Sanq's fingers scraped the bark as he climbed the thunder-beast's ribcage, fossil bones jutting from the cliff like a god's forgotten ladder.
But Sanq cared only for the sky. A star bled across the dark abyss, trailing fire like a djinn's curse.
He froze, asking himself Why do you fall? What secrets do you carry from the void?
In the villages, elders forbade such questions — stars were the gods' special torment for the world, not toys for lowlives.
The star vanished behind the ridge.
Sanq's breath fogged the night.
A hand clamped his ankle.
"Sanq."His mother's voice was low, iron.
She stood on the lower bones, shawl clutched tight, eyes wide with the same fear the elders preached.
"Inside. Now."
Dawn cracked the night with bronze.
“Up, boy. Religion school.”Father’s boots thudded across the corridor.
Sanq rubbed sleep from his eyes. The hovel smelled of porridge and pine sap.
Mother stirred the pot, apron dusted with flour, humming the old hymn about iron castles on the plain.
Father slung the axe over his shoulder, blade scarred from yesterday’s oaks.
“Elders want the Torments recited by noon. No star-talk.”
Sanq nodded, but the fallen fire still burned behind his eyes.
They stepped outside. The thunder-beast’s ribcage loomed above the village like a silent judge.
Distant castle towers glinted like iron teeth.
Sanq glanced up.
No stars now.
Only clouds and questions that refused to sleep.
The religion school was a squat stone hall wedged between two iron-age granaries.
Sanq shuffled in with the other children, bare feet slapping cold flagstones, the air thick with chalk dust and fear of the rod.
Teacher Eldros stood at the front, beard like rusted wire, voice a hammer on anvil.
“Listen close,”Eldros began, tapping a charcoal map on the wall.
“Sixteen kingdoms once carved this land. Greed for soil, for ore, for thrones. Then the Scorpion King rose from the southern dunes not to share crowns, but to seize them all.”
He dragged his stick across the faded lines.
“War swallowed the world. Factions splintered like cracked bones. The worst clash: four kingdoms — elves, dwarves, minotaurs, centaurs — met on the center point of their realms. Arrows darkened the sun. The dwarven hammers clashed with the minotaurian axes. Hooves churned flesh to mud. Rivers ran red. So few crawled out alive the crows grew fat for a year.”
Eldros paused, eyes narrowing.
“Humans would have fallen too, had the giants not marched from the northeastern peaks. One swing of their clubs shattered the minotaur phalanx.”
Eldros tapped the charcoal again.
“Giants crushed the minotaur charge. Humans took the center plains — land once ours, stolen long ago. South of that, centaurs claimed open grass. North, the dwarves kept their peaks; minotaurs’ dreams of those heights died under giant clubs. East, the elves reclaimed the woodland that had been a human kingdom before the war.”
He drew a thick line through the old borders.
“Sixteen kingdoms still stand, but these six — humans, giants, elves, dwarves, centaurs, and minotaurs — swore peace. The Scorpion King’s corpse cooled in the sand. The truce holds, thin as iron foil.”
Eldros rolled the map.
“Enough history. Torments now. Recite.”
The children rose, voices droning the old verses.
Sanq’s lips moved, but no sound came.
The falling star still burned behind his eyes.
Axes rang against oak.
Sanq’s father, Garreck, wiped sweat from his brow. The blade was a bit dull, timber pale, soft, full of worm-tracks.
“Eastern elf-wood doesn’t rot like this. Their trees drink starlight, not swamp rot.”Old Joren leaned on his axe, spitting sap.
Garreck grunted, swung again.
The axe-head stuck halfway. He wrenched it free; sap bled pale, almost white.
“The priest is still coughing up black. Says the sky’s watching.”Thom spat.
“Eldros poked him with a stick. No mark, no fever. Just night-terrors.”Joren snorted.
“Fear rots faster than wood.”Garreck wiped his hands on his apron.
Garreck leaned on his axe.
“How’s your girl, Thom? The one born with a bow in her hand.”
“The king took her to the castle. Trains with the guard now. Says she outshoots the prince on the long range.”Thom’s face tightened.
Joren whistled low.
“King laughs at her jokes. Calls her little hawk. More than he ever calls his own son.”Thom’s voice cracked.
He stared at the pale wood.
“I never wanted lowborn blood near a crown. Now it’s tangled in silk.”
A third boom, sharper.
The ground trembled.
Axes dropped.
Sanq’s tongue still tasted of the Torments when the bell released them.
He slipped through the village lanes, bare feet silent on packed dirt.
Then he saw Eldros.
The teacher moved like a man chased by hornets, long strides, beard whipping like a torn banner in a storm.
Sanq’s feet decided before his brain: he followed. Village lanes narrowed.
Sanq kept two houses back, slipping behind rain-barrels, behind tethered goats, behind the baker’s steaming ovens.
His palms left sweaty prints on every wall. He didn’t know where Eldros was going; he only knew he had to see.
They reached Thom’s row, low hovels huddled like frightened sheep.
Eldros veered to the neighbor’s door, knocked once, shoved inside.
Sanq’s heart punched his ribs. He darted to the side window, pressed his cheek to the warm daub. A finger-wide crack in the shutter became his whole world.
Inside: dim, smoky, smelling of sour milk and fear.
The priest knelt on the earth floor, robes plastered to his bones.
His skin gleamed the color of pond-scum.
Eldros loomed over him, mouth moving words lost behind the wall.
The priest lifted his head.
Eyes milky, lips trembling.
“We made a mistake,”he whispered, voice thin as onion skin.
“HE was right.”
Sanq didn’t know who HE was.
He only knew the word cracked the air like breaking ice.
The priest’s spine snapped backward.
A wet, ripping cough.
Black syrup thick, shining, shot through with silver threads gushed from his mouth.
It hit the hearth with a hiss, eating tiny smoking holes in the clay.
The smell of burnt copper and rotting stars slammed into Sanq’s nose.
The priest folded forward.
His pupils were wide, empty, swallowing every secret of the sky.
Then nothing.
Only the black goo spread, slow as spilled ink, reaching for the door.
Sanq’s knees forgot how to hold him.
He slid down the wall, dust coating his tongue, the priest’s last words looping in his skull:
HE was right.
HE was right.
HE was right.
Sanq’s back scraped the rough daub, knees in the dust, the priest’s dead stare still burning holes in his skull. A shadow fell across him.
Thom’s daughter, Lira, stood three paces away, bow slung over her shoulder, castle-guard leathers still dusty from the range.
Her eyes sharp as her arrows pinned him to the wall.
“Creeping, star-rat?”
She jerked her chin at the hovel.
“The high priest told Eldros to quarantine this place. Move your ass before the guards drag you off in chains.”
Sanq swallowed dust.
“I… I just followed him. I didn’t..”
“Save it.”she said,
Lira stepped closer, boot scuffing the dirt.
“You think staring at stars makes you invisible?
This isn’t a game, Sanq. The high priest ordered quarantine.”
She sighed, the edge in her voice softening to exasperation.
“Come on. I’m walking you home before you get us both flogged for stalking.”
She grabbed his wrist, grip firm but not cruel.
“My father’s already got enough headaches without you skulking around plague hovels.
Next time you want to play spy, pick a different street.”
They slipped between the hovels, Lira’s boots kicking up dust, Sanq half-dragged behind her grip.
Sanq’s voice came out small.
“Have you seen it? The priest… puking black tar?”
Lira’s stride faltered. She glanced over her shoulder, then pulled him into the shadow of a granary wall.
“Keep your voice down,”she hissed.
“Yesterday. Through the shutters. It steamed when it hit the floor. Smelled like burnt iron and rot.”
“Eldros burned the rags after. Said it’s a wizard’s curse from the southeast covens.”She swallowed.
Her eyes narrowed.
“But you don’t ask. You don’t know. Got it?”
She released his wrist like it burned.
“Stop poking holes in things that bite back, Sanq.”
Sanq’s mother knelt in the patch of earth beside the hovel, fingers deep in the soil, planting onion sets.
She looked up as their shadows crossed her rows.
“Lira!”
She rose, wiping dirt on her apron, a smile blooming like the marigolds behind her.
“Castle leather suits you, girl. Sanq, finally bringing home a friend instead of star-dust in his hair?”
Lira’s face flushed the color of beetroot.
“Ma’am, no. I caught him stalking the quarantine hovel. Eldros’s seal and all.”
She planted her hands on her hips.
“Guards were at lunch. Lucky break. Otherwise he’d be cooling his heels in the stocks.”
Sanq’s mother’s smile thinned to a blade.
“Stalking?”
She flicked soil from her nails.
“Sanq, explain.”
“I followed Eldros,”he mumbled, kicking a clod.
“Didn’t touch the door.”
Lira snorted.
“Pressed to the wall like a tick. I hauled him off before the spears came back.”
“You owe me a week of water buckets, star-rat.”She shot Sanq a sideways glare.
Sanq’s mother barked a short laugh, half pride, half warning.
“Well then. Lira, come taste the porridge. Heroes earn their keep.”
She ruffled Sanq’s hair hard enough to rattle his teeth.
“You inside. Scrub that curiosity off your hands before supper.”
Garreck is back from work. His boots were heavy, the door creaked, the smell of pine and smoke. The table’s set is simple: clay bowls, steam from the porridge, a single candle guttering. Lira sits awkwardly, hands folded.
Sanq’s mother, Thalen, tries to keep the mood alive, asking about the day.
“Did you finish the south ridge timber, Garreck?”
“Aye. Splinters enough to choke a horse. Eastern oak’s better, but you make do.”Garreck dropped his axe against the wall with a thud.
Thalen shook her head, brushing flour from her apron.
“And the gate hinges? Did they hold?”
“For now. I’ll need to oil them before the next storm. Rain’s coming.”Garreck grunted, sitting.
“Any sightings of the Centaur Scouts again?”asked Thalen.
“No, it’s been a while.”said Garreck.
Lira shifted on the bench, bow still across her back. Fingers drummed the wood.
Sanq slid in beside her, spoon trembling. He kept glancing at the window.
Thalen poured porridge into every bowl.
“I… I didn’t… nothing,”Sanq muttered, barely tasting the porridge.
Lira nudged his shin under the table. Sharp. Quiet. Focus.
“Something on your mind, Sanq?”Thalen watched him, head tilted.
“Nothing, Ma.”He shook his head.
“I should check the gate before the guards return,”Lira said. She gave Garreck a small nod, then left.
Sanq got up as well and went to his room. Silence hollowed the room.
Garreck rubbed a hand over his beard. The floor creaked as Thalen gathered the bowls.
She didn’t look at him when she spoke.
“He was caught stalking Thom’s neighbors.”
Garreck’s head came up.
“Today?”
Thalen nodded, stacking the bowls slow, careful.
“Lira told me. Said she found him crouched beside thewalls of the priest's hovel.”
Garreck’s jaw worked.
“Thom said the man’s lungs were pouring tar. Black aspitch.”
Thalen nodded.
“Yes! That hovel is quarantined.”
“He’s not walking away from that.” Garreck muttered.
“Not without help.”
Thalen wiped her hands on her apron, voice low.
“Garreck… the boy said the priest wasn’t coughinganymore.”
Garreck looked up.
“Not coughing?”
Thalen nodded once.
“Said it was quiet. No breath, no sound. Just the wind.
“He shouldn’t have been that close to hear it.” Garreck leaned back, chair creaking.
“He followed Eldros there.” Thalen said.
“Saw him go inside.”
Garreck’s brow furrowed.
“Eldros went in?”
“So Sanq said.”
He ran a hand down his face.
“Old fool’s going to catch whatever plague’s in there.”
Thalen’s eyes flicked toward the window.
“Eldros knows something. Always has. He burned the ragslast night, Lira said.”
“Then it’s handled.” Garreck grunted.
She frowned.
“You think burning cloth handles curses?”
“I think talking about them spreads fear faster than anysickness.” Garreck met her gaze.
Thalen set the bowls aside, voice soft but sharp.
“He’s scared, Garreck. You should’ve seen his face.”
The house had gone still. Only the wind and the soft creak of the rafters.
Garreck lay on his back, staring at the dark beams above. Thalen sat at the edge of the bed, brushing her hair with slow strokes.
“You see Thom's girl these days?” Garreck asked. His voice was low, rough from smoke and work.
“Lira?” Thalen glanced over her shoulder.
“Aye. That one. Barely seventeen and already guarding the south gate. Bow straight as a lance.” He turned his head toward her.
“And ours can’t even lift a sword without losing focus.”
Thalen sighed, setting the brush aside.
“He’s not Lira, Garreck.”
“He could try to be half of her.”
She looked back at him, eyes catching the faint candlelight.
“You want him chasing monsters with a stick? He’s not built for that.”
Garreck’s jaw worked.
“He’s not built for much else either. Read too much. Asks too much. Doesn’t know when to keep quiet.”
Thalen lay beside him, pulling the blanket to her chin.
“He asks because he sees. That’s not a weakness.”
“It’s troublesome. One day he’ll ask the wrong thing to the wrong man.” Garreck grunted.
“Maybe he’s meant for something different. Something we don’t understand yet.” Thalen turned to face him, voice low.
“Faith won’t keep him fed, Thalen.” Garreck’s eyes stayed on the ceiling.
“No,” she whispered. “But it might keep him alive.”
Sanq’s eyes fluttered open to the gray light slipping through the cracks in the walls. The smell of pine smoke lingered faintly, mingled with the sweetness of last night’s porridge. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feet brushing the cold floor.
“Up,” Garreck’s voice rumbled from the doorway. “Time waits for no star-gazers.”
“I… I’m awake, Father.” Sanq rubbed his eyes.
“Good. Eat something before it turns into regret.” Garreck’s hand rested briefly on his shoulder, firm but not unkind.
Sanq grabbed a spoon, poking at the porridge, eyes down. Garreck watched him for a long moment, the crease in his brow deepening.
“Sanq,” he said finally, voice low, carrying the weight of last night. “No more sneaking near Thom’s place. No more skulking behind walls, no matter how curious the boy in you is.”
“I just… I wanted to see… I thought maybe I could help…” Sanq looked up, shame creeping into his eyes.
“Help?” Garreck crouched slightly, bringing his face closer to his son’s. “A man spilling black tar from his lungs isn’t a puzzle for a child to solve. Curiosity without caution is a blade, Sanq. You could have been hurt or worse. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.” Sanq nodded slowly.
“I know you’re brave. More than I was at your age. But bravery without wisdom… it leaves a boy with nothing but fear in his teeth.” Garreck straightened, resting a hand on Sanq’s shoulder.
They stepped outside. The air was sharp with early frost. The ribcage of the thunder-beast loomed above the village, a silent sentinel.
“You’ve got a gift, Sanq,” Garreck said, voice softening as they walked. “Eyes that see what others don’t. A mind that asks what no one else dares. That’s rare… more rare than any sword or bow. But it’s dangerous too, if you let it wander unchecked.”
“I’ll be careful.” Sanq’s gaze dropped to the ground.
“Careful isn’t the same as cowardly. You’ll learn to hold both at once, your questions and your caution. One keeps you alive; the other makes you someone worth listening to.” Garreck’s hand squeezed his shoulder once.
The village lanes stretched before them, empty at this hour except for the whisper of wind through chimneys. Garreck glanced at his son.
“Walk straight to school today. Not behind walls, not around corners. Let your steps be yours, not someone else’s shadow. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Sanq nodded, a little straighter this time.
“Good. And remember seeing is not the same as touching. Some things are meant only for the mind, not the hands.” Garreck added softly.
They continued on in silence, the early light painting the roofs with bronze, Sanq’s small figure shadowed by his father’s broad one.
Sanq shuffled into the cold stone hall, boots clattering softly against the flagstones. Chalk dust hung thick in the air, and the faint smell of smoldering pine lingered from the morning fires. Eldros stood at the front, staff in hand, eyes sharp as flint.
“Silence,” he barked. The children snapped to attention, a dozen pairs of small feet stamping lightly. “Today, we speak of the union that shook kingdoms, of the covens and the Scorpion King, and the destruction that followed in their wake.”
He drew a jagged line across the blackened map.
“In the southern dunes, the Scorpion King rose, not alone this time. He called to him the covens of wizards and witches, masters of fire, wind, and shadow. Together, they struck fear into the hearts of all who opposed them.”
Sanq’s fingers itched to trace the lines on the map, but he kept them folded.
“The orcs, goblins, and gnomes formed a union, desperate to stand against the tyranny,” Eldros continued, tapping the chalk against the stone with a sharp rap. “They fought fiercely. Spears and axes clashed with magic and flame. Yet the Scorpion King’s allies (witches and wizards) bent the elements to their will. Rivers boiled. Hills crumbled. Forests burned. Their union was shattered before it could even stand fully.”
He pointed at the south-east of the map.
“But the destruction did not end there,” Eldros said, voice lowering. “The Scorpion people rallied toward the Amphibian River Clans, people who lived between the reeds and the marshes, unseen and silent. Magic and fire spread like a disease across their lands. Djinns tried to intervene, summoned by desperate pleas of the river clans. But the covens’ power, bolstered by the Scorpion army, was too great. Even the winds of the Djinn could not turn back the tide.”
Sanq pictured the riverlands aflame, the marsh smoke curling into the clouds.
“How… how did anyone survive?” he whispered to himself.
“Few did. And those who crawled from the ruins carried the weight of fear in their bones for generations. That is the cost of unchecked alliance power, ambition, and magic combined to crush life itself.” Eldros’ gaze swept across the class.
He drew a deep line across the map, connecting desert, hills, and marsh.
“Remember this: not all battles are won with a sword alone. Sometimes, destruction is summoned by those who understand the arcane, and it spreads faster than any army. The Djinns, mighty as they were, could only watch the wrath.”
A long silence followed, broken by the scratch of chalk as Eldros marked the boundaries on the map one last time.
“History is not just memory,” he said, voice sharp as a hammer strike. “It is a warning. Learn it. Respect it. And pray that none of you ever awaken power you cannot control.”
Sanq’s hand twitched in the air, half-raised, half-frozen. Eldros’ gaze swept over him, sharp, assessing.
“Master… why?” Sanq’s voice was quiet, but it carried across the hall. “Why did the Scorpion King make alliances with the covens? And why did the orcs, goblins, and gnomes join together? What power… what power was awakened that even the Djinns couldn’t stop?”
Eldros’ eyes, iron and old, flicked toward the boy. A shadow of a sigh passed his lips. He leaned on his staff, the wood creaking.
“Curiosity, boy,” he said finally, voice low and measured. “Ambition, fear, desire… and the hunger to seize what others cannot hold. Alliances are not made for friendship. They are made for advantage, for survival, or for the chance to crush the foe before he crushes you.”
“But the destruction… it killed so many. So many innocent people. Couldn’t they have stopped it?”
“Stop it? Perhaps. But power, once called, has its own will. Once awakened, it does not bend to mercy. The covens and the Scorpion people summoned forces that demanded obedience or devastation.” Eldros tapped the staff against the floor once, sharply.
“And mark my words, star-rat… the same power sleeps in many places today, waiting for hands that do not understand what they touch. Knowledge without restraint is a curse. Ambition without wisdom is a plague. And those who awaken it without respect… they do not live long enough to regret it.”
“Then… is that why we learn this history? To… not awaken it?”
“Exactly. To know what was done, so that it may not be repeated. Or if repeated, that it is done with eyes wide open and with the courage to bear the consequences.”
Sanq nodded slowly, mind whirring with visions of fire, shadows, and rivers of smoke.
“Remember this, boy,” Eldros added, voice carrying over the hall as the other students shifted uneasily. “Power is not a gift to wield lightly. Curiosity may open doors… but only wisdom keeps you from being consumed.”
“Curses are not stories, children,” Eldros said, chalk scratching on the slate. “They are real. They linger in places, in objects, in words. Even a whisper of magic left unchecked can bring ruin.”
Sanq thought of the priest’s hovel and the black tar. He pressed his lips together, hiding the memory.
“Witchcraft and wizardry,” Eldros continued, “are not for the curious or the weak. Power without discipline devours those who wield it. Stay away from it. Keep your hands clean, your thoughts clear, your eyes open, but your feet away.”
“or else you’ll puke black…” Sanq murmured, almost to himself.
“What did you say, boy?” Eldros’ eyes flicked to him sharply.
“Nothing, Master.” Sanq replied, voice small.
“Good. Some knowledge is heavier than a body can bear. Curiosity can be dangerous. Remember that.”
Sanq nodded silently, stomach tight, mind replaying the black, shining substance that had come from the priest’s mouth.
The bell clanged, sending the other children spilling into the hall. Sanq lingered behind, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. Eldros was gathering his maps and chalk, muttering under his breath.
“Master Eldros?” Sanq’s voice was low.
“Sanq. You’re still here. The others should be on their way. What troubles you?”
“About the alliances… the war… Why did it all happen? Why did the Scorpion kingdom join with the covens of the wizards to destroy the orcs and gnomes?”
“Some powers awaken because they must. But once they are called, control slips. Men, orcs, goblins… even kings… they cannot hold it. That is why the alliances were made. Fear, ambition, desperation… it shapes even the strongest.”
“The Scorpion King… he did not seek glory. Not in the way men understand it. What drove him… was fear. Fear of the people of the skies, of powers beyond his realm, of forces he could not name. That fear became his weapon.”
“But… he destroyed so many. Why?”
“Because fear breeds preemptive strikes. He rallied the covens, called upon the wizards’ wrath… not for conquest, but to shield himself from what he imagined would come. Outsiders above and beyond, watching from the skies. A great war, he thought, would secure his legacy… or at least his life.”
“A prophecy?”
“Ah… the prophecy. They said he would change the world, bring balance, or doom all under the sun. They said he would bear the claws of fate, that his stinger would strike where no other could reach. But listen, boy… a prophecy is only a shadow of hope or fear. Five centuries have passed since his reign, and yet… nothing changed. Nothing. The world moves, but the stars do not bend to prophecy.”
“Even he, the Scorpion King, with claws for arms and a stinger deadlier than any man’s could not bend fate. He could command armies, summon witches, and rally kingdoms… yet in the end, fear was all he ever fed. And fear… fear devours even kings.”
“Remember this, Sanq. Powers awaken, alliances shift, and kings fall but the fear that drives them… that lingers. Learn it, yes… but never let it rule you.”
“Master Eldros… what if he was right?”
“No. Enough questions for today. You go back home. Now.”
Sanq hesitated, the weight of the question lingering on his tongue, but the hard edge in Eldros’ voice left no room. With a reluctant nod, he turned toward the door, leaving the maps and history and half-spoken secrets behind, yet the question in his mind refused to fade.
The morning sun glinted off the castle’s pale stone towers as Lira ran the length of the ramparts, bow in hand. Arrows sang through the air, embedding themselves in the distant targets with deadly precision. Sweat stung her eyes, her chest heaving, but she kept moving around the parapets, down narrow stairwells, across the training yard, weaving through the guards as if she belonged among them.
A sudden movement caught her eye near the main gate. The high priest, robes pale and fluttering, strode alongside Eldros. Guards parted instinctively, giving them a wide berth. Lira’s brow furrowed. They didn’t just wander into the castle unannounced. Their pace, the way the guards stepped aside, wasn't casual. It was urgent.
“They want to speak to the king,” one of the castle guards murmured to another, unaware Lira’s keen eyes were watching.
“Something serious, they said.”
Lira’s instincts prickled. She ducked behind a battlement, silently following. The pair passed through the outer courtyard, their steps echoing in the stone hallways, until a bodyguard, a broad-shouldered man with a hawk-shaped scar across his face, intercepted them.
“I’ll take you to the king,” he said, voice flat, eyes sharp.
Lira’s pulse quickened. She stayed low, trailing them silently through the winding halls, past tapestries depicting ancient wars and kings long dead. They arrived at the council room. The doors were heavy oak, bound in iron, and the guards outside bowed their heads.
The high priest and Eldros disappeared inside. The doors shut with a dull thud. Lira pressed her palm against the cool stone wall, heart hammering. She could hear faint murmurs through the door, words she couldn’t make out.
She let out a quiet hiss through her teeth and turned away, weaving through the corridors until she reached the chamber of the castle priestess. The priestess Amarielle, keeper of the sacred archives and whispered confidant to the king, was arranging ritual oils along a carved shelf, robes gleaming in the morning light.
“Priestess Amarielle,” Lira called, stepping into the chamber, voice low but urgent.
“Lira. You’ve come from training early,” Amarielle turned, eyes calm but sharp, reading the tension in Lira’s posture instantly.
“Something on your mind?” Amarielle asked
“The high priest… and Eldros… I saw them arrive. They went to the king. Alone. They didn’t stop, didn’t speak to anyone… I wasn’t allowed near the council room. What’s going on?”asked Lira
Amarielle’s hands froze mid-motion. She studied Lira with a long, unreadable gaze, then lowered her voice.
“Some matters… are not meant for young ears. The king is dealing with… threats unseen, matters that could tip the balance of the realm. You must trust that Eldros and the high priest know what they do, even if we cannot speak of it yet.”
“Trust? With all due respect, Amarielle, I’ve seen what can happen when power is left unchecked. And Eldros… he doesn’t move without reason. Something is wrong. I can feel it.” Lira clenched her fists, jaw tight.
Lira asked curiously. “Priestess Amarielle… is this about the priest who came from the covens?”
Amarielle’s eyes darkened, shadowed by the memory“Yes, Lira. He… he died because of a curse. He was performing a ritual with the wizards of the covens, attempting to bend powers he could not contain.”
Lira’s breath caught. “A curse?”
Amarielle nodded slowly, voice low but steady “During the ritual, something went terribly wrong. He convulsed, his spirit seemed to leave his body. It was as if the forces he tried to summon rejected him. When he came back… he was not the same.”
“What happened when he came back?”Lira asked, voice trembling slightly
“His eyes… they saw beyond our world.”Amarielle said, her hands tightening on the scrolls she held “He spoke constantly, pointing to the sky, repeating the same words over and over: ‘They are coming… they are coming… they are coming…’ And he was right. Whatever he glimpsed… it is coming.”
Lira’s heart raced, the weight of the words pressing against her chest. “Then… it’s real. Everything he warned about?”
Amarielle’s gaze remained steady, her hands tightening on the scrolls. “We do not know if it is dangerous or how far it reaches but this much is certain: his death was no common death. His veins… it was as if every one of them was poisoned. Black as tar. The kind of thing that shakes even Eldros out of his caution.”
She paused, voice soft but urgent. “They have not found a solution. We do not know what will come next. But… something is brewing, Lira. And when it moves, we must be ready or at least, we must watch carefully.”
Before Lira could speak again, the chamber door creaked open. A stewardess, tray in hand, stepped inside.
“Apologies, Priestess Amarielle… the king requests the sacred oils be prepared for the council’s evening session,” she said, bowing slightly.
Amarielle’s gaze flicked to the girl “Go. And see that the preparations are exact. Every detail matters.”
The stewardess nodded and hurried out, leaving Lira with her questions unfinished, the weight of what she’d just heard pressing on her chest.
Lira glanced at Amarielle, who had already returned to her scrolls, calm and unreadable. The conversation had been broken but the storm in her mind had only grown stronger.
Thom and Garreck trudged down the narrow village lanes, the air crisp with the fading light. Their boots scuffed the packed dirt, leaving short-lived impressions behind them.
“Did you hear… about the priest? He’s dead. Said the council last night it was sudden, unnatural.”Thom broke the silence first, voice low and rough.
“Dead?”Garreck’s brow furrowed sharply. His hand clenched at his side. The image of black tar still burned faintly in his mind. “And… you didn’t tell me before?”
“Only just confirmed. The council didn’t want rumors spreading. Figured we’d all hear in time.”Thom shook his head, gaze down.
Garreck’s chest tightened. He thought of Sanq, of his son’s insatiable curiosity. He saw it.
They continued on, heavier with silence, until they reached the edge of the village where the castle road met the main lane. There, Lira was waiting, bow slung across her back, eyes sharp even as she caught sight of them.
“Father!”she called out, spotting Thom.
“I spoke to Amarielle. She said… the priest didn’t die naturally. He was performing a ritual with the covens. A curse… that’s what killed him.”she said, with a tight voice.
“Cursed be the covens. Always meddling, always twisting the world with their chants and spells. Every time their kind touches a soul or a village… it ends in ruin.”Thom’s fists clenched, knuckles white in the fading light, voice low and trembling with anger.
“Aye. I remember the stories… the fire in the southern dunes, the rivers boiling, the forests burning. The Scorpion King may have led them once, but it was the wizards who did the real damage. They made the green plains of the south into scrapyards where now the goblins are surviving.”Garreck nodded grimly, boots crunching on the dirt road.
“Foolish men thinking they can wield forces beyond their understanding. Ambition without wisdom… it devours them. And now… now one of their cursed rituals has killed a priest.”Thom shook his head, eyes hard.
“These wizards, their magic is no game. Nothing good ever comes of it. Sanq… that boy carries more than he should. The fear, the memory… it will not leave him easily.”Garreck’s jaw tightened, anger and guilt mixing.
“No. Nothing good. And still, they crawl and whisper in shadows, thinking themselves untouchable. Cursed be their chants, and cursed be anyone foolish enough to follow in their footsteps.”Thom let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.
“This is as far as I go. Keep your old man safe, kid.”Garreck stopped, resting a hand on the hilt of his axe, voice low. His eyes lingered on Lira, yet humorously he says.
“Aye. You take care, Garreck. And don’t let your thoughts stay on this too long…”Thom nodded, jaw tight.
Garreck gave a short, grim nod. Without another word, he turned down the lane leading to his home.
Thom and Lira turned toward their own lane, silence settling between them as the castle’s shadow stretched over the road. Lira’s hand tightened around her bow, eyes flicking back toward Garreck’s disappearing figure.
“Father… the priest. Amarielle… She said it was a curse. That his death wasn’t natural.”Lira said quietly, breaking the silence.
“I feared as much.”Thom’s shoulders tensed, jaw set, muttering.
“Don’t fret, girl. I’ve got you. With that bow of yours, you’ll clean up every wrongdoer in the sixteen kingdoms. I’ll be a proud old fool when the wrong-doers are all gone.”he said, half-gruff, half-proud, nudging Lira’s shoulder with an elbow.
“You better be around to see it, old man. Don’t get eaten by a beast before I make you proud.”Lira cracked a brief, fierce grin, the tension easing from her shoulders for a heartbeat.
Thom chuckled, the sound rough but warm, as they continued toward their home.
The council room smelled of tallow and old blood. Iron sconces hissed along the walls, throwing long shadows across the war-table. A slab of black oak taken from the thunder-beast’s own shoulder blade. King Veydris sat at the head, gauntleted fingers drumming the bone-white grain. His crown was not gold, it was a ring of minotaur horn, polished until it drank the light. To his right: High Priest Caldor, robes the color of dried bone, eyes still rimmed red from the night’s vigil. To his left: Eldros, beard bristling like rusted wire, knuckles white on his staff. Around the table: Scarface, the hawk-scarred bodyguard, helm tucked beneath one arm, standing like a blade half-drawn. Lord Treasurer Halric, thin as a winter reed, ledgers clutched to his chest. Lady Ressara of the Granaries, broad-shouldered, ink-stained fingers tapping a rhythm only she could hear. No one spoke until the doors thudded shut.
“Show me.”Veydris broke the silence.
Caldor lifted a crystal vial. There lay a single drop of black and silver threads writhed inside it like blind worms.
“That came from a priest?”Halric leaned forward, spectacles glinting.
“From his lungs. And his eyes. And his tongue.”Caldor said.
“How many more?”Ressara’s voice was gravel.
“Many, all in his hovel. I managed to get these in the vial. The rest were not moving.”Eldros answered.
“The covens?”Veydris did not blink.
“They deny it. But the seal on the ritual circle was theirs. Old sigils. Pre-truce.”Eldros said.
“Cost to burn the affected hovels?”Halric’s quill scratched.
“Three hundred covens. And half the winter grain if the wind turns.”Ressara said.
“Explain the rite.”Veydris’s gauntlet stilled.
“The Circle of Inverse Binding. A wizard’s body is required. Flesh woven with star-iron, blood etched in moon-silver. Only a witch or warlock can survive the inversion. A priest’s soul is too brittle. They knew that. They used him anyway.”Caldor’s knuckles whitened around the vial.
“They fed him to it. Like kindling.”Ressara said, tapping stopped.
“Proof?”Halric’s quill hovered.
Silence, thick as pitch.
“My great grandmother burned in the Dune Fires. My ancestors' fields turned to glass by witch-flame. They swore the truce. They lied. One priest today, how many tomorrow? We ride to the covens. We salt their circles. We end this before the next rite needs our blood.”Ressara leaned forward, voice low, lethal.
“Scarface.”Veydris’s eyes flicked to the bodyguard.
“The road's clear to the border. Two days’ march. Covens keep no standing army. Only fireballs and minor stunness—nothing our blood-iron can't handle.”Scarface’s scar twitched.
“War drains the treasury. Grain rots in the fields if the hands that sow it march south east.”Halric coughed.
“Let the grain rot. Let the gold rust. My people will eat ash before they swallow another witch’s lie.”Ressara’s laugh was a blade.
Veydris raised a hand. The room stilled.
“Eldros.”
“My liege.”The old teacher straightened.
“You will go. Take some men with you. Ask Scarface if you need some. You will ride to the covens’ threshold. You will investigate why they broke the truce. If their answer is wind, you will bring me their tongues. If their answer is steel, you will bring me their heads.”Veydris said.
“And if they speak the truth?”Eldros asked.
The words cracked like a whip.
Veydris’s gauntlet slammed. The thunder-beast table groaned. A hairline fracture spidered through the bone-white grain.
“Truth?”
His voice was no longer winter. It was molten iron.
“Then the Scorpion King was right.”
He rose, horn-crown casting a shadow that swallowed half the table.
“His carnage was right. Five centuries of peace bought with lies. Five centuries of nothing, no falling doors, no sky-gods, no end—just stories to keep children in line. And now these wicked wizards dare wake the old fear? Dare drag a priest into their circle because of bedtime tales?”
He leaned over the vial. The black drop quivered, silver threads flaring like struck flint.
“If their truth is that the sky is coming, then we finish it before it starts.”
Veydris’s gaze swept the table, slow, scorching, each face pinned beneath the weight of it. The horn-crown seemed to tighten, shadows pooling in the hollows of his cheeks.
“Eldros. You ride in two days. Take as many men—Blood-iron, Archers, Heavy cavalry, Hammer heads, as many. No banners. If the covens speak of prophecy, burn the prophecy. If they speak of peace, test it with steel.”
“Granaries on war footing. Every sack becomes a shield.”Veydris said to Ressara.
“Coin flows south. Buy silence. Buy blades. Buy time.”he said to Halric.
“Choose the men. Men who’ve killed wizards before.”he told Scarface.
“Already done, my liege.”Scarface’s scar split into a grin.
“Five centuries. Let the sixth begin in fire.”Veydris looked at Eldros.
Sanq shuffled into the stone hall, the air colder than yesterday, chalk dust swirling like frost. Eldros stood rigid, staff planted like a spear. No greeting. No bark for silence. The children sensed something heavier than history.
Eldros tapped the map once. A new charcoal line snaked from the southern sea, north-west across the plains.
“Four hundred years ago,”he began, voice low,
“the sea rose.”
He dragged the chalk along the coast.
“Not waves. Legs. A thunder-beast taller than ten iron castles stacked crawled from the black water. Barnacles the size of shields. Eyes like storm-lanterns. Each step cracked the earth. It marched for us.”
Sanq’s breath fogged. He pictured the ribcage outside alive, dripping, coming.
“Had the watermen not warned us,”Eldros said,
“we would be bones in its gut. They swam the coast, lungs burning, to scream: ‘It comes. It hungers.’”
He drew a second line—centaur hooves, galloping from the grasslands.
“We did not fight alone. The centaurs rode in four thousand hooves, bronze-tipped lances. Humans and centaurs, shoulder to flank, met the beast on this very plain.”
Eldros slammed the staff. The map shuddered.
“Arrows bounced off its hide. Axes sparked. But the centaurs charged its knees. Humans climbed its ribs with grapples and fire. For three days, the beast roared. On the third, it fell.”
He traced the fossil outline over the village.
“We built our kingdom atop its corpse. Its ribs became our cliffs. Its heart-cave, our granaries. Its blood soaked the soil, still black in spring.”
Sanq stared at the ribcage outside the window. Home.
“Had the watermen not accidentally roused it,”Eldros said,
“we would be bones in its gut. But first, before the beast, came the Great War of the Sixteen Kingdoms.”
He drew a jagged scar across the southern seas.
“The watermen were peaceful. They sang to tides, not swords. They kept the sea’s monsters asleep. Yet the Scorpion King marched on their reefs. His army drove them from the shallows. The wizards of the south-east cast spells no waterman could breathe through. They drowned in their own element. They choked on water. Their blood ran blue, staining the currents for leagues.”
Eldros’s chalk scraped north, to the frozen coast.
“They fled to the Icelandic tribes. But the ice froze their lungs. They died swimming helplessly.”
He turned the chalk downward, into the black trench beyond the map’s edge.
“Helpless, the watermen dove deeper. Past light. Past breath. In panic, they disturbed the thunder-beast’s slumber. It woke up angry. It rose blind with rage. And it marched for us.”
Eldros’s chalk hovered, trembling, over the trench. Then he drew a frantic spiral, rising, desperate.
“But even in their death-throes,”he said, voice raw,
“the watermen warned us.”
He slashed a third line from the depths, arrow-straight to the centaur grasslands, then to the human plains.
“One waterman washed ashore at the centaur border. He sang the warning in their tongue: ‘The sleeper wakes. It comes for the warm lands.’”
Eldros’s staff stomped against the floor.
“The centaurs galloped. Messengers on foam-flecked horses reached our gates three dawns before the beast’s shadow touched the horizon. We had time, barely. Time to sharpen lances. Time to braid fire-ropes. Time to stand.”
He circled the village on the map of our kingdom with a thick, shaking line.
“Because one dying waterman refused silence, we met the thunder-beast ready. Not with hope. With steel and fire and four thousand hooves.”
Sanq’s eyes burned. The ribcage outside wasn’t just home. It was proof.
Eldros rolled the map shut. The bell clanged, sharp as a hammer on iron. Children spilled out, boots scuffing, voices rising like startled birds.
“Sanq.”Eldros’s voice cut through the clamor.
Sanq froze mid-step, heart punching his ribs. The hall emptied until only chalk dust and silence remained. Eldros leaned on his staff, eyes narrowed.
“Come here.”He said.
“Tell me what you see when you look up.”while leaning on his staff.
Sanq swallowed. No one had ever asked. He stepped to the slate, fingers trembling as he took the chalk. First: a red star, fat and pulsing.
“It’s growing,”he whispered. “Brighter every night. Like it’s swelling.”
Eldros’s beard twitched showing interest. Sanq drew four smaller stars in a crooked square around it.
“These moves. Left. Slow, but left. Not with the others.”
He sketched six pinpricks in a loose arc.
“These shrink. Twinkling less. Fading. Like they’re running out.”
Eldros’s knuckles whitened on the staff.
“You watch,”he said, not a question.
Sanq nodded, chalk dust on his lips.
“Every night. From the ribcage. The sky talks.”
Eldros exhaled, slow as winter.
“I know maps, I know herbs and I know wisdom because of my age, boy. Not stars. But the covens at our south east they read the skies like scriptures.”
Sanq with excitement in his eyes.
“The Wizards?”He asked.
“Aye. Wizards who name the red one. Who tracks the wanderers. Who might teach a star-rat what even I cannot.”Eldros replied.
Sanq’s breath caught. Eldros straightened.
“I ride for the covens the day after tomorrow. Come as my squire. Carry my maps. My staff. My questions. See what the wizards see. Ask what the stars answer.”
Sanq’s heart hammered against his ribs like a war drum. The chalk slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor.
“Yes, Master Eldros,”he said, voice cracking with fire. “I’ll be there. Maps, staff, questions, everything. I’ll carry them all.”
Eldros’s eyes softened, just a flicker.
“Good. Dawn, One day hence. Gate yard. No star-gazing the night before. You’ll need sleep.”
Sanq nodded so hard his neck ached. He bolted from the hall, boots skidding on flagstones, chalk dust in his wake.
Outside, the ribcage loomed his ladder to the sky. But now it feels small. The covens. Wizards. Stars with names.
He ran. Through lanes, past granaries, past the baker’s ovens, breath fogging, lungs burning. He had to tell Father. Had to convince him. Had to go.
The training yard baked under the noon sun, dust devils swirling between the racks of blood-iron spears. Scarface stood at the center, helm tucked beneath one arm, hawk-scar etched deep as a canyon. Eldros approached, staff thudding on packed earth. Twenty five men snapped to attention, no banners, no noise. Scarface jerked his chin.
“Your men.”
Five Blood-Irons: black plate, veins of crimson ore pulsing faint in the sun. Five Hammer-Heads: brutes like walking siege engines, war-hammers slung across backs broad as granary doors. Ten Archers: yew bows unstrung, eyes flat and hungry. Five Rib-Reapers: axe-men with blades curved like the thunder-beast’s own ribs, edges honed to moonlight. Eldros nodded once, approval without warmth. Lira stood at the yard’s edge, bow across her back, castle leathers too new, boots scuffed from morning drills. She stepped forward.
“Me.”
Scarface didn’t blink.
“No. Seventeen’s for training yards, not coven roads.”
“I outshot the prince at two hundred paces. Twice.”Lira’s jaw set.
Scarface’s scar twitched “Age outranks arrows, Cocks outgrows clits.”
Lira’s face burned rage, shame, disgust. Her fingers itched for the bowstring. But words stuck in her throat like bone. A shadow fell across the dust. King Veydris strode in, minotaur-horn crown blazing. Priestess Amarielle at his side, robes whispering. The king’s gaze cut, Lira, rigid; Scarface, smirking.
“Scarface.”
Scarface snapped straight.“My liege.”
“Repeat.”
Scarface’s grin faltered.
“Age outranks—”
“Enough.”
Veydris’s voice cracked like a whip.He turned to Lira. “Bow.”
Lira unslung it, yew singing.
“Target.”
He pointed, three hundred paces, straw dummy. Lira nocked, drew, loosed. Arrow buried, dead center. Silence. Veydris’s smile was winter iron.
“First test. Real test. She rides with Eldros. Proves herself on coven soil or dies trying. The kingdom learns if little hawk has wings.”
Veydris’s eyes locked with Scarface.
“She may not have a cock, Scarface, but she’s got bigger balls than every boy her age in this yard.”
Scarface’s scar twitched—no smirk now. The twenty-five men stilled, eyes down. Veydris turned to Lira.
“Make me proud little one.”
Lira’s breath shook, but her spine straightened. A little nod to the king for appreciation. Eldros tapped his staff.
“Dawn. Gate yard. Extra strings. The day after tomorrow.”
The king walked on, Amarielle’s robes brushing dust. Scarface’s gaze burned into Lira’s back. She didn’t flinch. Eldros went towards King Veydris.
“My liege, I would like a student of mine to accompany me at this journey.”
“You think this ‘journey’ should be accompanied with kids?”The King grinds.
“He’s of the age of Lira. Intrigued with stars. I believe him questioning the wizards may pop the truth out of them. No loss of blood then.”Eldros replied.
“Do what you think can work, but take complete accountability. I don't want my people to think I am slaughtering kids of my own kingdom because the adults are incompetent now.”Says Veydris.
Eldros straightens and confidently replies
“I'll make sure no harm is there for Lira or Sanq.”
The king walks on towards the courtyard with Amarielle.
The hovel’s single candle guttered, throwing long shadows across the clay bowls. Sanq shoveled porridge like a man possessed, first full meal in days. Garreck watched, brow raised. Thalen’s smile flickered, then worry. Sanq's words spilled between bites.
“Master Eldros says the thunder-beast rose because watermen woke it by accident! They drowned in their own sea, blue blood, then one washed up singing to the centaurs! We built the village on its bones!”
“Aye, old tales. Eat slower or you’ll choke.”Garreck grunted.
Sanq leaned in, eyes blazing.
“But the stars, Father! The red one’s swelling. Four wanderers creeping left. Six fading like they’re dying! Eldros says the wizards name them. Teach them. He wants me as a squire!”
Thalen’s spoon clattered. Garreck’s jaw set.
“No.”
“Please. It’s not fighting. It’s only interrogation. Maps. Stars. Truth without blood. Eldros swore no harm.”Sanq’s voice cracked.
Garreck’s eyes flicked to Thalen, storm brewing.
“We will talk about it later. Go to your room”
Sanq disappointingly goes to his room. Later. Bed creaked under their weight. Moonlight sliced through cracks. Thalen’s whisper shook.
“Not again, Garreck. Not after Kael.”
Garreck’s hand found hers—callused, trembling. Their elder son. Kael youngest Blood-Iron in kingdom history. Seventeen. Died shielding the king from orc raiders at the Three-Border Hunt where orc, centaur, gnome lands bled together. Blood-iron armour crushed in his chest by the ramming of orc maces. The body was brought home in a blood-iron shroud. Thalen’s voice broke.
“He was manly too. Look where it got him.”
Garreck stared at the beams.
“Sanq’s not Kael. No blade. No charge. Just words. And Eldros swore.”
Silence. Thalen’s tears soaked the pillow. Garreck’s voice is rough iron.
“If the boy’s hunger kills him… better stars than steel.”
Dawn crept in, gray and cold. Sanq sat on the bed’s edge, bundle clutched to his chest. Garreck standing in the doorway.
“Your mother’s hurt, boy. Kael was her sun.”sorrow in Garreck's voice.
“She’s got one star left. She can’t watch it fall.”
Sanq’s bundle trembled.
“But Father—”
Garreck crouched, hand on Sanq’s shoulder, heavy as fate.
“Stars are beautiful. Steel is final. She’s lost too much to gamble on maybe.”
“Eldros swore—”Sanq’s voice cracked.
“Swore don’t raise the dead.”
Silence. The candle died. Garreck stood.
“Stay. Tend the fields. Ask the sky from here.”
He left. The door creaked shut.
Evening. The day Garreck said no. The ridge wind howled, carrying the smell of pine and distant smoke. Garreck swung his axe into oak, thunk, thunk, splinters flying like accusations. Thom crested the hill, boots crunching frost.
“Lira’s riding.”
Garreck’s axe stilled.
“What?”
“King’s orders. Shot three hundred paces in the yard. Scarface swallowed his tongue. She leaves with Eldros, tomorrow dawn”
Garreck’s knuckles bled white on the haft.
“Seventeen. Kael’s age when the orcs”
Thom’s voice rough.
“Archers, Garreck. Not the front line. Eldros swore no blood.”
Garreck stared at the village below, hovel dark, Sanq inside, bundle packed.
Night. Same day. The hovel door creaked. Eldros stepped in, staff muted on packed earth. Garreck stood, axe forgotten. Thalen froze, spoon mid-air. Eldros’s voice is low.
“Sanq’s gift is rare. He understands the stars. Wizards may listen to boys who ask the right questions. No blade. No charge. Just the truth.”
Thalen’s whisper shattered.
“He’s all we have.”
Eldros’s eyes softened for the first time ever.
“I lost a son too. I swore then: never again. Sanq rides behind me. My shadow. If steel falls, it falls on me first. By the king orders as well. We have to protect the young ones”
“Young ones?”Thalen shockingly says.
“Aye, Thoms girl”Garreck intervenes.
“This is madness”responds Thalen.
Eldros clenched his brows.
“We are not going for a war, Thalen. Just questions. I promise you I will not let any harm come to your boy.”
Eldros shows the parchment.
“We have 25 fighting hands with us, even if we do draw swords, Sanq will come back”
Eldros unrolled the parchment, king’s seal, horn-crown wax cracked open. Twenty-seven names. Five Blood-Irons. Five Hammer-Heads. Ten Archers. Five Rib-Reapers. Lira inked fresh. Sanq, blank space beside it. Garreck’s eyes narrowed on the seal.
“King’s orders?”
Eldros nodded.
“Veydris himself. ‘Protect the young ones.’ Lira rides to prove. Sanq rides to ask. Both under my shadow.”
He tapped the parchment.
“No banners. No war. If steel sings, it sings for us, not at us. Sanq carries ink, not iron.”
Garreck stared at the blank line. Thalen’s tears slowed. She whispered,
“Bring him home, Eldros. Whole.”
Garreck’s hand closed over hers.
“Let the boy chase stars. Better questions than maces.”
He turned to the dark corner.
“Sanq.”
Sanq stepped from the shadows, bundle clutched, eyes wide. Garreck’s voice rough, but steady.
“Tomorrow dawn. Gate yard. Maps. Staff. No blade. Come back with answers”
Eldros rolled the parchment.
“Sleep, boy. Stars wait. So do we.”
The candle hissed its last ember into darkness. Garreck’s hand stayed locked over Thalen’s, knuckles white as bone. He stared at the closed door, Eldros gone, Sanq’s bundle still on the floor. His voice cracked the silence like an axe through ice.
“Gods be blessed with us, Thalen… I’m afraid for this boy…”
Thalen’s sob caught, half fear, half prayer. Garreck imagined Kael's face and whispered to himself.
“Sky is not the limit for this one”
