Written by: Chris Chret © 2026
Dravion still smelled of metal and medicine.
Nocten was already back on his feet.
His wounds were fresh, but the pain did not stop him. His body was weary — his spirit was not. Beyond the stone walls, in the council chamber, his brother had gathered the lords and knights of Dravion.
Maps lay spread across the table.
Swords were set aside.
Eyes were heavy.
Serpentis was the target.
Then, a man stepped forward — clad in silver-gold armor, his voice deep as a sea before a storm.
Lord Eryndor Frostwyn.
To his enemies — the Guardian of the Depths.
He turned toward the throne.
"King Aurel Thornevald," he said calmly. "I ask for your permission. Let me go first. Let me bring down the ships of Serpentis. I will lead the knights. And I will be the first to step into death, if need be."
Silence fell across the hall.
Aurel studied him for a long moment.
Then he stood.
"You have my permission. Depart at once."
He stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Be careful. I need you here."
Eryndor only nodded.
The next day — the sea greeted them.
The cliffs of Serpentis were alive.
The archers were already in position.
As the first ships drew near, the sky darkened.
Arrows.
Hundreds of them.
Like a rain of steel.
The knights realized too late.
Eryndor leapt forward, raising his shield. The impacts rang like thunder. But many fell — pierced, thrown into the water, drowning in their own blood.
The ships, despite everything, kept moving.
Eryndor straightened.
He took his spear.
He charged forward — and hurled it.
The spear flew an impossible distance… and embedded itself into the cliff.
The archers laughed.
They thought he had missed.
That was exactly his intention.
Eryndor threw himself forward — stiff as a plank — and vanished headfirst beneath the water.
The arrows kept falling.
Under the surface, his body moved silently. The impacts weakened. Blood mixed with salt. He hid beneath a ship, then continued alone, unseen.
Arrows struck even beneath the water.
He felt them hit around him — slower, heavier, but still deadly.
The water saved him.
It dulled their force.
Had he stayed on the surface — he would have been dead.
On the decks, panic erupted.
Knights watched bodies drift between the waves — armor, blood, lifeless hands disappearing beneath the sea.
"The lord…" someone whispered.
No one saw him resurface.
No one saw him breathe.
Only blood.
And the sea claiming the dead.
"We've lost him…" another knight said, his voice breaking.
We've lost many knights.
Without a leader.
Without a sign.
Fear prevailed.
The ships turned back toward Dravion.
And Eryndor — reached the shore.
He emerged silently from the water.
As he rose, something brushed against his leg.
A body.
Eryndor turned sharply — and saw him.
His eyes were still open.
"…Eryn…" the man whispered, his voice barely audible over the waves.
Eryndor grabbed him at once, dragging him toward the shallows with all the strength he had left.
"I'm here. Hold on. Please…"
Blood slipped between his fingers.
The man smiled weakly.
"You made it… at least you…"
His hand tightened on Eryndor's armor… then fell limp.
The weight in his arms became empty.
Eryndor remained kneeling in the water for a few moments.
Then he gently laid the body down and stood.
His gaze hardened.
On the shore, knights waited for the ships and did not notice him.
Eryndor pressed himself against the rocks, soaked and bloodied, watching the ships slowly retreat.
They thought he was dead.
He watched them return without him.
Without a leader.
Without vengeance.
Silence.
"I'm already here," he thought.
"And if this is my end — then it will not be an empty one."
His gaze lifted toward the cliffs where the archers stood.
He saw them — around fifty. High above. Confident.
"At least I'll avenge my fallen knights…
even if I fall here myself."
He jumped and grabbed the spear.
With one sharp pull — he climbed.
And emerged among them.
He hurled the spear into an archer.
The man never saw what killed him.
The spear pierced straight through his chest.
Two charged with knives — Eryndor seized their arms, redirected them — and they drove the blades into each other.
He grabbed a bow and arrows.
Threw.
One fell with an arrow through the eye.
Another — through the heart.
A third — through the stomach, piercing armor.
He advanced, using bodies as cover.
He drew a knife from the belt of an archer before him — and drove it straight into the man's jaw.
He had no arrows left and threw the bow aside.
He stood unarmed.
Surrounded.
He raised his hands and his head.
If this was the end — then let it be here.
Under open sky.
With blood on his hands.
With enemies before him.
Better this than forgotten.
"Kill me now," he said aloud. "Because if you don't… I will become the nightmare of Serpentis."
They laughed.
Then —
an axe flew from the forest.
An archer dropped dead.
Men emerged from the shadows. They attacked.
Chaos.
Eryndor reclaimed his spear as they fought the attackers. One archer rushed to strike — Eryndor drove the spear through his back, his chest, his armor.
He pulled it free.
He threw it.
The archer fell — helmet split.
In a heartbeat — it was over.
Eryndor stood weaponless.
Only breath.
Only pain.
Only their stares.
For the first time, Eryndor thought he might truly not leave this place alive.
Then, a man stepped out of the forest.
"Good fight," he said. "But it wasn't fair. Too many against one."
The man looked at him.
He saw the sea.
He saw the ships retreating.
He realized Eryndor was a knight of Dravion — left behind because they believed him dead.
What spirit this man has, he thought.
"I am Edric Vaelthorne, of Serpentis," the man said, extending his hand.
"Eryndor Frostwyn. Lord of Dravion."
Their hands clasped.
"We must hide," Eryndor said. "There are still knights below."
From the cliffs, they saw them — already climbing.
Edric's men wanted to attack.
"No," Edric said. "There is no need for more blood."
They withdrew into the forest.
As they hid among the trees, someone whispered:
"He's a knight of Dravion…"
Another replied softly,
"And we're from Serpentis. Why would he help us?"
Several gazes turned toward Eryndor.
Edric noticed.
"If he wanted to betray us," Edric said calmly, "he would have already done so."
Silence lingered for several heartbeats.
No one argued.
Eryndor offered them refuge in Dravion.
"Will Dravion accept us?" someone asked.
"Yes," Eryndor replied. "And because you saved me… I will stand with you. If they attack you — they will have to kill me as well."
Edric nodded.
"Agreed. We only need ships."
"I can find some," one man said.
Another interjected,
"Why search for ships? The ships are on the coast. We can steal them."
Several nodded.
Edric looked at them all, then said quietly,
"And how many men will we lose for those ships?"
Silence.
"We may not even manage to take a single one," he continued. "And below, well-guarded positions await us."
Eryndor spoke:
"The ships on the shore are prepared for war, not escape. More men will die there… or be captured."
Edric nodded.
"A better choice is for this man to find us ships, if he can."
All eyes turned toward him.
After a brief pause, everyone agreed.
The decision was made.
They remained there for the night.
Eryndor retrieved his spear.
The blood upon it was still fresh.
With a slow motion, he wiped the blade against the grass, watching the red fade away.
He looked toward Edric.
Young.
Calm.
The men listened to him.
Good leader, he thought. And dangerous if he ever stands on the wrong side.
Returning to Dravion would not be easy.
For Edric's people — it was a step between trust and chains.
For Eryndor — a return to a king who may have already mourned him.
But the path was chosen.
And as they departed, none of them knew whether they walked toward salvation…
or into an even deeper war.
And the sea…
the sea already remembered their names.
End of Chapter 19