The eastern border was no place for a king, yet Kaelen rode there with his sword at his side.
The land itself seemed to shun the touch of sunlight. Pale grey mist curled around blackened pines, their trunks split and scarred as if clawed by giants. The air was heavy with the bitter scent of iron and damp earth. Every hoofbeat from the small mounted escort echoed strangely in the fog, as though the mist swallowed sound but spat it back—fainter, distorted.
The fortress of Ironridge was barely a shadow in the haze ahead, its jagged stone towers jutting like broken teeth. Beneath them, the land sloped into a valley smothered in low fog so thick it clung to armor and hair.
"Your Majesty," murmured Captain Deyric, riding just ahead. "The scouts say the beasts strike from the fog, they never show themselves until they're upon a man. Steel alone will not keep them back."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. " But steel and runes will."
His gauntleted hand brushed the hilt of his sword—a weapon of Valeryn forgecraft, the fuller etched with silver runes that pulsed faintly with restrained magic. It was a relic meant for kings of war, and today it would be tested.
They dismounted just beyond the fortress gates. The eastern gate guards looked pale and shaken, their armor dented and splashed with dark stains not entirely human.
Kaelen crouched by a tree near the gate. The bark bore four deep gouges, each the width of his thumb, the wood beneath blackened as if scorched. The ground was churned with pawprints too large for any wolf born of nature—three-clawed, with deep punctures where talons had dug in.
"Corruption," Deyric muttered, spitting to the side. "The kind that festers in the Demonlands."
Kaelen straightened, scanning the mist. The world beyond ten paces was a shifting wall of white. Somewhere out there, a low growl rippled through the air like distant thunder.
"Hold formation," Kaelen ordered. "Shields up. We advance slowly."
The first attack came with no warning.
A long, mournful howl split the fog, so loud it rattled the inside of Kaelen's skull. Shadows darted between the trees, flickers of movement too fast to track. The horses snorted and stamped, eyes rolling white.
Then the fog broke—
Out of it lunged a beast the size of a warhorse, fur matted with black ichor, eyes glowing like coals in a dying fire. Its muzzle was split too wide, teeth jagged and mismatched as though its skull had been warped.
The lead guard raised his spear—too slow. The wolf's jaws clamped down, snapping the shaft like a twig, and the man vanished beneath the creature's bulk.
Kaelen moved and his sword flared with pale light as the runes awakened. One swing across the wolf's flank burned a smoking gash into its corrupted hide. The stench that followed was foul enough to make his eyes water.
The second wolf came from his left. Kaelen pivoted, planting his boots in the mud. He slashed upward, the rune-light sparking against the beast's ribs. It yelped—a warped, gurgling sound—then leapt back into the mist.
He remembered what the fortress captain had told him: They strike, then vanish. They need to force them to commit.
Kaelen stepped forward, pressing toward the sound of heavy breathing in the mist. He crouched near a half-fallen pine, baiting the beast into lunging where its movement would be slowed by the tangle of roots.
The trap worked. The wolf lunged, claws outstretched. Kaelen sidestepped, driving his blade into its side. The runes flared hot white—magic burning through corrupted flesh.
A sudden crash behind him—another wolf leapt from the mist, fangs bared.
A wall of steel intercepted it then a tower shield slammed into the beast's skull with a sickening crunch, sending it sprawling. The man holding it was massive—broad-shouldered, armored in blackened plate marked with old battle scars. His helm was crested with a single red plume.
"Majesty," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. "Sir Renic. I'll keep your back."
Kaelen nodded once because there was no time for more. They moved together, an unspoken rhythm forming instantly—Kaelen's sword carving runed arcs while Renic's shield smashed and pinned the wolves long enough for killing blows.
The fog thinned for a moment, revealing the clearing ahead. Only one beast remained—larger than the rest, with bone spurs jutting from its shoulders and a milky-white film over one eye. It paced, head low, growling.
Kaelen advanced, Renic at his side. The wolf lunged, jaws snapping. Kaelen ducked beneath the strike, rolling forward, and drove his sword deep into its chest. The runes burned brighter than ever, and with a final shudder, the beast collapsed, black ichor spilling onto the mud.
The silence after was almost worse than the fight. The fog swirled lazily, hiding the trees again. Then—a figure stepped into view.
It was not a beast, but a man or something wearing the shape of one.
Tall, armored in jagged black plates, face hidden behind a helm carved with demonic script.
Kaelen raised his sword, but the figure did not attack. Instead, it tilted its head, studying him in silence. Then it stepped close enough that Kaelen could see faint red eyes behind the visor.
It spoke—five slow words in a language Kaelen did not know. The voice was low, almost human, but it made his skin crawl.
And then it turned and vanished into the mist without a sound.
Renic's voice broke the spell. "We should return, Majesty. This place isn't empty."
Kaelen nodded slowly, eyes still on the direction the figure had gone. His sword's runes were dimming, but the strange words seemed to burn in his mind.
They mounted and rode back to Ironridge, the mist curling behind them like a living thing.
Kaelen said nothing on the journey, but he knew one thing with certainty:
Whatever that soldier was… it had recognized him.
To be continued…