The road to Caelburn wound through thick woodland, a narrow vein of dust and stone cutting through endless green. Wagons creaked under the weight of goods, oxen snorted, and merchants whispered anxiously as their caravan rolled deeper into shadow.
Altheron rode near the front astride a sturdy bay horse, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His eyes scanned the broken branches and churned soil along the path. The forest felt too still, as though it held its breath. A faint breeze stirred the leaves, but no bird sang.
Emi, perched lightly on a wagon with her bow already strung, let her silver hair glint where sunlight slipped between the branches. Her voice was sharp.
"Eyes up. Too quiet. If they come, it won't be beasts—it'll be men."
Roth, trudging alongside with his dented breastplate, gave a grunt.
"Bandits own these roads. Wolves with swords instead of fangs."
Altheron's grip on his reins tightened.
"Then let's make sure they regret it."
The ambush struck like lightning.
A shrill whistle split the silence—then chaos.
Figures burst from the underbrush, masked faces twisted in malice, blades glinting. Arrows hissed through the air. A merchant screamed as shafts thudded into wood. Oxen bellowed, thrashing wildly in their harnesses. Dust rose thick as smoke, choking breath and clouding sight.
"Shields forward! Stay behind the wagons!" Emi's voice rang out, clear as a bell above the chaos. She loosed an arrow before her words even faded, felling a raider mid-leap.
Altheron spurred his horse forward, steel flashing as he cleaved through the first man that came for him. Another lunged with daggers—one blade scraped across his shoulder guard, leaving a shallow cut. Altheron twisted in the saddle, driving his sword through the man's chest.
But the bandits kept coming.
From the treeline strode their leader—a brute with corded muscles, scars crisscrossing his arms, and a notched axe hanging loose in his hands. His eyes were greedy, his grin stretched too wide.
"Kill every man and guard," he bellowed. "Spare the women and children. They fetch a good price in chains. And don't touch the bow-girl or the one in the carriage—" his gaze lingered, voice dropping to a leering growl, "—I'll make use of them tonight."
He smirked, rubbing a calloused hand over his chest with lustful delight. His band roared with laughter.
Altheron's face darkened.
The battle clashed like thunder.
"Roth, left flank!" Emi barked, loosing arrow after arrow, every shot carving a path through the storm. "Altheron, centre! Don't let them breach the wagons!"
Her bow sang, her eyes never still—scanning, calculating, striking. One arrow pinned a raider's hand to a cart plank before he could swing at a cowering merchant. Another buried itself in the throat of a bandit who tried to flank Roth. She was the mind of the defense, cold and precise.
Altheron cut a swath down the centre, his sword moving with practiced weight. His scars burned, but his movements were stronger now—no wasted strikes, no desperate flailing. He had grown.
The bandit leader came for him, axe sweeping in wide arcs that split the air. Sparks flared as steel clashed on steel, each blow jarring Altheron to the bone.
The brute sneered between strikes.
"Too soft, boy. You'll die like the rest."
Altheron steadied, waiting for his moment. The axe came again—overhead, brutal. Altheron stepped aside, his blade lashing out to cut across the man's forearm. Blood sprayed, but the brute only roared and charged, ramming his shoulder into Altheron's chest.
They crashed to the dirt, rolling, the axe biting into the soil inches from Altheron's face. He kicked the brute off, scrambled to his feet just as the axe came whistling again. This time he caught it on his blade, sparks bursting, knees buckling from the weight.
The brute pressed close, his hot breath stinking of rot.
"You can't win. I'll break you in half."
Altheron gritted his teeth, twisting aside. The axe carved a groove through the earth, and Altheron slashed across the man's thigh. The brute staggered but swung again, catching Altheron across the ribs. Pain lanced hot, but Altheron forced himself upright, blood seeping beneath torn cloth.
The bandit leader laughed, wild and cruel.
"Bleeding already? You're nothing—"
Altheron's eyes sharpened, scars burning, but his stance was solid. He waited, patient, then when the axe came once more in a wide arc, he stepped inside. His blade drove upward, biting deep beneath the brute's ribs.
The man froze, eyes bulging in shock.
Altheron leaned close, twisting the steel free in a spray of blood. His voice was low and cutting.
"Now… what were you saying?"
The brute gurgled, clutching at his torn throat as Altheron's sword sliced clean across it. He fell with a crash, dust curling around his corpse.
The bandits faltered. Some fled into the trees, others dropped their weapons in surrender. The rest died screaming under Emi's arrows and Roth's brutal swings.
Silence crept back, broken only by the labored breaths of the caravan. The air stank of sweat, iron, and churned earth.
Altheron lowered his sword, chest heaving, blood dripping from the tip. His side burned where the axe had grazed him.
Emi hurried over, binding her own scraped arm while giving him a sharp look.
"You're bleeding again."
He chuckled hoarsely.
"So are you."
"Call it even, then." Her hands worked quickly at the torn side of his tunic, steady even as her words tried to hide the worry in her eyes.
Nearby, Roth toed the fallen axe with a grunt.
"Didn't think you'd stand against a brute like that. Guess I was wrong."
Altheron met his gaze evenly.
"Guess you were."
For once, Roth didn't sneer. He gave a curt nod—the flicker of respect plain.
That night, the caravan camped by the roadside. Flames licked the sky, painting weary faces in shifting gold. Merchants huddled close, shaken but alive.
One farmer approached Altheron and Emi, bowing deeply.
"If not for you… my children would be orphans."
Altheron placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"Then keep them safe. That's thanks enough."
Tears glimmered in the man's eyes.
Around the fire, the merchants and guards shared quiet talk, the weight of survival giving way to relief. Roth finally spoke loud enough for all to hear.
"Who'd have thought? At first, didn't look like the boy had much steel in him. But we were wrong."
A murmur of agreement rippled. Men and women alike turned their eyes to Altheron with newfound respect.
Emi smirked faintly, watching him as he sat sharpening his blade, the firelight dancing on his scars.
After a pause, Emi tilted her head, curiosity glinting.
"Tell me—what's Caelburn really like? Beyond the walls?"
A merchant leaned forward eagerly.
"Ah, Caelburn is famous for its thousand-year-old tree. They say its roots run deeper than the city itself, and around it stretches the grandest market in these lands. Spices, silks, trinkets from far-off kingdoms—you can lose yourself for days there."
Another chuckled.
"Or your coin-purse, if you're not careful."
Emi's eyes lit faintly, though she kept her tone dry.
"Sounds lively enough. Better than wolves and bandits, at least."
She glanced at Altheron, who was finishing the edge of his blade.
"You'll live, won't you?"
He looked up, a small ghost of a smile touching his lips.
"I'll live."
The fire crackled on, the merchants' voices carrying talk of trees, trade, and legends. But for Altheron, the night's silence felt heavier than the noise.
And as the road to Caelburn stretched ahead, one truth had settled in every heart that night—Altheron was no longer just another guard.
He was becoming something far greater—something the road itself seemed to whisper of