and Balrad...
The wind was dry that evening, dust lifting softly from the ground as the horses moved forward with calm but heavy steps. The sound of iron horseshoes crushing the small stones echoed through the empty path. Aron and Balrad stood side by side, silent, watching the figures approach. The sun was lowering behind them, stretching long shadows across the land.
They both stood together, staring at the horses as they passed by them, but the riders did not continue far. They wandered a little bit forward… then suddenly stopped.
For a brief second, the air felt still.
The horses reversed slowly, their breath visible in the cooling air. One of the men stepped down from his horse. They were wearing armour, polished yet marked with scratches from previous battles. Their faces were hidden behind metal helmets. Balrad's face grew a little worried, because soldiers could never truly be trusted. Not in times like these.
The man removed his helmet.
His face was sharp, serious but not cruel.
"Hello. My name is Keiss. And that man on the horse, his name is Stilin. We are actually from the King Amrock Castle…"
Balrad's eyes shifted slightly.
"King Amrock… okay. I know them very well."
It was close to where Balrad sold his things in the market. A great king for his people, righteous and proud. The lands under his rule were peaceful compared to others.
Aron stood there quietly, watching them talk about the castle. His eyes did not blink much. He observed.
Balrad nodded once more. "Yes, I am aware of that. But why are you two gentlemen here… at this time?"
Keiss' expression suddenly changed. The softness disappeared. A serious face replaced it out of nowhere. He coughed slightly, raising his right hand near his mouth.
"The darkness is coming over these lands."
The words felt heavier than his armour.
"A war is soon brewing. A war we cannot avoid. And with what little population we have in our lands, we are recruiting nearby men… even kids… to fight. Otherwise, this will all be perished by the darkness."
Aron, behind them, felt something move inside him.
The darkness… so they are here.
No word still came out of his mouth.
Keiss looked at Aron carefully. His eyes scanned the boy's posture, the scratches on his skin, the quiet strength in how he stood.
"Is this young lad your son?" he asked calmly.
Balrad first turned his face toward Aron. He saw the dirt, the faint injuries, the marks that never seemed to fully disappear. Aron was never once fully healed, both physically and mentally.
"He is my son."
The words came firm, but inside, Balrad felt stuck. He did not know what to say next. He saw the serious side of the knight. He saw the purpose behind his eyes. His tongue almost slipped to say something else…
But before anything more could happen—
Keiss nodded.
"Okay. If you want to come and join the army in this war, it will be an honour for all of us. But right now, I need to head towards the city. Take care."
With that, he mounted the horse again. Stilin adjusted his grip on the reins. The horses turned, and they both started to go towards the road, disappearing slowly down the silent path.
As they rode away, Keiss glanced back once.
Deliberately, he muttered under his breath,
"There was something suspicious about that boy… though. Tough body for a mere boy…"
Balrad watched them until they were only shadows in the distance. When they finally vanished, he exhaled deeply.
"Thank God… they didn't pressure me for you. I didn't even know what to say…"
"Balrad," Aron said from behind.
Balrad turned.
"If the darkness is coming over these lands… then we should protect it, don't we?"
Balrad looked confused, but he knew what Aron was saying. The boy's voice was calm, not childish.
"I know, son… but the darkness is just way too powerful to destroy."
He looked tired. Older than he was.
"I am tired. Let's go home."
Balrad walked towards home. Aron did not move immediately. His eyes stared at the silent path where the horses had gone from. The dust had already settled. But inside him, something had begun to rise.
...
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
The crowd roared like thunder.
Two men stood in the middle of a battlefield arena, swords drawn. The place was crowded with soldiers, villagers, gamblers, and warriors. The ground was filled with sand, and banners waved high above the stands. The bell rang loudly, cutting through the noise.
The duel started.
The air grew thicker with sand as both men moved at once.
Albert charged instantly, clashing his sword with Kling's. Steel met steel with a sharp echo. Sparks flew slightly from the impact.
Kling smirked.
"You're sure good for a twenty-six-year-old."
A little bit of ego check.
Albert took it seriously.
They pushed harder and harder, blades grinding against each other until their swords slipped apart, forcing them to step back out of position. Sand shifted beneath their feet.
Kling circled around him slowly, watching his breathing.
Albert bent his legs slightly, waiting for the opportunity. His eyes focused sharply. Then suddenly—
He kicked sand upward.
The grains flew into Kling's face, blinding him for a split second.
Albert charged forward with full force.
But even with his eyes closed, Kling reacted. He leaned back, performing a quick backflip to avoid the incoming strike. The crowd gasped loudly at the movement.
A clean and controlled motion.
Kling landed smoothly.
"You know we can go for days if we fight like this…" he said calmly.
Albert adjusted his grip on the sword.
"Don't worry. Even if it takes me a month to take you down, I will keep fighting."
The pride in his voice was clear.
Kling acknowledged him with a small nod. Then he suddenly stomped his sword into the ground, letting it stand upright in the sand. He clenched his fist and struck it into his other palm.
The crowd grew louder.
The moment started again.
Albert charged once more, swinging his sword with force. The blade cut through the air quickly, but Kling dodged it without panicking even a single time.
Albert moved again, shifting his body to create an opening.
For a second—
It looked perfect.
Kling saw it.
He twisted his body slightly, grounding his feet into the sand. He waited, letting the strength gather in his right hand. His muscles tightened.
And then—
He punched.
The impact was heavy.
Albert was thrown backward like a wooden barrel, rolling across the sand before stopping near the edge of the arena.
Silence for a second.
Then the crowd exploded.
"Kling! Kling! Kling!"
The match ended with huge cheers. Some laughed, some clapped loudly. Albert struggled to sit up, breathing hard.
Kling walked toward him.
"You're tough for a kid though…" he smiled faintly.
Albert looked up, frustrated but not broken.
Before anything more could be said, a man came from behind and whispered into Kling's ear.
"There is someone who would like to meet you."
Kling turned his head slightly.
"He tells his name… Mohawk."
The noise of the crowd continued in the background, but Kling's expression slowly changed.
The name meant something.