Jordan stepped over a fallen branch, every movement feeling sluggish. His body still ached from the fight, his wounds stiff from dried blood and exhaustion. He had pushed himself hard to get back before nightfall, expecting to collapse into his shelter, eat whatever food he had left, and rest before making a new plan.
But as he reached the clearing, his steps slowed. Something was wrong.
His camp was destroyed.
Jordan froze, eyes scanning the mess before him. His shelter—the one he had taken time to reinforce—was torn apart, the logs and supports ripped away and scattered. His firepit was disturbed, the stones kicked aside as if someone had stomped through it on purpose. His small stockpile of fanged boar ribs was gone, not a single scrap left.
He crouched, running his fingers over the ground. The dirt had been trampled, making it hard to tell how many had been here. Not animals. Not a random storm. This was deliberate.
His fingers clenched around the hilt of his knife.
"Someone knew I was here. Someone wanted to make sure I had nothing left."
A slow, burning frustration settled in his chest. He had fought, survived, endured—and now, just like that, he was back at nothing.
Jordan exhaled sharply, forcing himself to think. Standing here wouldn't fix anything. He needed to decide what to do next.
His mind flickered back to Sir Cedric—the knight he had saved.
"If you ever need a place to go, Emberfall will welcome you."
He hadn't taken those words seriously. He had wanted to figure things out on his own, to carve his own place in this world.
Now, he had no choice.
He reached into his pack, fingers brushing against the worn parchment Cedric had given him. The map. He pulled it out and unfolded it, scanning the rough markings.
Emberfall was days away, but it was a real place, a city with walls, food, shelter—things he no longer had.
His thumb traced the edges of the small badge Cedric had given him. It felt heavier now.
Jordan looked around his ruined camp once more. He could try to rebuild—but whoever had done this could return. Next time, they might not just take his supplies.
His grip tightened on the map.
This was a sign. A warning. A push.
"Fine," he muttered under his breath. "If the world wants me to move, then I'll move."
With one last look at what was left of his camp, Jordan adjusted his pack, sheathed his knife, and started walking.
He was going to Emberfall.
...
Jordan adjusted his pack, eyes scanning the road ahead. Emberfall was close. Only a day's travel separated him from the city, yet the journey had been anything but easy.
Two nights ago, he had fought off another group of goblins—more aggressive than the last. They had attacked in the dead of night, forcing him into a brutal fight under the moonlight. He had won, but they had been stronger, more organized. Something was wrong with the goblins in this region.
Now, his latest opponent was proving to be an even bigger problem.
The creature crouched low a few paces ahead, watching him with sharp, predatory eyes. It was dog-like, covered in dark fur, with clawed hands and a long snout full of jagged teeth.
A kobold.
Jordan knew what it was based on it's features but had yet to face one .
"It pays to read novels ."
The kobold moved first, lunging at him with blinding speed.
Jordan barely dodged, feeling the rush of air as its claws swiped past his side. He countered, swinging his knife, but the kobold twisted mid-air, landing on all fours before launching itself again.
This time, Jordan braced himself.
The kobold's claws raked against his arm, but before it could retreat, Jordan twisted his knife and slashed deep into its side.
A sharp, pained yelp escaped the monster as it stumbled back, blood staining its fur.
Jordan exhaled through gritted teeth. The damn thing was too fast. His usual tactics wouldn't work here.
The kobold circled him, its injured side heaving, but its eyes still gleamed with feral cunning. It was looking for an opening—and so was he.
His wounds throbbed, but he ignored them. He had been checking them since the fight with that talking monster, and something was off.
The wounds had healed—but unlike before, they left scars.
It was different from when he was injured by goblins, dire wolves, or even the lesser monsters he had faced before. His knife helped him recover, but this time, the scars remained.
Why?
The kobold charged again.
Jordan snapped out of his thoughts just in time to dodge sideways. This time, he didn't just evade—he forced his body forward, grabbing onto the kobold's arm as it passed.
The monster snarled in surprise, but Jordan plunged his knife into its throat.
The kobold choked, its body spasming before it slumped forward, lifeless.
Jordan let out a shaky breath and wiped his blade on its fur.
Another fight. Another wound. Another monster dead.
He looked at his scarred arm and then at the distant road ahead.
Only a few hours away.
.....
Jordan glanced around, then back down at the map in his hands.
"Based on that mountain in the distance… I'm not too far."
He had gotten lost more times than he could count, but now he was finally on a dirt road that looked like it led straight to Emberfall. His shoes were barely holding together—every rock he stepped on pressed sharply against his feet. All the running, fighting, and dodging hadn't done them any favors.
He kept moving, occasionally twirling his dagger absentmindedly as he walked.
"Shields up! Brace!" a thunderous voice bellowed from somewhere in the forest, freezing Jordan in his tracks.
"What?" he muttered, instinctively gripping his dagger tighter. The confusion faded quickly as caution took over. He crouched low and crept forward, ducking behind a patch of thick shrubs.
"You won't last long if you're already tired after three hours!" the voice rang out again, louder now, almost close enough to feel.
As Jordan neared, he heard the unmistakable sound of grunting and clashing metal. A clearing came into view. Tents were set up along the back, and in the open space ahead, rows of armored men trained in unison. Shields raised, swords swung downward in disciplined arcs.
Pacing along the line of soldiers was a man in full armor, his gray hair a striking contrast to the younger men around him. His posture and commanding tone gave him an air of seasoned authority.
"Come on, Charles," he called to one soldier, his voice carrying easily. "You don't want me telling Maria her husband's slacking off again, do you?"
Jordan watched the scene unfold in silence, recognition slowly creeping into his thoughts.
Jordan watched from the shadows, crouched low behind the underbrush. The scent of sweat and iron drifted from the clearing, mixed with the sharp tang of oil and leather. His eyes narrowed, tracking the man with the grey hair—clearly the one in charge. He barked commands with precision, his presence undeniable.
The soldiers, though tired, responded with discipline. Shields braced, swords swung, boots stomped in practiced rhythm. This wasn't just training—it was the kind of drilling done by men preparing for war.
Jordan remained still for a few moments longer, absorbing the scene. His grip loosened slightly on his knife as recognition began to flicker in his mind. That voice…
He shifted slightly and looked closer. The older man was facing away, but as he turned to correct another soldier's stance, the angle of his jaw and the gleam of his breastplate caught the fading sunlight.
Sir Cedric.
Jordan blinked in surprise.
He thought he'd imagined the name or misheard it during his time in the woods. But the badge he kept tucked in his satchel—it had come from that very same man.
He slowly rose from his crouch, cautiously stepping out from the tree line. The crunch of twigs beneath his boots was enough to draw attention.
Several soldiers turned, hands drifting toward their weapons. Sir Cedric held up a single hand, and the men froze.
Cedric's eyes narrowed at the approaching figure. Then, recognition dawned.
"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, walking forward.
Jordan gave a small wave, his expression unreadable. "Didn't think I'd run into you out here."
Cedric grinned, clapping him once on the shoulder. "You look like hell."
"Feels worse," Jordan replied, wincing slightly.
Cedric gave a knowing chuckle. "You're close. Emberfall's just a few miles east. We're drilling here before rotating in. But if you're tired of sleeping on broken roots and watching for goblins in your sleep—why not come with us?"
Jordan hesitated, looking past the soldiers and toward the banners fluttering gently at the rear of the clearing. The symbol of Emberfall—bold and red—stood firm in the wind.
He nodded slowly. "I think it's time I stop wandering."
Sir Cedric smirked. "Good. You'll fit right in."
As the soldiers resumed their drills, Jordan followed Cedric toward the tents, the knife at his side warm, its glow faint but steady. For the first time in a while, the road ahead didn't seem so uncertain.
------------
Jordan stepped out from the shadows of the trees, feeling strangely human again after scrubbing days of grime from his skin. His new clothes itched a little, but they were clean and dry. A vast improvement. The soft twilight cast long shadows over the clearing, and the low thrum of changing shifts echoed in the air.
The previous squad of soldiers was winding down their training, panting and sheathed in sweat. A fresh group moved in with more energy than sense, adjusting straps and shields under the barked instructions of the officers.
Sir Cedric was waiting near the tent's entrance, arms folded, surveying the transition with a steady eye. When he saw Jordan approach, he gave a faint smirk.
"Good to see you looking more like someone who belongs on two legs and less like something that crawled out of a cave," Cedric teased.
Jordan chuckled lightly. "These boots might not last the day, but they're better than bark and leather scraps."
The two fell into step, walking past the clatter of swords and murmured chatter. Night was creeping in fast, and torches flickered to life across the camp.
"So," Jordan began carefully, "something feels… off. Soldiers doubling up, officers keeping their distance. You training them for war?"
Cedric didn't answer at first. His expression darkened as he exhaled through his nose. "Didn't expect to have this conversation just yet," he muttered.
Jordan tilted his head. "What happened?"
"There was an attempt on the Duke's life. A couple nights ago." Cedric kept walking but slowed his pace. "Blade missed the heart. Poison didn't. He's alive, but barely."
Jordan stopped for a moment. "Wait—someone tried to kill him?"
Cedric nodded grimly. "One of our own knights, no less. And someone tried to smuggle the assassin out. Trusted men, too."
Jordan frowned. "I didn't even know what the Duke looked like."
"Not many outside the keep do," Cedric replied. "It's not public knowledge. But I guess you're not just anyone anymore, are you?"
Jordan looked away, lips pressed into a line. "I just happened to be in the wrong forest at the right time."
"Maybe," Cedric said. "Or maybe it's the other way around."
They approached the tent as the second shift of soldiers began taking their posts. The mood was tense. Watchful.
"And the Duke's daughter?" Jordan asked. "She okay?"
"She's… adapting. Elysia's strong. Too strong for some of the council's liking. She's stepping in, holding things together, but she's got more knives at her back than most realize."
Jordan's brow furrowed as he looked toward the distant stone silhouette of Emberfall's keep, shrouded in twilight.
"I guess the goblins were the least of anyone's worries."
Cedric didn't answer. He didn't need to.
------
Night had come fast and Jordan was at the front of onvoy of soldiers.He didn't really want to be at the front but Sir.Cedric insisted.
The some soldiers lit torches to illuminate there way they were almost at Emberfall because Jordan could see the giant wall even from this distance.
Night had fallen fast, settling over the forest like a heavy cloak. Jordan walked at the front of a convoy of soldiers, the rhythmic crunch of boots on the dirt road echoing around them. He hadn't wanted to lead the group—he preferred the quiet of the rear—but Sir Cedric had insisted.
"Eyes forward," Cedric had said with a clap to the shoulder. "You'll want them to see your face before they see your knife."
Now, with the flicker of torches casting dancing shadows through the trees, Jordan felt the weight of every glance behind him. Some were curious. Others cautious. All were watching.
The flames offered little warmth, but they lit the way well enough. And up ahead, rising like a stone sentinel against the night sky, was the wall of Emberfall. Even from this distance, Jordan could make out its sheer height, the parapets lined with torchlight like stars perched along its edge.
He exhaled slowly. "Almost there," he muttered to himself.
The road widened as they neared a bend, and the trees began to thin out. The tension in the group eased slightly, though the silence held. These were trained soldiers—not the kind to chatter during a march, especially with rumors of assassins and unrest hanging in the air like smoke.
Jordan reached down, fingers brushing the handle of his dagger out of habit. It was the same one that had seen him through wolves, goblins, kobolds—and whatever that thing was that spoke like a man. The scars it left were still on his side, faint but real. Unlike the others, they hadn't faded.
His steps slowed slightly as the gates of Emberfall came into clearer view, guarded and imposing. The moment felt heavier than he'd expected. He wasn't just passing through anymore.
He was arriving.