Warning: Massive word count ahead. Tread wisely😉
The road to Dawnspire had not been travelled by ordinary men for nearly twenty years.
Once, it had been one of the great military roads of Valtheris, paved with white stone and guarded by watchtowers bearing the golden banners of the Dawn Legion. Merchants had used it to transport goods between the northern settlements and the capital. Soldiers had marched along it in disciplined formations, their armour shining beneath the morning sun.
Kings had travelled it.
Generals had conquered upon it.
And somewhere along its length, the knights of the Dawn Legion had once stood in formation, their swords raised towards the heavens as they swore to defend the Seven Kingdoms.
Now the road was broken.
Weeds grew between the stones, and ancient trees leaned over its edges. Several watchtowers had collapsed, leaving only their foundations and scattered stones. The golden banners were gone, replaced by creeping vines and the occasional black marking that resembled a wound upon the earth.
Orynth Veyr walked silently beside Master Edric.
The broken sword was wrapped in dark cloth and secured across his back. Every few minutes, he adjusted its position, partly because of its weight and partly because the weapon had developed an irritating habit of vibrating whenever they passed certain places.
He had not slept.
Neither had Edric.
They had walked through most of the night, stopping only when the old blacksmith insisted that they rest.
Orynth had spent those brief moments staring at the sky.
It remained black.
The stars were gone.
The strange red wound that had appeared above Greyhaven was no longer visible, but its absence offered little comfort. The darkness seemed endless, stretching across the heavens without movement or change.
It was difficult to believe that the world had once possessed a sunrise.
"How much farther?" Orynth asked.
Edric continued walking.
"Far enough."
"That's becoming your favourite answer."
"Perhaps you should ask fewer questions."
"Perhaps you should give better answers."
The old man glanced at him.
"You have your father's tongue."
Orynth looked towards him.
"My father?"
Edric said nothing.
The young man slowed.
"You keep saying things like that."
"Like what?"
"That I have his blood. His tongue. His sword. You speak about him as though you knew him well, yet whenever I ask anything important, you become silent."
Edric stopped.
For a moment, the two stood beneath the twisted branches of an ancient oak.
"Your father was a complicated man," he said eventually.
"Complicated how?"
"He believed that an oath was worth more than a kingdom."
Orynth considered the words.
"Was that foolish?"
Edric looked down the road.
"Sometimes."
"And other times?"
"Sometimes it is the only thing that keeps a man from becoming a monster."
He resumed walking.
Orynth followed.
He wanted to ask more, but the expression on Edric's face discouraged him.
Instead, he turned his attention to the road.
There were things he needed to understand.
The sword.
The strange power that had awakened inside him.
The Dawn Legion.
And the voice that had spoken above Greyhaven.
The last heir shall answer for the debt of kings.
He had no idea what it meant.
But he knew it had something to do with his family.
And that frightened him more than he wanted to admit.
By the time they reached the first watchtower, the road had narrowed considerably.
The tower stood upon a low hill overlooking a shallow valley. Its upper floors had collapsed, and the remaining walls were covered in moss.
Edric stopped at its base.
"Wait here."
Orynth looked up.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking the tower."
"For what?"
"Anything that might kill us."
"That is reassuring."
Edric ignored him and entered through a narrow opening in the wall.
Orynth remained outside.
He examined the surrounding valley.
There were no birds.
No insects.
Not even the usual rustling of small animals in the undergrowth.
The silence was unnatural.
He shifted the sword on his back.
A faint vibration travelled through the hilt.
He frowned.
"Not now," he muttered.
The vibration stopped.
Then he heard something.
A soft scraping sound.
It came from the trees on the opposite side of the road.
Orynth turned.
"Master Edric?"
No answer.
The scraping came again.
He reached for the sword.
The cloth covering it slipped slightly, revealing a portion of its broken blade.
Something moved between the trees.
A man stepped onto the road.
He wore a dark travelling cloak and carried a wooden staff. His beard was long, his hair almost white, and his face was marked by several old scars.
He looked exhausted.
But his eyes were alert.
"You're travelling in the wrong direction," the stranger said.
Orynth frowned.
"Is there a correct direction?"
"For living men, yes."
Orynth glanced towards the watchtower.
"We're looking for Dawnspire."
The stranger went still.
Then his gaze moved towards the sword.
"Where did you get that?"
Orynth instinctively placed a hand over the cloth.
"It's mine."
The stranger laughed without humour.
"No. It isn't."
He took a step closer.
"Show me the hilt."
"Why?"
"Because I would like to know whether my eyes are deceiving me."
Orynth hesitated.
Before he could answer, Edric emerged from the watchtower.
The old blacksmith stopped immediately.
His hand moved towards his sword.
The stranger turned.
"Edric."
Edric's expression darkened.
"Caelan."
The stranger lowered his staff.
"Twenty years, old friend."
"Apparently not long enough."
Caelan smiled faintly.
"You have become even less pleasant."
"And you have become even less welcome."
Orynth looked between them.
"You know each other?"
Caelan's gaze returned to him.
"More than you realise."
Edric stepped forward.
"What are you doing here?"
"Waiting."
"For whom?"
Caelan looked at Orynth.
"For him."
Silence settled over the road.
Edric's hand tightened around his sword.
"How long have you known?"
"Since the watchfires began burning."
"Then you should have stayed away."
"I would have, had the matter been less important."
Caelan studied Orynth.
"How old are you, boy?"
"Old enough to answer for myself."
A faint smile crossed the stranger's face.
"That is certainly his father's son."
Orynth's expression changed.
"You knew my father?"
Caelan looked towards Edric.
The old blacksmith gave the smallest shake of his head.
Caelan understood.
He sighed.
"Of course. Still protecting him from the truth."
"Some truths are not yours to reveal," Edric replied.
"And some secrets become dangerous when kept too long."
Orynth stepped between them.
"Enough. I want answers."
Caelan looked at him for several seconds.
Then he nodded.
"Fair enough."
He rested both hands upon his staff.
"My name is Caelan Thorne. I once served the Dawn Legion."
Orynth stared.
"You're a knight?"
"Once."
"Which rank?"
Caelan gave a faint smile.
"Ranks are interesting things. They tell you where a man stood within an order. They rarely tell you what kind of man he was."
Edric looked impatient.
"Get to the point."
Caelan ignored him.
"Tell me, Orynth, what do you know about the First Light?"
"That it is an ancient source of power."
"Good. And what do you know about the First Sovereign?"
Orynth hesitated.
"Nothing."
"Then your education has been criminally neglected."
Edric folded his arms.
"Do not turn this into a history lesson."
"History is precisely what he needs."
Caelan turned towards the broken watchtower.
"Come. There is somewhere we can speak without being overheard."
The inside of the watchtower smelled of damp stone and old wood.
A narrow staircase led to what remained of the upper floor. Caelan guided them towards a small chamber overlooking the valley.
A fire burned in an iron bowl at its centre.
Orynth wondered how the stranger had managed to light it without wood.
Caelan noticed his expression.
"Arcanum," he explained. "A small application. Nothing particularly impressive."
He placed his staff against the wall.
"Sit."
Orynth remained standing.
"I prefer standing."
"As you wish."
Caelan lowered himself onto a stone bench.
"Twenty years ago, the Dawn Legion was destroyed. At least, that is what the kingdoms were told."
"Was it not true?" Orynth asked.
"Parts of it were. The fortresses fell. The banners were burned. Many knights were killed. Others disappeared. A few escaped."
"Why?"
"Because the Legion had discovered something that powerful men were determined to keep hidden."
Orynth looked towards Edric.
The old blacksmith stood near the entrance, watching the road.
"What did they discover?"
Caelan looked at the fire.
"The First Light was never simply a source of magic."
Orynth frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"For centuries, scholars believed that all magic originated from the same ancient force. They called it Arcanum, the energy woven through the natural world. Every living creature possesses a measure of it, though not everyone can perceive or channel it."
He raised one hand.
A small blue flame appeared above his palm.
"This is the foundation of ordinary magical practice. The recognised disciplines are different ways of understanding and directing that power."
The flame changed colour.
"Solarium governs light, healing and purification. It is especially effective against corruption, though its practitioners must exercise great restraint. Healing does not mean reversing every injury, and purification cannot restore everything that has been destroyed."
The flame disappeared.
"Umbramancy concerns shadow, concealment and illusion. It is useful for deception, protection and infiltration. But the deeper a practitioner ventures into shadow, the more difficult it becomes to distinguish what is real from what is imagined."
Caelan touched the wooden staff beside him.
"Arcanum is the manipulation of raw magical energy. Through it, skilled practitioners may influence elements and natural forces. But it is demanding. An untrained person attempting to draw too much power may damage their own body."
He paused.
"Bloodcraft uses the body itself as a channel. It can strengthen muscles, sharpen reflexes and increase endurance. It is favoured by certain warrior traditions, particularly among the northern clans. But the body always collects its debt."
Orynth remembered the woman beside the village well.
"And the last one?"
"Soulbinding."
The fire flickered.
"It concerns the connection between spirit, memory and life. It can preserve impressions, establish magical bonds and, in its darkest forms, interfere with the boundaries between the living and the dead."
Orynth remembered the messenger rising from the ground.
"Was that Soulbinding?"
Caelan's expression darkened.
"Perhaps. Or something far older."
He looked directly at Orynth.
"These five disciplines are the recognised paths of magic. But the First Light is different."
"How?"
"It predates the disciplines. It is not simply energy to be channelled. It is a power with a nature of its own. The oldest records describe it as the first radiance that existed when the world was young."
"And my sword?"
"Your sword was forged to carry a fragment of that power."
Orynth looked down at the weapon.
"Why does it respond to me?"
Caelan did not answer immediately.
Then he said, "Because it remembers the blood of the one who carried it before you."
"My father."
"Yes."
"Who was he?"
Caelan looked towards Edric.
The old blacksmith finally turned.
"Not another word."
Caelan sighed.
"Very well."
He returned his attention to Orynth.
"There is something else you must understand. The First Light is not a weapon to be commanded. It cannot be summoned simply because you desire it. It responds to understanding, purpose and something that cannot be taught."
"Then how am I supposed to use it?"
"You are not."
Orynth frowned.
"That makes no sense."
"Good. It means you are beginning to understand."
Caelan leaned forward.
"Power is not mastery. What happened in Greyhaven was an awakening. It was instinctive, uncontrolled and dangerous. You did not command the sword. The sword responded to something within you."
Orynth looked at his hands.
He remembered the golden light.
The strength.
The strange voices.
For a moment, he had felt as though he could move mountains.
But he had also felt completely helpless.
"Can I do it again?" he asked.
Caelan shook his head.
"Perhaps. But I would advise against trying."
"Why?"
"Because you do not know what it will cost you."
Edric finally spoke.
"That is enough."
Caelan nodded.
"Then let us discuss why I was waiting for you."
Outside, the darkness had begun to change.
A faint silver glow appeared above the distant mountains, though it was not the light of the sun.
It looked more like a reflection.
A reflection of something burning beyond the horizon.
Caelan approached the broken window.
"We have little time."
Edric moved beside him.
"How many?"
"At least six."
"Where?"
"Following the old road. They have crossed the eastern valley."
Edric looked towards Orynth.
"We leave immediately."
Caelan picked up his staff.
"I will accompany you."
"No."
Caelan looked at him.
"That was not a request."
Edric's expression remained cold.
"I have no interest in travelling with a man who abandoned the Legion."
Caelan's face hardened.
"Careful, old friend."
"Am I wrong?"
Caelan looked away.
For a moment, the chamber seemed filled with twenty years of unspoken bitterness.
Orynth stepped forward.
"Can someone explain what is happening?"
Caelan turned towards him.
"Your master and I once stood beneath the same banner. We fought together, served together and watched good men die together."
He paused.
"But when the Legion fell, we made different choices."
Edric's voice was quiet.
"Some choices cannot be forgiven."
Caelan looked at him.
"Some choices were made so that others could live."
Neither man spoke again.
Orynth realised there was more to their history than either was willing to reveal.
But before he could ask, the broken sword began to vibrate.
This time, the sensation was stronger.
It moved through the cloth and travelled into his back.
He reached for the hilt.
Caelan immediately turned.
"Take it off."
Orynth drew the sword from its wrapping.
The golden line along the blade was glowing.
A faint symbol appeared above the hilt.
Seven narrow rays.
One of them had turned black.
Caelan's face drained of colour.
"That is impossible."
Edric stepped closer.
"What is it?"
Caelan examined the marking.
"The first vow."
"What about it?"
"It is fading."
Orynth looked at the sword.
"What does that mean?"
Caelan looked towards the horizon.
"It means the seal is weakening."
"Which seal?"
"The Seven Vows."
Orynth remembered the voice above Greyhaven.
THE SEVEN VOWS HAVE BEEN BROKEN.
"Explain."
Caelan took a slow breath.
"Before the Dawn Legion became the great order remembered in the old histories, seven ancient guardians made a covenant with the First Light. Each accepted a responsibility, and each responsibility became a vow. Together, those vows formed a binding that held something beyond the reach of ordinary men."
"Something like the darkness?"
"Something that commands it."
Orynth felt a chill.
"The Hollow King."
Caelan looked at him sharply.
"Where did you hear that name?"
Orynth shook his head.
"I didn't. I just..."
He stopped.
For a moment, he had seen a throne.
Seven empty spaces.
A pair of golden eyes.
Then the memory disappeared.
Caelan approached him.
"Have you seen him?"
"I don't know."
"Describe what you saw."
Orynth explained the vision from the sword.
The fortress.
The throne.
The seven figures.
And the man in the white and gold armour.
When he finished, Caelan was silent.
Then he whispered something.
"By the First Light."
Edric looked at him.
"What?"
Caelan shook his head.
"Nothing."
"Caelan."
The former knight turned away.
"We must reach Dawnspire."
Edric studied him.
"What did you recognise?"
Caelan looked towards Orynth.
"The man in the white and gold armour."
Orynth stepped closer.
"Who was he?"
Caelan hesitated.
Then he answered.
"Aurelius."
The name seemed to disturb the very air around them.
"Who was Aurelius?" Orynth asked.
Caelan lowered his voice.
"The man who became the Hollow King."
They left the watchtower before the silver light above the mountains could disappear.
Caelan took the lead, moving with surprising speed despite his age. His wooden staff struck the stones rhythmically as he walked.
Edric remained behind Orynth.
For the first time since leaving Greyhaven, the young man felt that they were not entirely alone.
But he also sensed that neither of the two older men trusted each other.
The road descended into a narrow valley.
At its centre stood a bridge crossing a deep ravine.
The bridge had once been magnificent, built from pale stone and reinforced with iron. Now its surface was cracked, and several sections of its railing had collapsed into the darkness below.
Caelan stopped.
"We cross here."
Edric examined the structure.
"That bridge will barely hold."
"It held the last time I crossed it."
"When was that?"
"Twenty years ago."
Edric looked at the broken stones.
"Then it has had twenty years to become worse."
Caelan smiled faintly.
"Your optimism remains inspiring."
Orynth approached the edge.
He looked down.
The ravine was deep enough that its bottom disappeared into darkness.
Something moved far below.
He stepped backwards.
"I don't like this."
"Nobody asked you to," Edric replied.
Caelan began crossing.
His staff tapped against the stone.
Halfway across, he stopped.
"Do you hear that?"
Orynth listened.
At first, there was nothing.
Then came a sound.
Metal against stone.
A slow scraping.
Edric immediately drew his sword.
"Get back!"
A figure emerged from the far side of the bridge.
It wore armour that had once been silver but was now covered in black stains. Its helmet was broken, revealing a face that appeared strangely lifeless.
Another figure appeared behind it.
Then another.
They carried weapons marked with the same black emblem Orynth had seen in Greyhaven.
Caelan raised his staff.
"Shadesworn."
Edric moved forward.
"How many?"
"Too many for this bridge."
The first attacker charged.
Caelan struck the ground with his staff.
A blue ring of energy spread across the bridge.
The attacker stumbled, but the others continued advancing.
"Go!" Edric shouted.
Orynth ran towards the far side.
A sword struck the stone beside his foot.
He stumbled.
The attacker raised its weapon again.
Orynth drew his own sword.
He had never fought in a real battle.
He had practised with wooden blades in the forge courtyard, and Edric had taught him how to defend himself against an ordinary attacker.
But this was different.
The creature moved with unnatural speed.
Its blade came down.
Orynth raised his sword.
The impact sent a shock through his arms.
He nearly lost his grip.
The attacker pressed forward.
Orynth stepped backwards, struggling to maintain his balance.
He remembered Edric's lessons.
Do not fight strength with strength.
Find the weakness.
He watched the creature's movements.
Its left shoulder was damaged.
Its armour was cracked near the elbow.
When it raised its sword again, Orynth shifted sideways and struck the damaged joint.
The blade entered the gap.
The creature staggered.
Orynth pulled the sword free and stumbled backwards.
The figure collapsed.
He stared at it.
He had defeated his first enemy.
But there was no time to celebrate.
Another attacker approached.
Caelan shouted from behind.
"Orynth! The sword!"
The young man looked down.
The golden line along the blade had begun glowing.
He remembered what Caelan had told him.
The First Light could not be commanded simply because he desired it.
But perhaps he did not need to command it.
Perhaps he only needed to understand what it was asking.
He held the sword firmly.
The golden line brightened.
A small wave of light spread along its surface.
The attacker recoiled.
It raised an arm to shield its face.
Orynth took the opportunity to move away.
He did not attempt another strike.
He had no idea what would happen if he released the power again.
Edric reached him.
"Are you hurt?"
Orynth shook his head.
"Only my pride."
"Your pride can heal later."
The old blacksmith turned towards the attackers.
Caelan was struggling to hold them back.
His staff glowed blue, and several narrow lines of energy had formed around his feet.
But the creatures kept coming.
Edric moved to assist him.
The two men fought side by side.
For a moment, Orynth saw the warriors they must once have been.
Edric's movements were controlled and precise. He did not waste energy, and every strike seemed carefully calculated.
Caelan, by contrast, used magic to alter the battlefield. He raised small barriers, redirected incoming attacks and created flashes of light that disoriented their enemies.
Their styles were different.
Yet they worked together as though they had fought beside each other for years.
Perhaps they had.
The bridge began to shake.
A crack travelled across its surface.
"Edric!" Caelan shouted.
The old blacksmith looked down.
One of the stone supports had begun collapsing.
"We have to move!"
The three rushed towards the far side.
Orynth reached the edge first.
He turned to look back.
Edric was almost across when one of the attackers seized his cloak.
The old man stumbled.
His sword slipped from his hand.
"Master!"
Orynth rushed forward.
Caelan raised his staff, but the creature was already dragging Edric towards the edge.
Orynth drew his sword.
He felt the golden light stirring.
This time, he did not hesitate.
He reached for the strange warmth within the blade.
The light answered.
A narrow beam of gold shot across the bridge, striking the attacker in the chest.
The creature released Edric.
The old blacksmith fell forward, rolling onto the far side.
At that exact moment, the bridge collapsed.
Stone and iron plunged into the ravine.
The remaining attackers disappeared into the darkness below.
For several seconds, Orynth could only hear his own breathing.
Then Edric rose.
He looked at the broken bridge.
Then at Orynth.
"You used it again."
Orynth nodded.
"Yes."
"How?"
"I don't know."
Edric stared at him.
"That is what worries me."
Caelan approached.
His expression was unusually serious.
"Whatever is inside that sword, it is beginning to recognise him."
Orynth looked at the weapon.
The golden line had dimmed.
His hands were trembling.
He felt exhausted, as though he had walked for days without rest.
"Is that normal?" he asked.
Caelan shook his head.
"No."
"Then what does it mean?"
"It means the sword is taking something from you each time you awaken it."
Edric stepped forward.
"Enough. We will discuss this later."
Caelan looked at the old blacksmith.
"Later may be too late."
Edric's expression hardened.
"Then we had better walk faster."
They reached the ruins of an old settlement shortly before what should have been evening.
It was a small place, consisting of a few stone houses and a collapsed watchtower. Most of the buildings had been abandoned long before the fall of the Dawn Legion.
A weathered sign remained above the entrance.
ASHFORD.
Orynth examined the name.
"Was this once a village?"
Caelan nodded.
"An important one."
"Why?"
"It stood along the old Legion road. Knights travelling between Dawnspire and the northern territories used to rest here."
Edric looked towards the ruined buildings.
"Not anymore."
They entered cautiously.
Several houses had collapsed, but one remained standing. Its wooden door was crooked, and a thick layer of dust covered the floor.
Caelan examined the room.
"No recent movement."
Edric placed his sword against the wall.
"We rest here."
Orynth lowered himself onto a wooden bench.
His entire body ached.
The wound on his shoulder had begun hurting again, and his hands were still trembling from the battle at the bridge.
He removed the sword from his back and placed it beside him.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then he looked towards Caelan.
"You said the man in my vision was Aurelius."
Caelan nodded.
"Yes."
"Who was he before becoming the Hollow King?"
Caelan sat opposite him.
"A hero."
Orynth frowned.
"That is difficult to believe."
"Most villains do not begin as villains."
The former knight stared into the darkness beyond the broken window.
"Aurelius was one of the greatest champions of the ancient world. He fought beside the first guardians of the First Light and helped establish the covenant that eventually became the foundation of the Dawn Legion."
"Then why did he turn against it?"
"That is the question the kingdoms have spent centuries trying to answer."
"Was he evil?"
Caelan considered the question.
"I do not know."
Orynth looked at him in disbelief.
"How can you not know?"
"Because history is written by survivors. And survivors rarely tell the whole truth."
He leaned forward.
"Some records claim Aurelius attempted to destroy the First Light. Others say he tried to save it. There are even forbidden texts suggesting he sacrificed himself to imprison something that existed before the world as we know it."
Orynth remembered the throne.
The seven empty spaces.
The golden eyes.
"Then why is he called the Hollow King?"
"Because something returned wearing his name."
A chill passed through the room.
Caelan continued.
"The being that now calls itself the Hollow King does not appear to possess the same nature as the man who founded the covenant. It seeks to extinguish the sun, unravel the old seals and reshape the world."
"Why?"
"That is something I cannot answer."
Orynth lowered his eyes.
The broken sword rested beside him.
He wondered whether his father had known all these things.
Whether he had fought Aurelius.
Whether he had been among those who died when the Legion fell.
And whether his final act had been to hide his son from a world that wanted him.
"Caelan," he said.
The former knight looked at him.
"What happened to my father?"
The room became silent.
Caelan glanced towards Edric.
The old blacksmith had closed his eyes, but Orynth could tell he was listening.
"Your father was among the finest men I ever knew," Caelan said.
"That still doesn't tell me what happened."
"No."
"Did he die?"
Caelan looked down.
"I was not there when he disappeared."
Orynth felt his chest tighten.
"Disappeared?"
"During the final days of the Legion, several knights were sent away with instructions that were never recorded in the official histories. Some were carrying relics. Others were protecting people whose identities were deliberately concealed."
"Was my father one of them?"
Caelan hesitated.
"Yes."
Orynth looked towards Edric.
"Did you know?"
Edric opened his eyes.
"I knew."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I promised him I would keep you alive."
Orynth stared.
The words were simple.
But they carried the weight of a promise made long before he was old enough to understand it.
"What did he say about me?"
Edric looked towards the sword.
"He said that if the darkness ever returned, you must never be allowed to face it alone."
Orynth swallowed.
"Was he afraid?"
Edric's expression softened.
"Yes."
"Of the darkness?"
"Of what it might do to you."
For a long moment, Orynth could not find anything to say.
He had spent his entire life wondering whether his father had abandoned him.
Now he was beginning to realise that the truth might be far more complicated.
Outside, the darkness had become almost absolute.
The strange silver glow above the mountains had disappeared, leaving only a faint red line across the distant horizon.
Caelan stood beside the doorway.
He was examining something in his hand.
A small piece of metal.
It was circular, with seven narrow rays surrounding a central mark.
The same insignia carried by the Dawn Legion.
Orynth approached him.
"Where did you get that?"
Caelan looked at the object.
"It belonged to someone I once served with."
"Someone from the Legion?"
"Yes."
"Is he still alive?"
Caelan closed his fingers around the insignia.
"I hope so."
Orynth studied the old knight.
"You keep speaking as though the Legion still exists."
Caelan turned towards him.
"An order is not merely its soldiers, boy."
He placed the insignia back inside his cloak.
"It is its oath. Its memory. The things its members refuse to abandon."
He looked out into the darkness.
"The kingdoms believe the Dawn Legion is dead because they no longer see its banners. But an oath does not disappear simply because the men who swore it are gone."
Orynth considered the words.
"Then what remains of the Legion?"
Caelan smiled faintly.
"More than the kingdoms would like to believe."
A sudden sound came from outside.
A horse.
Then another.
Caelan immediately stepped away from the doorway.
Edric rose and drew his sword.
Orynth reached for the broken weapon.
Through the darkness came the sound of several riders approaching the settlement.
They moved slowly.
Their horses made almost no noise against the old stones.
Then a voice called from beyond the ruined houses.
"Show yourselves."
Caelan exchanged a glance with Edric.
"Friends?" Orynth whispered.
Edric shook his head.
"Not necessarily."
The riders entered the settlement.
There were four of them.
Their armour was worn, and their cloaks were darkened by years of travel. None carried royal colours.
But upon the chest of the leading rider was a familiar symbol.
Seven rays.
A circle.
A line through its centre.
Orynth stared.
The rider dismounted.
He was a tall man with dark hair, a beard and a scar running across his forehead.
His eyes moved towards Edric.
Then Caelan.
He appeared surprised.
"By the First Light."
Caelan stepped forward.
"Still alive, Garrick?"
The man laughed.
"Unfortunately for my enemies."
Then his gaze shifted to Orynth.
The laughter disappeared.
He studied the young man's face.
Then the sword at his side.
Finally, he noticed the small silver pendant hanging around Orynth's neck.
His expression changed completely.
He slowly lowered his head.
Not in greeting.
Not in courtesy.
But in recognition.
"Veyr," he whispered.
Orynth frowned.
"Yes?"
The man looked towards Edric.
"Is it truly him?"
Edric said nothing.
The rider looked back at Orynth.
For several seconds, he appeared unable to speak.
Then he removed his helmet and knelt.
The other three riders immediately followed.
Orynth stepped backwards.
"What are you doing?"
The man raised his head.
"Forgive us, my lord."
Orynth stared at him.
"I am no lord."
The man looked at the silver pendant again.
"Perhaps not yet."
Edric stepped forward.
"Rise, Garrick."
The rider obeyed.
His eyes remained fixed on Orynth.
"Where have you been hiding him?"
"Somewhere the world could not find him."
Garrick looked towards the darkness.
"Then the world has finally found him."
Caelan approached.
"What news?"
Garrick's expression became grave.
"Dawnspire has awakened."
Edric's face hardened.
"How?"
"The old gates have opened."
Orynth looked between them.
"Why is that important?"
Garrick answered.
"Because no living man has entered Dawnspire since the night the Legion fell."
He paused.
"And because something inside has begun calling the survivors home."
A cold wind moved through the ruined settlement.
The broken sword trembled.
Far away, beyond the mountains, a golden light appeared.
It was faint.
Almost invisible.
But it was unmistakable.
Dawnspire was calling.
Garrick looked at Orynth.
"The old oath remembers you, young Veyr."
He lowered his voice.
"And if what I fear is true, it may be the only thing standing between this world and the Hollow King."
Orynth looked towards the distant light.
He had wanted answers.
Now he was beginning to understand that every answer opened the door to another question.
He had wanted to know who his father was.
Now strangers were kneeling before him because of a name he barely understood.
He had wanted to escape Greyhaven.
Now the fate of seven kingdoms seemed to be following him along an ancient road.
Edric approached and placed a hand upon his shoulder.
"Get some rest. We leave before the next watch."
Orynth looked at him.
"And if they come again?"
Edric glanced towards the riders.
"Then we remind them that the Dawn Legion has not forgotten how to fight."
Outside, the golden light above the mountains brightened.
And somewhere within the ruins of Dawnspire, a bell that had remained silent for twenty years rang once.
Then a second time.
Then a third.
The old fortress was calling its scattered sons home.
But beneath its foundations, something else had heard the sound.
Something that had been waiting.
Something that remembered the night the Legion fell.
And something that knew the name Veyr.