Earlier...
The sun has risen and beneath the shadow of distant hills, a line of riders with several carriages cut through the morning haze.
At their head rode a woman clad in polished armor, its surface dulled only by the dust of travel.
Her cloak fluttered with each stride of her horse, the deep blue fabric trimmed with silver, a mark of rank.
A sword hung at her waist, its hilt worn smooth from years of use, though her grip on the reins was calm and practiced.
Behind her, a squadron of knights followed in formation their numbers twelve in total.
Their armor catching the light in flashes of steel and discipline.
The rhythmic sound of hooves striking the dirt road echoed faintly, a steady march that spoke of purpose.
Beside her, a man in slightly lighter armor urged his horse closer, his expression tight with irritation.
"I still don't understand why we took this mission," he muttered, loud enough for her to hear over the steady rhythm of hooves. "A request from the Pope himself, sure — sounds noble on paper. But crossing the Great Plains? At this time of year?"
He scoffed, shifting in his saddle. "When night settles, the temperature drops, the beasts come out, and rumors has it the land itself is a beast! It's suicide!"
A few of the knights behind them exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to add to his complaint. The tension hung thick in the air, like the land itself was listening.
The lady knight kept her eyes forward, her tone steady but firm. "The mission may be dangerous," she said, her voice carrying easily over the sound of hooves, "but it isn't without merits. The Pope does not make empty promises."
Her second-in-command gave a low, doubtful snort. "Assuming we live long enough to collect on them."
She didn't turn to face him, gaze still locked on the horizon. "We will," she replied simply. "We have to reach Eldrinor in twelve days. Any other route would take a month at best."
She cast a brief glance over her shoulder toward the carriage trailing behind the formation, then turned her gaze back to the road ahead.
"Besides," she added, her tone steady, "we're not riding blind. We brought someone for situations just like this."
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Right. So instead, we cut straight through a monster-infested plain. Brilliant strategy even with him taken into account, Commander."
"The southern road might've taken longer," Alric said, irritation creeping into his voice, "but at least it was safe. Patrols, villages, guards on the lookout — not this gods-forsaken stretch of land."
Alric's jaw tightened, frustration flashing across his face. He urged his horse a little closer, lowering his voice but not his tone.
"This isn't like you, Commander," he said, the words edged with concern more than defiance. "You've never gambled with lives before — especially not your own squadron's."
He gestured toward the horizon, where the faint shimmer of heat already distorted the air. "Whatever the Pope promised, it's not worth losing good men over. You know what happens out here when the sun sets."
The lady knight's gaze remained forward, but her silence spoke volumes. The wind tugged at her cloak as Alric continued, his tone dropping lower, the edge of frustration giving way to something heavier — worry.
"And these men," he added, glancing at the riders following behind, "half of them are fresh from the academy. Barely seen real combat, let alone the horrors that crawl across the Great Plains after dusk."
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "If you wanted to risk your life, Commander, fine — but bringing them? They're not ready for this."
The lady knight slowed her horse, turning just enough for the sun to catch the edge of her armor — a gleam of authority in motion. Her gaze stayed ahead, though her voice carried backward with measured composure.
"Do not underestimate them, Sir Alric," she said "These are not mere amateurs dragged from the barracks. They're the top seeds — handpicked from every province for their promise, their discipline, and their will. They need to see what real danger looks like. What the world beyond the capital demands of knights who serve the Crown. This mission will temper them. Growth comes only through challenge."
Alric exhaled sharply, the sound halfway between a sigh and a growl. "Challenge," he repeated under his breath. "A fine word for what this place does to men."
He drew his reins tighter, his horse snorting as if sharing his unease. "You talk about growth, Commander, but you forget — water doesn't just nourish. It drowns, too."
The lady commander didn't answer, but the faint twitch in her jaw betrayed a crack in her calm.
Alric pressed on, his tone softer now, almost weary. "These young ones—" he nodded toward the line of fresh-faced knights behind them, still sitting tall, still trying to look brave, "—they're green, idealistic. They think glory's waiting over the next ridge. But if we're not careful, Commander… we'll be watering graves instead of seedlings."
The lady knight's expression didn't change, though her grip on the reins stiffened ever so slightly.
"The Pope may be many things," she said finally, her tone calm but laced with conviction, "but a fool isn't one of them."
Her gaze stayed fixed ahead, eyes narrowing against the rising light. "He schemes, yes — always has. But his mind is sharp, sharper than most give him credit for. If he sent us through the Great Plains, then there's a reason behind it. A calculated one."
Alric looked at her and sighed.
He didn't waste another word. With a sharp tug of his reins, he fell back into formation, the steady rhythm of hooves filling the silence that followed.
The lady knight remained quiet, her eyes still fixed on the wavering horizon.
The Pope's words echoed in her mind — his calm certainty, the way he'd spoken of the Great Plains not as a danger, but as a necessity.
She frowned beneath her helm. 'If it had been anyone else who'd given that order', she thought, 'I'd have taken it as a death sentence.'
But this was his command — and for all his cunning, the Pope never moved a piece on the board without reason.
A faint ripple of movement passed through the formation — a subtle tightening of reins, the quiet shift of armor. The lady knight noticed it immediately, her instincts snapping her from thought.
"What is it?" she called, her voice composed but edged with command.
One of the riders at the front raised a gloved hand, pointing toward the horizon without breaking formation. "Commander," he said evenly, though there was a trace of tension in his tone, "something ahead. Roughly a few hundred paces out — can't confirm what it is yet."
"Hold," the lady knight ordered, raising one gauntleted hand.
The command carried through the line with practiced precision — reins tightened, hooves slowed, and in moments, the entire squadron came to a disciplined halt.
The only sounds left were the soft snorts of their horses and the distant whisper of wind across the plains.
A stillness settled over the formation.
From his place near the front, Sir Alric watched the horizon, squinting against the shimmer of heat. The plains were endless — an ocean of gold and dust that swallowed all sense of distance. For a moment, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him again. The midday haze often warped the world, turning shadows into shapes and hope into illusion.
But then he saw it.
A flicker of motion, faint and stumbling, breaking the monotony of the landscape.
He straightened slightly in his saddle, brow furrowing. "Commander," he called, voice steady but carrying enough weight to draw attention. "There's something there."
Silence fell across the line. The rhythmic clinking of armor faded. Even the horses seemed to sense the shift — their ears twitching, their steps growing restless.
The lady knight raised her head, gaze following his line of sight. Her expression was unreadable beneath the shadow of her helm, but the faint narrowing of her eyes said enough.
Alric felt the dry wind brush across his face as he added, quieter now, "It's moving. Can't tell if it's man or beast."
That was enough to set every knight on edge. Hands drifted toward weapon hilts. The faint creak of leather and steel rippled through the squadron like a heartbeat.
Still, the commander said nothing — only stared toward that lonely speck on the horizon, watching as it drew closer, one uncertain step at a time.
It stretched across the formation, taut as a drawn bowstring.
Alric's gaze stayed fixed ahead. The figure — if it was one — wasn't moving like a man."
A thought flickered through his mind, unwelcome and absurd. A traveler? Out here?
He turned slightly in his saddle, addressing the commander. "Your orders, my lady?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were locked on the horizon, unreadable beneath the visor's shadow.
Then, calm and clear, she spoke. "Send three knights with ample of experience forward to investigate. Keep formation. The rest — ready yourselves."
Alric gave a curt nod and gestured to three veteran knights nearby. They broke rank smoothly, spurring their mounts into motion.
He felt the younger knights beside him tense — saw one's jaw clench, another's hand drift too close to his sword.
They were good lads, eager to prove themselves, but still learning the fine line between good and bad
As they rode ahead, the rhythmic drumming of hooves filled the air — steady at first, then fading slightly as the trio drew closer to the lone figure.
Alric watched them go, his hand resting unconsciously on the hilt of his sword.
He'd been through enough campaigns to know that danger often came wrapped in the most harmless shapes — a lost merchant, a wounded pilgrim, even a child by the roadside.
The squad watched in silence as the three riders slowed to a halt before the lone figure. From a distance, it was hard to make out the details — just gestures, faint words carried away by the wind.
The figure stood unsteadily, swaying as one of the knights dismounted to approach him. A brief exchange followed — confused, cautious, but seemingly calm. Then, suddenly, the stranger's knees buckled, his body crumpling into the dirt.
A murmur rippled through the formation.
Alric's grip on his reins tightened, but before he could issue a word, he saw one of the knights kneel beside the fallen man while the others scanned the horizon. Moments later, they lifted the limp figure carefully, setting him across one of the horses.
Then came the signal — a sharp, deliberate motion of a raised gauntlet.
"All clear."
Alric exhaled slowly, though his unease didn't fade. Whatever that boy was, fate had a cruel way of tossing strangers into places they didn't belong.
...
The three riders returned at a steady pace, the horses' hooves kicking up small plumes of dust as they rejoined the formation. Draped across one of the saddles was the limp body of a man
As they drew closer, the knights exchanged low remarks.
"Poor soul," one murmured, glancing down at the man's pale face. "Looks like he's been wandering for days."
"Not a bandit, that's for sure," another added. "No weapon, no pack — just… whatever those rags are."
"Traveler, maybe," said the third, frowning. "Though from where, I've no idea. Not dressed for any road I've seen."
Alric rode forward, eyes narrowing as he took in the stranger's condition — the cracked lips, the sunburned skin, the exhaustion etched deep in every line of his face.
Alric dismounted with a heavy sigh, his armor creaking softly as his boots met the dirt. The unconscious man looked pitiful up close — lips cracked, skin flushed from the sun, clothes torn and oddly made.
"Get him some water," Alric ordered, his tone brisk but steady. "And food. There should be rations in the rear carriage."
One of the younger knights hesitated, uncertain. "Sir… is that wise? We're not sure who he is."
Alric shot him a look — not angry, but firm enough to end the question. "He's a half-dead man, that's what he is. We've enough rations to spare a meal."
The knight nodded quickly and rode off to fetch supplies.
As the others moved to obey, Alric's eyes lingered on the stranger's strange clothes — thin fabric, unfamiliar cut, and colors unlike any garb from nearby kingdoms. He frowned.
Up close, the dirt and dust clinging to the fabric couldn't hide its quality. The stitching was fine, the weave smooth — nothing a peasant or even a traveling merchant could afford.
Alric's frown deepened. "Strange," he muttered under his breath. "Under all that filth… this looks like noblewear. Foreign, but finely made."
"The sun won't wait for us," the lady knight said, her voice cutting cleanly through the air. She urged her mount a step closer, her expression unreadable beneath the shadow of her helm. "We've tarried long enough."
Her gaze fell briefly on the unconscious man slumped against one of the knights. "See that he's treated in one of the carriages. Bandage what you can and give him water — but we ride. Eldrinor won't come any closer while we stand still."
Alric bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Aye, Commander." He gestured toward the nearest wagon. "Get him settled. Gently now — if he's survived this far, he's earned at least that much."
The order was carried out swiftly, the squadron falling back into motion as the lady knight took the lead once more, the rhythmic beat of hooves rising again across the vast, sunlit plains.
The lady knight straightened in her saddle, raising one gloved hand. Her voice rang out, steady and commanding — a tone that cut through fatigue and dust alike.
"Form up! We move out!"
The soldiers responded at once, a ripple of motion running through the formation as reins tightened and hooves struck the earth in unison.
The Great Plains swallowed the sound of their departure, leaving behind only the fading echo of hooves and the whisper of wind over the endless grass.