Year 400 – Duskrend Wildlands
The sun rose slow and pale, spilling gold across the still surface of the lake. Mist clung to the water like gauze, drifting in thin veils before the light burned it away. Takaya sat at the edge of the rocky bank, fishing rod steady in his hands, the line disappearing into the depths where shadows stirred unseen.
It had been quiet all morning, save for the occasional plop of a fish breaking the surface. The sort of quiet that pressed close, wrapping around him until even the sound of his own breathing felt too loud.
"Fishing," he muttered under his breath. "Never thought I'd be doing this."
The Veyl chuckled in his mind. "You'd rather be bleeding somewhere, wouldn't you? At least you know how to handle pain. Stillness, though… that unnerves you."
Takaya ignored it, eyes fixed on the water.
A faint rustle behind him. Bare footsteps pressing into soil.
Before he could turn, something soft settled on his head.
"There!" a small voice giggled triumphantly.
Takaya blinked, reaching up—but stopped when he felt woven stems and petals against his fingers. Slowly, he turned his head.
Eri beamed up at him, hands clasped behind her back. "Big Brother Taka looks perfect now!"
Takaya pulled the flower crown off, stared at it for a long second, then—without a word—set it back on his own head. He straightened his back, puffed his chest, and tilted his chin upward.
"Then kneel, peasant," he said in a deep, mock-serious voice. "For I am the Flower Prince, ruler of this lake."
Eri squealed with laughter, nearly doubling over. "You sound so stupid!"
"Stupid?" Takaya raised an eyebrow, keeping his act firm. "That's no way to address royalty. I could have you thrown into the dungeon."
"There's no dungeon!" she shot back, grinning ear to ear.
"Then I'll make one," he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.
Eri leaned against him, still laughing, her tiny hands gripping his arm. "You're funny, Big Brother Taka. I'm gonna make you a bigger crown next time!"
The Veyl's voice purred with amusement. "Playing pretend with a child. How noble of you, prince. Careful—you might start believing in this little kingdom."
Takaya ignored it again, though this time a small smile tugged at his lips.
The crown still rested crookedly on Takaya's head as Eri skipped around him, arms spread like wings. He kept the fishing rod steady with one hand, but his face was fixed in an exaggerated mask of dignity, as though the crown were made of gold rather than weeds and wildflowers.
Footsteps rustled behind them. Lira's voice floated over, warm and amused.
"Well, well. I leave for a moment and come back to find royalty sitting by the water."
Takaya glanced back, caught between keeping his act and breaking it. "You're just in time, subject. Kneel before your prince."
Lira arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms loosely. Her lips curved into a smirk. "A prince with no kingdom, no throne, and no dinner on the fire? I'd say your crown's a little empty."
Eri laughed so hard she nearly toppled into the grass. "He's the Flower Prince, Mama! He said he's gonna throw me in a dungeon!"
"Did he, now?" Lira knelt beside her daughter, ruffling her hair before giving Takaya a long, teasing look. "A dungeon in my house? You'll have to build your own, prince. My cottage is full enough as it is."
Takaya let out a low grunt, but couldn't quite keep the smile from breaking through. "Maybe I'll build one under the lake, then."
Eri clapped her hands. "Yes! Yes! Then you can be the Lake King instead!"
"The Lake King?" Takaya repeated, tilting his head slightly.
Lira shook hers with mock resignation. "Careful, Taka. If you let her name your titles, she'll have you ruling half the mountain before sundown."
The Veyl hummed softly, almost thoughtful. "Funny, isn't it? A crown of weeds, a game of make-believe… and yet you sit taller with it on your head than you ever did wielding a blade."
Takaya ignored him, but he felt the words sink deeper than he wanted to admit.
The fire crackled steadily near the lake's edge, its glow washing over their faces. The smell of roasted fish floated in the air, simple but comforting. Takaya sat with his knees drawn up, carefully turning a skewer over the flames, while Eri hovered dangerously close, poking the sticks like she was in charge of the fire.
"You'll burn it if you keep doing that," Takaya muttered.
"I will not," Eri said defiantly, puffing her cheeks. "I know exactly how to cook fish."
From across the fire, Lira chuckled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Is that so? Funny, because you complained the last time I let you cook, remember?"
Eri's face reddened. "That was different! The pan was cursed or something."
Takaya raised an eyebrow. "The pan?"
"Yes, the pan!" she doubled down, pointing her skewer like a sword. "Don't you believe me?"
Takaya gave a noncommittal grunt, the kind that said no, but I'm not going to argue. Eri groaned dramatically and plopped down beside him.
When the fish was finally ready, they passed the skewers around. The first bite burned Takaya's tongue, but he swallowed without complaint. Eri, meanwhile, stuffed hers like she hadn't eaten in days, then let out a muffled, "Sho good!" with her cheeks full.
Lira laughed again, her smile gentle. "Slow down, Eri. You'll choke."
Eri gulped the food down with a drink of water, then pointed her skewer at Takaya. "See? He eats weird too—he's too careful. I bet he counts how many times he chews."
Takaya smirked faintly. "I just don't inhale it like you do."
"Uh-huh," Eri said, unconvinced. She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "He's a serious guy, Mama. Don't you think?"
Lira glanced at Takaya over the fire, her eyes thoughtful. "Serious, maybe. But not unkind."
The words caught Takaya off guard. He quickly looked down at his food, muttering, "You think too much of me."
Eri grinned mischievously. "See? He's shy. I bet he smiles when nobody's looking."
Takaya didn't reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him.
The night went on with easy chatter. Eri told small stories—about how she once tried to catch fish with her bare hands and fell headfirst into the stream, about the time a squirrel stole her bread—and Lira listened with patience, occasionally adding her own warm corrections.
The three of them fell into a companionable silence, broken only by Eri's soft humming and the crackle of the flames. For once, Takaya wasn't just a traveler or a fighter. He was part of something simple—sharing food, laughter, and warmth with people who made the night feel less lonely.
And though none of them knew it, that fleeting peace would soon burn brighter in memory than the fire itself.
The warmth of the fire still lingered when the first sound cut through it—a sharp rustle in the underbrush. Takaya's head snapped toward the treeline. What followed wasn't the scurry of an animal, but the heavy crunch of boots on leaves.
Eri froze mid-bite, her skewer halfway to her mouth. Lira set hers down slowly, her smile fading into a tight, watchful line.
From the shadows, men emerged one by one. Six of them. Rough, unshaven, dressed in mismatched leathers and cloth, each carrying steel or iron at their sides. Their eyes weren't curious like travelers—they were hard, measuring, greedy. Hunters, yes, but not of deer.
Takaya rose to his feet in a single motion, placing himself between the firelight and the cottage. His hand hovered instinctively near his waist, though no weapon rested there. Still, his posture alone made it clear he wasn't prey.
The tallest of the men smirked, tilting his head. "Didn't expect to see folk out here. Cute little cottage you've got… and company too." His gaze slid toward Lira and Eri.
Takaya's voice cut sharp through the night. "Inside. Now."
Eri blinked at him, startled. "B-but—"
"Eri. Go." His tone left no room for argument.
Lira grabbed her daughter's hand, pulling her gently but firmly toward the cottage. She hesitated only once, her eyes locking with Takaya's for the briefest second, as if to say be careful. Then she ushered Eri inside, the door closing behind them with a soft thud.
The fire crackled in the silence that followed. The circle of light now held only Takaya and the men who had wandered in, the air heavy with tension.
The leader of the group stepped forward, boots crunching over the forest floor, and let his gaze sweep the small clearing before resting on Takaya. The firelight flickered across his scarred face, making his crooked grin even more menacing.
"So," he said slowly, dragging out each word, "you've been enjoying a little slice of paradise, hmm? Fishing, feasting, quiet nights by the lake…" He gestured at the water lazily. "Shame. All of that could be yours… or gone, depending on how cooperative you feel."
Takaya didn't flinch. His jaw tightened. "What do you want?"
The leader laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the surrounding trees. "Straight to the point, I like that. Listen carefully, boy. We're not here for coin. Not for food. Not for petty revenge. No… we're after something far greater." He flicked his hand toward the lake. "That creature. The one you've been wasting your muscles on, trying to catch. It's not ordinary."
The other men shifted behind him, eyes gleaming with a mixture of greed and anticipation. Takaya's instincts screamed at him, telling him the danger was immediate.
"One of the old stories calls it the 'Lady of Atlanta's Ward,'" the leader continued, voice lowering like a conspiratorial whisper, though all could hear it plainly. "A being of immense power, protected for centuries. Slay it, and you gain glory, wealth, and respect beyond imagining. Fail—or let it live—and you're nothing but peasants wandering the woods."
Takaya's fingers curled into fists, but he remained silent, listening.
"And," the leader added, stepping closer, "we'll need this cozy little cabin of yours." He gestured toward the cottage, teeth flashing in a grin. "Perfect shelter to watch the lake, wait for the right moment. You… can either leave it behind with us, leave the women and girl here under our care… or you can stand in the way."
Takaya's mind raced. The firelight cast shadows over the man's face, highlighting scars, a cruel smile, and the glint of steel strapped to his chest. His gut twisted, not just with fear but with the weight of impossible choices.
"And if I refuse?" Takaya's voice was low but steady.
The leader's grin widened. "Then you'll see just how serious we are. You're strong, I'll give you that, but strength alone won't save them."
One of the bandits snorted, leaning casually against a tree, a wicked dagger in hand. "Yeah, big guy. Leave 'em and walk away, or we make you watch while we take the lady of the lake. Easy choice, right?"
Lira's soft voice called from the cottage doorway, steady and commanding despite the tension. "Takaya. Don't—"
Takaya cut her off, stepping slightly forward, keeping his eyes on the leader. "I'm not leaving."
A low laugh rolled through the bandits. The leader's expression flickered, shifting from amusement to mild irritation. "Bold. I like that. But bold doesn't keep you alive in these woods."
The air hung thick with anticipation. The calm lake behind them seemed to darken, as if the water itself was aware of the threat now posed by the intruders. Takaya's heartbeat pounded in his ears, but he didn't waver. Every muscle was tensed, every thought focused.
The leader's grin returned, sharper than before. "Fine. Stand. Refuse. But know this: one wrong move, and the warmth of this little cabin, the laughter of the girl… all gone." He let the words hang in the air like smoke, and then motioned subtly to the men behind him.
Takaya's knuckles whitened. "Then you'll regret underestimating me."
The bandits shifted their stance, some gripping weapons, others raising their hands slightly as if to begin some spell. Sparks of malevolent energy flickered faintly around the tallest, hinting at destructive power they didn't hesitate to wield.
The quiet night fractured, the lake reflecting the tension, the firelight trembling, and the sense of inevitability pressing down. The confrontation was about to erupt, and the small peace Takaya, Lira, and Eri had built felt fragile, hanging by a single thread.
The leader's voice cut through the thickening tension one last time. "So be it. Let's see how strong your conviction really is, boy."
Takaya's jaw tightened, and the Veyl's voice in his mind rasped, amused yet warning: "Oh… now you're dancing with fire. Let's see if you survive the blaze you're about to face."
Takaya's hands clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. The fire from the lake's edge flickered across his tense expression, shadows dancing across his face. The leader's words had ignited a spark he couldn't suppress—the kind that had flared during that first fight in Duskrend, the one that had tested every ounce of instinct and will he had.
A faint ash began drifting from the ring he still wore, almost imperceptibly at first. Takaya's eyes narrowed as he felt it—an almost humming vibration at the base of his hand. The Veyl stirred in his mind, low and amused.
"You've waited long enough, boy. Show them what patience yields."
Takaya exhaled sharply, trying to steady his breath. He flexed his fingers, letting the ash pool, float, and swirl upward. The air around his hand thickened as the fine gray particles coalesced, forming the familiar weight, shape, and cold certainty of Solthar. The katana materialized in his grip, warm despite its ashen form, singing faintly as if alive.
The bandit leader's grin widened as he took a step closer, his boots crunching on dry leaves. "Well, well," he said, voice rich with mockery. "Look at that. A little show-off with an artifact, is it? That's a fine blade you've got there. Suits you… but I think it would suit me better. Imagine the glory." He ran a hand over the hilt of his own weapon, clearly imagining the power it would bring him.
Takaya didn't respond with words. Instead, he flexed his fingers around Solthar's hilt, feeling the balance, the weight, the humming pulse of intent beneath his palm. The blade seemed to recognize him, solidifying in purpose. Every muscle in his arm tensed in anticipation.
The leader chuckled again, pacing slowly now, circling the small clearing. "You think that little toy will save you? Don't get me wrong… I admire it. But toys belong in the hands of those who can wield them. Maybe if you hand it over… I could spare your friends."
Takaya's jaw tightened. The Veyl's voice whispered sharp and amused:
"Oh, I like his arrogance. Foolishness suits them. Let's see how they learn… the hard way."
A faint wind stirred the surface of the lake. Eri clutched Lira's sleeve inside the cottage, peeking out with wide eyes. Lira's expression was calm but taut, hands clenched at her sides. Both of them had trained themselves to hide fear, but Takaya could sense it—the subtle pull in the air, the way they expected violence any second.
He raised Solthar slightly, letting the ash coat the blade's edge, faintly glowing with the residue of intent. Sparks of energy seemed to pulse from it, a soft hum that cut through the tense silence of the forest.
"Impressive," the bandit leader said, voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in, scrutinizing the blade. "Really impressive. One can tell it's… unique. A weapon forged with thought, not just steel. Yes… yes, it belongs with someone who can use it—perhaps me."
Takaya's eyes narrowed. "It belongs with me," he said, his voice calm, but carrying a weight that made the leader pause. The Veyl chuckled quietly, almost gleefully:
"Finally. The moment you embrace it. Hold tight, boy. Don't let them know how sharp you can cut until you have to."
The bandits tensed, sensing Takaya's change in posture. He wasn't just standing there; he was ready. Solthar shimmered faintly, the hum of its presence cutting through the forest's night air like a subtle warning. The leader's grin faltered slightly as he noticed the ash coiling subtly around Takaya's hand, forming almost tangible wisps that hinted at what was coming.
"You think a little blade will save you?" the leader said, voice rising, shaking off the pause. "You think one sword is enough?"
Takaya's fingers tightened on Solthar. The ash thickened, twirling like smoke around the blade. It pulsed, responsive to his will, reacting to the faintest intention in his mind. His breathing steadied, controlled, each exhale a measured preparation.
"You'll find out," Takaya said quietly, almost a whisper, but carrying a steel-edged certainty that made even the closest bandits step back. The Veyl's voice purred low in approval:
"Oh, you'll remember this for the rest of your pathetic lives."
The leader snarled, realizing that the threat wasn't idle. The other bandits shifted, readying their weapons, murmuring incantations under their breaths, sparks of magical energy flaring around their fists. The tension snapped like a cord. Every muscle in Takaya's body coiled like a spring.
He didn't move yet. He didn't need to. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the lake's black surface reflecting the rising moon, and the faint hum of Solthar filled the air like a promise. This was the calm before the storm. The seconds stretched, heavy and deliberate, and then the first motion would begin.
Takaya's fingers tightened around Solthar as the ash from his ring coalesced into the familiar katana, the metal humming faintly with intent. The bandit leader laughed, stepping closer. "That's a fine piece of work you've got there. Would suit me better than you, though," he sneered, gesturing to the blade.
Takaya said nothing. His eyes swept the clearing. The cottage loomed behind him, smoke curling from the thatched roof where a stray spark from the bandit mage's careless fireball had caught hold. The dry wood hissed and snapped, flames licking upward, casting flickering shadows over the trees. Eri and Lira's screams echoed from inside as a beam collapsed, the structure groaning under the sudden blaze.
The first bandit charged, a double-headed axe swinging. Takaya stepped forward, Solthar's edge slicing not flesh but the certainty in the attacker's strike. The axe froze mid-air, its wielder stumbling, momentum sending him crashing into a tree with a sickening crack.
Another came from the side, twin daggers flashing. Solthar moved in perfect rhythm with Takaya, cutting through his confidence; the man's feet tangled in the underbrush, and he fell face-first into the mud, gasping.
A mage raised his hands, fire coalescing into a deadly orb. Before he could finish the chant, Takaya's intent struck, unweaving the certainty in the spell. The fireball exploded prematurely, scorching the caster and igniting the dry grass beneath him. He screamed as he collapsed, coughing and burning.
The clearing itself reacted violently to the chaos. Trees shivered, sending loose leaves spiraling into the fire-lit night. Smoke coiled around embers, drifting toward the lake, where the water hissed as it met the heat. Rocks tumbled from the cliff above, dislodged by the shifting ground and panicked bandits.
Takaya didn't pause. Each swing of Solthar erased the will behind their attacks: the archer's bowstring twanged uselessly as he fell into the lake, soaking himself and abandoning his arrows. The axe wielder tried to rise, but a final push from Takaya's blade sent him sprawling into the flames licking the edge of the cottage.
The leader roared in frustration, raising a curved sword. Solthar met