Three years had passed since the fall of Hidenheim.
Moonlight bathed the Shattered Wastes in cold silver, turning the crater where the mage-city fell into a graveyard of jagged stone and twisted metal. Thin trails of smoke still rose from dying embers, carrying the scent of old ruin.
In a smoky tavern on the outskirts of Greenwood, the air was thick with ale, sweat, and loud laughter. At a shadowed table, a blind man sat with a young boy who attacked a plate of roasted meat like he hadn't eaten in days.
The tavern owner's daughter set a mug in front of the boy with a warm smile. "Here you go."
He took a sip and frowned. "This isn't ale."
She chuckled. "You're too young, lad."
"The world's ending," he muttered. "Can't I have ale like him?"
The blind man — let out a low, amused chuckle.
At the center table, two grizzled mercenaries were deep in their cups. One slammed his tankard down. "The world ending? Where'd you hear that, brat?"
The boy stood. "Hidenheim fell. Demons grow stronger every day. Cities crumble—"
"Julius."sit the blind man said
Laughter erupted. "Demons? You actually believe that?"
The boy's eyes hardened. "Yes. Because they're real."
Before things turned ugly, the blind man grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward the door. The boy offered a quick apology over his shoulder.
They brushed past two hooded figures waiting outside.
Back inside, the mercenaries toasted loudly. "Me and my partner took the head clean off that big-shot's daughter. Pretty little thing. Pity."
The bar roared in approval. "Big fat bag of coins for little necks!"
The first mercenary seized the tavern owner's daughter by the wrist as she passed with fresh drinks. She struggled. "Leave me alone!"
Her father stepped forward. "Let her go!"
In one brutal motion, the mercenary yanked her onto his lap and tore at her clothes.
The tavern door slammed open with a violent crack. Cold wind snuffed half the lanterns. Two figures in black cloaks stepped inside.
The room fell silent.
One figure lowered his hood, revealing a scarred face, hard eyes, and a short beard. A massive blade rested across his back.
Dren.
The second lowered his hood. Younger, calm, with quiet danger in his gaze.
Dot.
Dren strode straight to the mercenaries' table. "Go," he told the girl.
The mercenary tightened his grip. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
Dren's second blade flashed in a blur. The man's hand opened in a hot spray of blood. The girl broke free and fled sobbing into her father's arms.
The mercenary screamed.
Dren sighed. "Didn't plan to draw steel yet." He sheathed the blade, grabbed the man by the hair, and dragged him across the floor like a ragdoll. Casually, he snatched a tankard and drained it.
The second mercenary bolted for the door — only to slam into Dot, who didn't budge.
Dren roared, "My horse boy go get it!"
Dot's voice was flat. "Stop calling me boy."
He walked out. Moments later, a stone cracked against the fleeing rider; the horse reared, and the man tumbled hard.
Chaos erupted. Swords rasped free. Men charged.
Dren didn't fully draw his greatsword at first. He kicked a table, cracked a tankard into a skull, twisted an arm until bone snapped. When he finally drew the massive blade, one powerful slash opened two chests in crimson arcs.
He stood over the last man, blade at his throat. "You were celebrating a beheading earlier. Funny how things turn."
Dot dragged the mercenary back inside by the collar and dropped him at Dren's feet.
Dot met Dren's gaze. "Which one do you need?"
Dren glanced down. "Not this one."
The first mercenary whimpered. "Please! I'll pay anything!"
Dren raised his sword. One clean stroke. The head rolled across the blood-slick floor.
The tavern owner and his daughter stared in frozen horror. The girl whispered, "Thank you."
Dren tossed two silver coins onto the bar. "A room. Now."
Upstairs in the simple room, Dot sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. Dren leaned against the wall.
"Pickup's coming early tomorrow. We deliver and collect."
"I know how it works.", Dot replied flatly
"Floor's yours then."
A faint memory stirred in Dot — broken rubble where Hidenheim fell,
Dren's voice: "Still breathing…" — but he pushed it down.
He murmured something too soft for Dren to hear, then sleep took him.
Dren crossed the room and gently moved the boy to the bed.
Morning.
The smell of hot food woke Dot. Downstairs, Dren was already eating and laughing with the tavern owner and his daughter.
"Boy, come join me. Food's damn good here."
Dot sat and devoured a bowl of soup. "Stop calling me boy my name is Dot."
After the meal, they handed over the bound prisoner and severed head to a wagon driver, who passed Dren a heavy sack of coins and a sealed letter.
Dren scanned it. "Looks like we'll be sleeping in a castle soon. Call to Greenwood."
They rode on. A short while later, a woman in form-fitting dark garb perched on a large tree branch.
"Help me!!" she called sweetly.
Dot sighed.
Ysmay leaped down gracefully and landed behind him on the horse, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Long time no see, Dot. My, how you've grown."
Dren glanced back. "Ysmay. Need a favor."
She took the note he handed her, made a face, then veered off on her own path with a cheerful wave.
In the distance, the great trees of Greenwood rose like ancient guardians.
Deep in a throne room somewhere far away, a king sat with grim resolve.
"We take the war to Thornhold."
The knights shouted in unison.
Chapter End