The gates of Valewynn opened at first light, and with them came the sound of a kingdom holding its breath.
Heavy iron doors groaned as they parted, revealing the long stone road that stretched outward from the capital like a scar across the land. Morning mist clung low to the ground, curling around boots and hooves alike. Fifty warriors stood assembled before the gates—some mounted, some on foot—each armed, each watchful, each measuring the others in quiet calculation.
This was not an army bound by loyalty.
It was a gathering bound by desire.
Kael Thornwake stood near the rear of the group, his posture straight but tense, hands clasped behind his back. His sword rested at his left side, sheathed in worn leather. It was not adorned with gems or sigils—only a simple blade, forged by hands that valued balance over beauty.
His father's hands.
Around him, voices rose and fell in uneven waves.
"Fifty blades chasing one prize," a knight muttered. "This ends with blood."
"Aye," another replied. "Just a question of whose."
Kael listened, said nothing, and watched the banners above the gate ripple in the wind. The crest of Valewynn—golden crown over an unbroken circle—fluttered proudly. Yet after the letter, after the princess's disappearance, the symbol felt hollow.
Unbroken.
A lie.
---
The King's Last Command
Sir Edric Halvane rode forward, his warhorse stepping confidently onto the road beyond the gate. He was tall even in the saddle, his armor polished to a mirror sheen, the white plume of his helm catching the morning sun.
Edric was everything a Crown Knight was meant to be.
He raised his hand, and the noise faded.
"By order of King Alaric IV," he announced, voice firm and practiced, "we depart under royal decree. We ride to recover Princess Elmyra of Valewynn and bring her home alive."
A murmur rippled through the warriors.
Edric continued, "The king has promised a reward beyond measure to whoever succeeds. But understand this—disobedience, betrayal, or bloodshed among us will be punished."
A dry laugh cut through the air.
It came from Roth Vale.
Roth sat casually atop his horse, one boot hooked loosely in the stirrup, his sword strapped across his back instead of his hip. His armor was mismatched—pieces gathered from different battles, different contracts—but his blade was famous. Too famous.
"Punished by whom?" Roth asked. "You?"
Edric's eyes narrowed. "If necessary."
Roth smiled faintly. "Then pray it isn't."
The tension tightened like a drawn bowstring.
Kael felt it in his chest.
This was how it began.
---
The Riddle That Poisoned Trust
Before Edric could respond, a royal herald stepped forward, clutching a parchment in trembling hands.
"The king has ordered the letter reread," the herald announced. "He believes its meaning has not yet been exhausted."
Groans followed, but no one objected.
The herald read aloud:
Seek her not in stone or steel,
But where the first promise failed.
A knight scoffed. "Stone or steel? Castles, keeps, fortresses. So we look elsewhere."
"Or it means weapons," another said. "We search without violence."
Roth shook his head. "Too simple."
The herald continued:
Trust not the banner—
For the cycle wears many faces.
That line drew immediate reaction.
Several knights stiffened.
A swordsman muttered, "Sounds like treason."
Edric's jaw tightened. "Enough."
But the damage was done.
Kael felt the words settle like ash over the group.
Trust not the banner.
Steel will turn upon steel.
The kidnapper wasn't hiding.
He was shaping them.
---
The Swordsmith's Son Speaks
Kael's heart pounded. He told himself to remain silent. He had no rank. No right.
But the memory burned too strongly.
"My father used to speak of the First Accords," Kael said suddenly.
Every head turned.
Edric's gaze sharpened. "Step forward."
Kael obeyed, feeling fifty pairs of eyes weigh him down.
"My name is Kael Thornwake," he said. "Son of Darian Thornwake, royal swordsmith."
Recognition flickered through a few faces. Others dismissed him instantly.
"The First Accords," Kael continued, "were made before the Five Kingdoms fully united. Shrines were raised where promises were sworn—between races, between rulers."
"And broken later," Roth added quietly.
Kael nodded. "Yes. Those places were abandoned. Forgotten."
Edric hesitated. "And you believe the letter refers to these shrines?"
"It says where the first promise failed," Kael replied. "That's what those places are."
A knight sneered. "Convenient story."
Another added, "Or a trap."
Kael met their stares, voice steady despite the fear twisting inside him. "Everything about this is a trap."
Silence followed.
Then someone shoved someone else.
---
Steel Turns Upon Steel
It began with a push.
A Crown Knight accused a swordsman of planting false ideas. The swordsman struck back with words sharper than any blade. A gauntlet grabbed a collar. A fist flew.
Metal rang.
Kael stumbled back as swords were drawn. Horses reared. A blade sliced the air inches from his face.
"Stop!" Edric roared.
Too late.
Two warriors clashed violently, sparks flying as steel met steel. One fell, blood spreading dark across the stone road.
The fighting ended as quickly as it began—but something vital had broken.
Trust.
Roth wiped blood from his blade and sheathed it slowly. "There it is," he said.
Edric's voice trembled with restrained fury. "This ends now."
Roth shook his head. "No. This is exactly what the letter promised."
---
Five Paths, One Prize
By midday, unity was gone.
Arguments fractured into decisions.
The fifty split—some by belief, some by ambition, some by hatred.
Five groups emerged.
One rode east toward the Elderwood, believing the Elfs knew ancient truths.
Another marched north into the Pandoran Mountains, following rumors of storm-signs and omens.
A third descended southward, seeking Dwarven halls beneath the earth.
A fourth headed west toward the coast, hoping the Downys would reveal what lay hidden beneath the waves.
And the fifth group—smallest of all—followed no banner.
Roth's group.
Kael stood among them, stunned.
"You walk with us," Roth said simply.
"Why?" Kael asked.
Roth's eyes gleamed. "Because you don't belong anywhere else."
---
The Ruins of the First Promise
Night fell as they reached broken stone pillars half-buried in earth.
An old shrine.
Kael's breath caught.
Symbols carved into the stone glowed faintly—a fractured circle.
The same symbol from the letter.
As Kael reached out, the ground hummed.
Deep.
Ancient.
Something answered.
Far away, unseen, the kidnapper watched.
The Cycle had begun to move.
And the boy who was never meant to be chosen had taken his first true step.