Part - 1
"Motherfucker!" Rahim barked, nearly choking on his drink. "You're dragging us to him?"
"Are you insane?" Nadir cut in, voice sharp as a knife. "That man could level a town with a bloody toothpick!"
Orren jabbed a thick finger across the table, eyes narrowing at Lethan. "Listen here, brat scribe. If this is some joke"
"It's not!" Lethan cried, panic flashing across his face. "I swear, it's not! I have to deliver it."
Orren growled low in his chest. "You're either the dumbest fuck I've ever met or the bravest. And trust me, lad, I've buried both kinds."
Mira, arms folded, finally spoke. "Orren. If I'd known it was The Weaponmaster, I'd have told you up front. But I just heard it was a simple escort. He never mentioned this…"
"Easy coin my hairy ass," Orren muttered.
Rahim leaned back with a grin. "Well… at least it won't be boring."
"Shut up, brat."
The table sat in uneasy silence, the firelight flickering over their faces.
Then Orren leaned in. "Thirty silver is way too fucking little for this shit. I need thirty gold and even then, I can't guarantee we'll come back alive."
Lethan flinched. "What… I thought you were scared "
"Scared?" Orren barked. "Hah! Never. But I've got debts with him. Unsettled ones. He probably won't kill me outright over that… but I wouldn't bet on his mercy either."
Nadir tilted his head. "Wait. You know him?"
"Something like that." Orren waved it off. Then his eyes sharpened. "But forget that. What the fuck is so important you need to deliver it to Marr of all people?"
Lethan shifted uncomfortably. "Well… it's not just Ser Drosvain Marr."
"Say it," Orren snarled. "If you want to reach there safely, spit it out, motherfucker."
"Okay, okay!" Lethan raised his hands and pulled a folded parchment from his sleeve. He placed it on the table.
Their eyes ran down the list.
Varoc Redbane, the Warlord. Seraphine Durel, the Dawnfire Knight. Caltheris Morn, the Destroyer of Kingdoms.
Tharos Veyric, the Sea Lord of the Bloodtide Fleet.
And beneath, seals of great powers:
The Kingdom of Arcadia.
The Kingdom of Cindralith.
The Zahakar Tribes.
The Republic of Velmora.
The Frosted Kingdom of Hailspire.
Orren, Mira, and Nadir stared at him with slack jaws.
Then, together, they erupted:
"What the fuck are you carrying!?"
"Are you out of your godsdamn mind?" Nadir shouted.
"You want to die, boy?" Mira slammed her mug down.
"Shit," Orren growled. "You've gone and signed your death warrant."
Rahim, on the other hand, leaned in with a feral grin. "Sounds like a proper adventure to me."
"Shut up, brat!" three voices thundered at once.
Lethan's face paled, but he forced the words out. "Master Maerlin said… it's just an update. The change in the top ten of the Crimson Ledger."
The name alone made the air grow heavy.
Orren swore under his breath. "Fuck me sideways…"
Mira's lips parted. "If that's true… then the whole balance of power could shift."
Nadir rubbed his temple. "And every vulture in the kingdoms will be circling."
The room sat in silence again, the fire crackling like distant thunder.
Part - 2
Orren broke it first. "Fifty gold. That's my price. You want me and mine to keep you breathing? That's what it'll cost."
"Fifty..." Lethan stammered. "I don't have that kind of money!"
Orren's brows knotted. "You'll get rewarded for carrying this shit. Don't play dumb, lad."
"What reward?" Lethan's voice cracked.
Orren slammed his fist on the table. "You serious? You think you'll hand over a message that shakes kingdoms and not get rewarded? Don't make me laugh. Scholar or not, you're fucking naïve."
Lethan's shoulders slumped. He gave a hollow laugh. "Actually… I was a sweeper until a few days ago. They only promoted me so a scholar could deliver the information. Maerlin knew I wasn't trained, but rules are rules."
Nadir cursed under his breath. "Gods damn them. They don't want this spreading quickly… or at all. You were meant to die on the road, boy. Either by blades or by their own hand."
The truth hit Lethan like a hammer. His face crumpled. He stared down at the table, knuckles white.
For years, he'd scrubbed floors, carried books, swallowed his pride. He'd thought he was part of something respected, needed. Instead, he was nothing more than disposable.
His thoughts spiraled. His father's fists. His mother's harsh words useless, worthless. The laughter of children who pushed him down in the dirt. His lover walking away with another man. Every face, every sneer, every betrayal clawed back to the surface.
His eyes burned. His chest tightened. He whispered, "Does nobody want me? Am I needed nowhere?"
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
Orren's voice was rough, but steady.
"Wake up, boy. Don't get caught up in the past it'll drag you under. People come and go. Some will stand by you, some will stab you in the back. Some will die. Some will cheat. That's the way of it. But you..." he jabbed a finger against Lethan's chest, "You don't need their approval to matter."
He leaned closer, his tone hard as stone.
"The past doesn't exist anymore. The future ain't promised. The only thing you've got is now. What you do this moment. That's what shapes you. Not the ghosts behind you, not the shadows ahead. Just now."
Orren pulled his hand back, finishing with a grunt.
"So. Quit weeping. Decide who the fuck you're going to be. Right here. Right now."
The tavern was silent but for the crackle of fire.
Lethan's eyes brimmed, but he didn't look away. His tears fell, but his jaw hardened. Slowly, he wiped his face and straightened his back.
"You're right, ser Orren," he said, voice steady. "I can't change what's behind me. But I can decide what I do now."
He looked each of them in the eye, firelight dancing in his pupils.
"I'll deliver this message. No matter the danger, no matter the cost. If this is my duty, I'll see it through. I don't know where I'll end up. I don't know if I'll live past it. But I'll do what I'm supposed to do now."
Orren smirked, raising his mug. "Hah. That's the spirit, brat."
Nadir sighed, half impressed, half resigned.
Mira gave a faint smile.
Rahim slapped the table, grinning. "Now this is more like it!"
The night pressed on, the fire burning low. But at that table, a decision had been made one that would drag them all into the heart of storm and steel.
Part - 3
The Drunken Boar was quiet in the gray hours before dawn. The hearth had gone out, the smell of stale ale and woodsmoke lingering heavy in the rafters. Mira was already awake, wiping down the counter in silence, when the door creaked open.
Velra stepped inside. Her hood was pulled low, eyes ringed dark with sleeplessness. Mira's face softened at once.
"Velra… you look like hell," Mira said gently. "Still thinking about it?"
Velra let the hood fall back. Her hair clung damp against her cheek, and her expression was as hollow as the dawn outside. "It's been months, Mira. But it doesn't let go. I should have done more. Looked after them better. Maybe then…"
"Stop." Mira's voice cut firm, though her eyes were kind. "Incidents happen. Death follows us all, and it wasn't your fault. You can't bleed yourself dry for every blade that falls."
Velra looked away, jaw tight. "I told myself the same. That it didn't concern me. But when Thena…" Her voice caught. She forced it out anyway. "When Thena took her own life… I can't stop thinking about it. That was on me. I failed her."
Mira leaned across the counter, lowering her voice. "You couldn't have known. And nothing changes now, does it? The dead don't listen to our apologies."
For a long moment Velra said nothing. Her hands trembled at her sides, then finally stilled.
Mira, searching for something to pry her out of the grief, smiled faintly. "Lucky you came early. I think this next job might do you good."
Velra frowned. "A job? You only said to hurry. No details."
"Escort work," Mira said. "Easy coin. But more than that, maybe something you've been searching for."
Velra blinked. "What do you mean?"
"It's a chance to learn about the Sunbrand."
Her eyes widened. "The Sunbrand? Don't play with me, Mira. How could some escort mission…"
"You'll see," Mira interrupted. "The leader of this party isn't some ale-soaked merc. He's a Warden. A strong one. I've fought alongside him myself. He's seen more of the world than most men live to forget. If anyone knows the truth behind old names, old powers… it's him."
A faint light flickered in Velra's face, the first Mira had seen in months. Excitement, or maybe just distraction, but enough.
Before Mira could say more, heavy footsteps thudded on the stairs. The tavern floor seemed to breathe with each step. Orren Zahad came down, broad-shouldered, bearded, a mountain of a man with his long hair braided and a greatsword slung across his back. Smoke and sleep still clung to him, but his presence filled the room like thunder.
Velra turned. For a heartbeat she forgot to breathe. She was Slayer-rank, one step below Warden herself, but the difference was no hair's breadth. It was a chasm. Her knees locked under the sheer weight of his aura. Her hand twitched toward the rapier at her hip, but it might as well have been nailed there.
Orren glanced at Mira. "So this is the promising mercenary you spoke of."
Mira nodded. "Velra."
He looked her up and down, then snorted. With the next step he released the pressure, and Velra sucked in air like a drowning woman breaking the surface.
"She's weak for a Slayer," Orren said flatly.
Velra's face burned red. Her fingers curled into fists, trembling with fury.
Part - 4
Velra's blood boiled. The grief, the shame, the insult, all of it came clawing out at once. Her rapier sang free of its sheath, the steel flashing as she lunged.
Orren hadn't even been looking at her. He was talking idly to Mira, pulling a rolled leaf-stick from a pouch and striking it alight. Smoke curled from his lips as if the fight were nothing but a change in weather.
The rapier darted toward his chest. He turned his head at the last moment, caught the slender blade in his fist, and stared at her with sheer disdain.
"Weak," he said, his voice low. "And without honor."
His boot slammed into her stomach, and the impact thundered like a hammer. Velra was hurled backward, smashing through the tavern wall and into the tree outside. Splinters rained down around her.
"Orren, you bastard!" Mira shouted, slamming her hands against the bar. "Take it easy, she's my friend!"
Orren exhaled smoke, then looked over his shoulder with a grin. "Then she's my friend too." He stepped through the jagged hole he'd made, still holding Velra's rapier casually in his hand.
"You're paying for that wall," Mira called after him.
"Alright, alright," Orren muttered, amused.
Outside, Velra staggered to her knees, spitting blood, gasping for air that wouldn't come. Orren walked up, his shadow falling long across her. He tossed the rapier at her feet.
"Pick it up," he said, voice sharp as flint. "Come at me again."
His face was no longer calm, no longer lazy, it was the face of a man drunk on battle, eyes burning with a predator's light.
Velra's hands shook. She knew the truth: she had no chance. But pride burned hotter than fear. She seized the rapier, tightened her grip, and raised it once more.
This time she didn't rush blindly. She circled, searching for an opening, breath ragged. When the moment came, she lunged in a straight thrust aimed for his ribs.
Orren smirked. He slipped aside and drove an uppercut toward her chin, his fist whistling through the air. Velra planted a hand on his shoulder, vaulted upward, but before her boots even left the ground, his crushing aura bore down again. The weight was unbearable. Her body crumpled, crashing hard into the dirt. She couldn't move.
Orren loomed above her, laughing deep in his chest. "What now?" He crouched, resting his palm on her head. "You'll need a hundred years before you can touch me in battle."
He turned to leave, but Velra's fingers twitched. Every muscle screamed, but rage kept her awake. With the last of her strength, she hurled her rapier.
The blade cut the air with deadly intent. Orren's head tilted just enough, the edge grazing past with a whisper that might've torn his cheek if he'd been a heartbeat slower.
He froze, then turned back, grinning like a wolf. "Impressive. You could still move, even under my weight. You're not as weak as I thought."
He stepped close, released the crushing pressure, and offered her a hand. She took it, trembling but upright.
"I'm Orren Zahad," he said, voice carrying both pride and challenge. "Most call me the Warden of Dust."
End of Chapter.