Lumenor Forests — Dawn
Mist clung to the earth; the bark of the trees had lost its color.No birdsong.It was as if the forest's breath had been buried beneath rotting soil.
As Edrin Fal and his men advanced, they saw the earth darken, leaves turning vein-by-vein into black.
They headed toward a nearby elven settlement.Once a humble village — now a fortified outpost wrapped in barricades.Tense archers stood on watchtowers; bowstrings tightened with a soft click.
His soldiers reflexively drew their blades.
Edrin's hand never reached his sword.He only narrowed his eyes.
Edrin:"So this is what it has come to.Elves raising steel against elves…"
"I will speak to your leader. Open the gate."
A voice answered from behind the barricade — young, angry, hiding fear behind insults.
Militia:"Palace bastards do not command us here! There is war!Tell us — Are you the king's lapdogs?"
or a new curse-spouter come to taunt us?
We do not kill the innocent…but we protect this village!"
Edrin lifted one eyebrow.Not anger — disappointment.
Edrin:"I am Edrin Fal.Blade of the frontier.Shield of the capital.Born of this soil — and no one's hound."Open the gate.Or you will leave me no choice but to crush you."
His words hit like a nail driven into cold stone.
Villagers exchanged looks — their disdain faltered, replaced by shock, then quiet alarm.
Hands shaking on drawn bowstrings.
The militiaman's voice cracked:
Militia:"Open the gate!This is no enemy…It is Edrin Fal."
The barricade slid aside.
Edrin did not pause — he walked in with heavy, measured steps.
His soldiers followed by instinct, falling into rhythm behind him.
Villagers bowed; some knelt, others lowered their eyes.
This was not the arrival of a commander —it was the arrival of authority.
Edrin's gaze swept across the village.
Cracked soil.Heavy air.Blood stains on doors.
In a corner, an elderly elf crouched, stifling a cough — trying to hide it, failing.
Edrin(coldly):"Where is your leader?Or is he playing hide-and-seek?"
A brief smirk tugged at his soldiers' lips — not to ease tension, but to reinforce dominance.
The young militiaman wiped sweat from his brow and pointed toward the large hut in the center.
Edrin dipped his head slightly.
Not gratitude —"Clear the way; I am going."
He motioned with two fingers.No words needed.
His soldiers stayed at the gate.
Edrin walked alone.
His steps echoed on the wooden floorboards.
He shoved the door open in one motion—
Inside, a weary village leader struggled to straighten himself.
Not sleep — exhaustion.
Dark rings under his eyes, breath heavy.
He looked up, startled.
Leader:"You… who are you?"
Edrin stood silhouetted against the light.
Silence ruled for a heartbeat before his voice came.
Edrin:"You asked the wrong question."
He stepped forward.His shadow fell over the man.
Edrin:"Who are you to speak to me like that?"
The village leader steadied himself, answered with strained pride.
Fielden:"I am Edrin Fielden, leader of Farnwood.As you see, we stand in a state of war.Protecting what is right — just like you."
Edrin Fal paused.A careful, subtle smile touched his lips.
Edrin:"Edrin… what is the root of this conflict?Why are elves drawing blades on each other?"
Fielden's voice hardened — pride mixed with fatigue.
Fielden:"The land is dying. Nature rots.Villages blame one another.Days ago, riders from across the woods came — dressed like bandits.They accused us of poisoning the forest.We did nothing, yet they threatened us.I warned them such talk ends in death.The same happened again. And again.
Now the Lumenor woods shake with war cries.If you help us stop this… if you find a cure for this decay…Lumenor may return to what it was, my lord."
Edrin studied his face — sincerity weighed down by burden.
Edrin(lightly smiling):"Well said, dear Edrin.Your name sounds good.And yes — that is exactly why I am here.We will drag this forest back into light.Do not worry."
Fielden's shoulders loosened; gratitude flickered like childlike relief.
Fielden(quietly):"Thank you, sir.We truly need you.May I ask your name?Lieutenants usually give theirs first."
Edrin answered with humble gravity.
Edrin:"Edrin Fal.Perhaps you've heard it — my name used to be known in these lands.And yes — we share the same name…Perhaps you know me.And do I truly look like a lieutenant to you?"
Fielden's voice shook — pride and respect blended.
Fielden:"My lord, who could not know you?We grew up on your tales.My parents admired you — they named me after you.Many in the frontier bear your name."
Edrin nodded slowly — age bringing quiet stillness.
Edrin(soft, steady):"It feels good to be remembered.I am an old man now.Still — I am glad you trust me.Let us set a plan and inform the capital.Dark days do not pass swiftly…but with the right steps, they do pass."
As the two Edrins spoke, a horn sounded in the distance.
A sound like the funeral of peace.
Fielden froze.
Edrin's hand went to his sword — reflexive, calm.
Fielden(hushed fury):"Valenreach… they're coming."
Edrin looked up, eyes like cut stone.
A second horn.The ground trembled.Screams rose near the gate.
A surge of magic — CRACK!The wooden gate shattered inward, shards flying.
War-painted elves stormed inside, wild-eyed, snarling.
Valenreach Raiders:"Farnwood!You poisoned the earth!You will pay!"
Barricades fell.The village panicked.
Edrin was already moving.
No shouting.No flourish.
He drew his blade.
Metal gleamed — threat, not pride.
He ran — not heavy, not frantic —precise like a surgeon.
The first attacker leapt —Edrin slashed his wrist clean, dropping him.
A second lunged screaming —Edrin pivoted, slammed a shoulder, kneed him down.
A third — no blade needed —Edrin grabbed his helm and drove him into the dirt.
This was not fighting.
It was execution in silence.
Edrin(cold command):"Soldiers: crush the assault.Militia: guard civilians.No one breaks."
Not a shout — a decree.
Obeyed without question.
Fielden rallied his own.
Fielden:"Shields front!Pull the wounded back!Children behind!"
Even trembling, they trusted his voice.
Valenreach raiders hesitated —this village was not weak,and the man leading it was not mortal in spirit.
Edrin wiped his blade and stepped forward.
No rage.No pity.
Only duty.
Edrin Fal:"The soil is not dead.Your minds are."
He dove back into battle.
Combat roared.
A young raider thrust a spear at a villager —Edrin sidestepped, clean motion.The spear scraped his arm — pain, no blood —the boy collapsed breathless.
Another swung a curved axe — missed —Edrin twisted his arm, dropped him screaming.
Then — a vibration behind the ranks.
Not a horn —a note struck in air, not earth.
Sound peeled silence.Even birds dared not breathe.
Footsteps — slow, measured, certain.
A figure emerged from dust.
No armor.No helm.
A long cloak, Valenreach crest on the shoulder.
Braided hair.A face shaped not by battle —but by waiting for one.
Eyes not burning —sharp, patient, inevitable.
Even raiders drew back.
Villagers whispered:
"Is that… him?"
Edrin looked up.
The man did not speak first —he assessed, weighed, judged with a glance.
Then, a voice like cracked stone:
???:"This village starved our children.Our earth blackened.We came for justice."
Not tyranny —but desperation of a leader with no choices left.
Edrin remained silent.
A raider, emboldened by his captain's arrival, hurled a burst of raw magic — light twisting like a wild flame.
Edrin moved once.
Steel lifted in a single calm arc. No flourish. No strain.
Light struck metal — and died, breaking apart into harmless sparks that drifted at his boots.
Not a tremor in his hand. Not a change in his breathing.
Edrin tilted his wrist.
Steel rang — CHIN!
The spell shattered.
Sparks skittered to children's feet —harming none.
Everything froze.
The leader's brow rose — not surprise,but calculation.
???:"You cut a spell… with a sword."
Edrin's voice was steady, untouched.
Edrin:"Tell your men —if they test me again,survival becomes their blessing."
Weapons loosened from shaking hands.
Finally, the man spoke his name — not shouted, simply delivered:
???:"I am Thalen Valreach,Captain of Valenreach."
Not title — fate.
Edrin lowered his blade.
Edrin:"I am Edrin Fal."
Thalen's eyes shifted — breath caught.
Thalen(whisper):"…Fal?"
Even the cries of battle paused around the name.
Valenreach lowered their arms.Thalen's shoulders tightened — not in surrender, but in shock.
Edrin's gaze did not harden.
It was already iron.
Edrin:"We will speak.But first — every blade drops."
Thalen met his eyes... unbroken spine behind humbled pride.
Thalen:"It seems… we came to the wrong place.And the wrong man."
Weapons hit the earth.Silence settled like a shroud.
No victor.No defeated.
Only breath.
Edrin sheathed his blade.
Fielden stood beside him.Wounded carried, shouting fading.
No truth yet.No justice yet.
Only one certainty:
The land whispered something.And no one understood yet.
Edrin's gaze drifted into the forest.
Edrin:"The real story begins now…"
Same Day — Palace, King Luther's Chamber
The room was silent.
Light filtered through the window, falling heavy against the wall.Shadows lay thick across the stone.
Bandages still bound Luther's chest.His breath was slow — his will was firm.
The door did not open without a knock.
Then Varin entered.
Varin:"Your Majesty. News."
Luther lifted his head.The fatigue in his eyes did not hide.
Luther:"Speak."
Varin:"Leif… is preparing to depart.For his expedition.The first ship sails this evening."
A brief silence.
Luther's gaze drifted to the map on the table —the eastern edge of the continent.The horizon.
He did not see parchment;he saw destiny.
Luther:"Leif truly deserves respect."
His eyes shifted — pain retreating, resolve rising.
Slowly, he stood.
Luther:"I will go.Prepare."
Varin hesitated — respect veiling concern.
Varin:"Majesty… your wound—"
Luther did not frown.He did not sigh.He did not raise his voice.
He simply spoke, like law written in stone:
Luther:"I can no longer remain behind the curtain.I must stand with my people."
Varin bowed and left.
Luther stood alone.
He adjusted his bandage.Pain tugged — he ignored it.
He opened the door.
The King walked down the quiet corridor.
His steps were not heavy — they were certain.
From the palace balcony, the harbor stretched below.
The breeze was soft.Ship masts waited like eager sentinels.
Harbor — Sunset
Wind curled through the ropes.Leif stood beside his ship.Luther approached.
Worn, wounded — yet upright, unshaken.A faint smile touched his lips.
Blood seeped faintly beneath the bandage,but his voice was steady.
Luther:"So your new journey begins, Leif.Tell me — what is it you chase this time?"
Leif paused.His eyes shone; the wind lifted his hair.
Excitement — now tempered by duty.
Leif:"My King… I am glad you are well.I did not wish to trouble you.I hope you are recovering."
Luther exhaled slowly — not hiding pain, simply dismissing it.
Luther:"Do not concern yourself with my wounds.They will heal.Now tell me, young Leif."
Leif's gaze blazed — ambition, hope, the old reckless courage.
Leif:"My King… I will find that continent.I will see the far end of the sea.And now — no one can stop me.Not when you have given me this chance.I am forever grateful."
Luther smiled —not as a ruler, but almost as a father.
Luther:"And I am grateful in turn.Remember — every discovery looks like foolishness at first.Go, and see, young Leif.At the very least… find answers to your questions."
Leif bowed, pride burning in his eyes, horizon in his heart.
Leif:"I will, my King.I swear it.When I return, you will be the first I visit."
The wind shifted.Sails drew taut.Crew shouted orders.
Yet between them, an untouched moment —a quiet bond, a farewell wrapped in hope.
They spoke a little longer —light laughter, soft remarks, familiar warmth.
Not the weight of parting,but the thrill of beginning.
Then Leif boarded.The sails rose.The ship drifted toward the horizon.
Luther stood alone at the shore,ignoring the sting in his chest.
Hours later, he returned to the palaceand sat upon his throne.
Silence thickened.
Varin bowed beside him.Luther slowly opened his eyes and spoke, voice low:
Luther: "Where were we?"