Written by: Chris Chret © 2026
The forest was silent, but harsh.
The cold wind carried snow between the tall trees, and the whiteness had already begun to gather on the ground and the branches. Winter was not coming — it was already here.
Alaric stood among the trees.
He was not fully recovered. His body still ached, and his strength had not fully returned. But he did not stop.
He tightened the bow.
The arrow whistled through the air and struck a bird among the branches. Then another — into the bark of a tree. A third — a thin branch snapped and fell into the snow.
He was practicing precision.
His breathing was heavy, his hands trembled from cold and exhaustion, but he continued until the last arrow left the string.
Then he drew the small sword.
He began to swing — slowly, then faster. He cut through the air, stepped, turned, dropped to one knee and rose again. The snow beneath his feet mixed with mud and sweat.
In the end — he had no strength left.
He was sweating, exhausted, out of breath. His arms hung heavy.
Slowly, he turned back toward the cabin.
But the forest did not allow him peace.
His path was blocked by a massive white silhouette.
A polar bear.
Huge. Hungry. Its eyes were dark and full of instinct.
Alaric froze.
Even if he were not exhausted — close combat with a bear was certain death.
His hand moved toward the quiver.
Empty.
He had used all the arrows.
The bear growled.
Hunger pushed it forward — it had to attack to survive.
It charged toward him.
In that moment — something exploded from the bushes.
A man.
With incredible strength, he struck the bear and knocked it down. The two rolled through the snow. The man punched it, strangled it, fought like a beast.
They rose.
Now the fight was on their feet.
The man pushed it back with pure strength. But the bear grabbed his shoulder and bit into it.
Blood.
The man drew an axe and drove it into its stomach.
The bear dropped to all fours and pulled back.
But it did not flee.
The man charged, climbed onto its back, and locked onto its neck. It jumped, shook, tried to throw him off.
He strangled it.
Slowly.
Until it lost strength.
When it stopped moving — he swung the axe.
One strike.
Then another.
The bear fell.
Dead.
Alaric stood frozen.
Afraid.
Astonished.
He looked at the man — completely breathless, with a bloody shoulder — and knew: this was no ordinary man. Perhaps a knight. Perhaps something more.
"Come on, boy," the man said. "Let's go to the cabin and eat."
Alarik barely answered:
"You go… I'll train a little more."
"Be careful," the man said. "This forest is big and dangerous."
Alaric thought: if it is so dangerous — why does this man go into it every day?
The man dragged the bear toward the cabin.
Alaric did not train.
He only tried to collect himself.
Later, he returned.
The skin had already been stripped. The meat prepared.
They ate in silence.
The next morning, the man rose quietly and left.
But this time — Alaric was awake.
He followed him.
Deep in the forest, the man trained with axes — precision, then strength, cutting trees as if they were branches.
Alaric watched him.
He stared into one point, lost in thought.
And then — a voice behind him:
"What are you doing here?"
He flinched.
He told him he wanted to see where he went and what he did every day.
They returned to the cabin.
They sat.
"You are an important man," Alaric said. "Tell me who you are. Why are you here alone?"
The man was silent.
Then he spoke.
"I am from Ashkar."
Alaric immediately drew his sword.
Rage.
Hatred.
"Calm down," the man said. "I am not an enemy. I hate them too."
Alaric sat down.
He sheathed the sword.
"I was a knight," the man continued. "I destroyed everything on the king's orders. I thought we were right… but some things happened. I left. My brother stayed."
"What is your name?" Alaric asked.
The man smiled.
"Raghnar Al-Kasir. My brother is still a knight. A lord."
Alaric froze.
At the moment Ragnar said that his brother was a lord, something returned to his thoughts. A figure. A voice. The way he stood. He realized who it was — and how much he resembled his brother.
"That night," Alaric spoke quietly, but with weight, "my village was attacked."
Raghnar did not interrupt him.
"The attack was led by your brother. Everything was destroyed. Houses. People. Families."
His voice trembled.
"I am the only survivor. While fleeing I reached Skeldor… and from there — here."
Silence followed.
"I plan to go to Serpentis," Alarik continued. "I will become a knight. I will fight. Come with me. Together we will rise against Ashkar. We will defeat them."
Raghnar lowered his head.
"No," he said after a short silence. "I am no longer a knight. I interfere in nothing. I want peace. And I have it here."
"Then why do you train every day in the forest?" Alaric asked.
"Why do you fight like a man expecting war?"
Raghnar looked him straight in the eyes.
"Because peace can be taken from you at any moment. If I am not prepared — I will not survive."
"You have peace," Alaric replied. "But the land does not."
"And it never will," Raghnar answered. "If you rebel and kill, do you think you will bring peace? You will change nothing. Not you, not I."
Alaric clenched his fist.
"Better to do something," he said, "than to sit here alone and wait for nothing."
Raghnar was silent for a long time.
"There is no hope for this world," he finally said. "There will always be wars. There will never be true peace."
Raghnar was silent, but within him a quiet war raged.
He saw himself in Alaric's eyes — the same hatred, the same pain, the same fire he once carried.
I have already walked this path, he thought. And in the end I found nothing but blood and emptiness.
He wanted to tell him not to go. To stop him.
But he knew — some people must touch the darkness themselves to understand what they seek.
Alaric stood.
"At dawn I leave for Serpentis. If you change your mind — be ready."
The sun rose.
Alaric was ready.
Raghnar was gone.
He stepped out of the cabin, thinking they would not even say goodbye.
But Raghnar stood before him.
His eyes were calm.
Alaric smiled, thinking he would go with him.
"I came to say goodbye," Raghnar said.
Raghnar paused, then drew his hand from beneath his cloak.
In his palm he held an old knife — worn, but perfectly balanced.
"Take it," he said. "It is not the most beautiful, but it has saved me more times than I can remember. To remind you that you are not alone."
Alaric took the knife, then without a word drew his small sword.
He handed it to Raghnar.
"And let this remind you that not all knights are the same."
Raghnar was surprised… and accepted it.
Without hesitation, he turned the knife and cut his palm.
Alaric did the same.
Their palms met.
Blood dripped into the snow.
"From this day," Raghnar said, "you are not just a traveler in my life. You are a brother by choice."
Alaric nodded. He needed no words.
They embraced.
"Be careful on the road," Raghnar said. "And I hope you will change something… in what you have decided."
"I will take revenge," Alaric replied. "And for you. One day I will defeat your brother."
A short pause.
"I hope our paths cross again, my friend."
"Goodbye," said Alaric.
And he left.
Raghnar remained.
"Goodbye, my friend," he whispered.
Alaric walked forward, stepping toward the light breaking through the trees.
His heart was heavy, but his step — steady.
In his chest he carried anger, but also purpose.
Raghnar stayed behind him, wrapped in the shadows of the forest.
He had already seen death.
He had seen the truth behind banners, titles, and politics.
And he no longer had the strength to return there.
One left to fight the darkness.
The other stayed to live with it.
And both — paid with the same blood.
End of Chapter 15