Before the sun had even fully risen on the city, long before most of the kingdom had stirred from sleep, Sorvin and most other soldiers were already awake. Dawn’s first light crept over the horizon, casting a pale glow over the training grounds of Arloch, where the chill of the morning still lingered in the air.

  The halls of the Maroon Palace stood eerily silent in the pre-dawn hours, their grand columns casting elongated shadows in the dim torchlight. King Farodin stirred in his chambers, his sleep troubled by dreams that refused to fade.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw her again—Loryth, standing in the garden, her silver hair catching the light of the setting sun. Her laughter, soft and warm, filled the space between them, a sound he had long since stopped hearing outside of his dreams.

  "The empire isn’t what you think, Farodin," she had told him, her voice laced with determination. "We don’t have to fight them. We can make them listen."

  He had wanted to believe her. Had wanted to trust in the diplomacy she championed, the ideals she held so dearly. But he had known, even then, that the world was not so kind.

  And the world had proven him right.

  Twelve years had passed since that fateful day. Since Loryth had left these halls, carrying nothing but a diplomat’s seal and her unshakable belief that peace could be brokered. Since the message arrived, bearing news of her murder at the hands of those she sought to reason with.

  Twelve years since he had last spoken her name aloud.

  Farodin sat up, running a hand through his dark, graying hair. He had aged more in these years than he cared to admit. His kingdom, too, bore the weight of time and loss, its people hardened by the slow, creeping inevitability of war.

  Yet, despite everything, the most enduring reminder of Loryth was not her absence. It was their daughter.

  Arlith.

  Farodin frowned at the name, as he often did. He had not wanted her to be called that.

  But Loryth had insisted. She had spoken the name with such certainty, even before their daughter was born, and he—still foolishly hopeful, still believing he could grant her at least this—had relented.

  "Her name will be a bridge," Loryth had said. "A promise."

  A promise, he now knew, that had been made to a grave.

  He exhaled sharply, shaking off the lingering thoughts. There was no use dwelling on the past. The future demanded his attention.

  The war was no longer a distant storm on the horizon—it was upon them. And Arlith, his daughter, would soon be at its center.

  The training ground had the scent of damp earth mixing with the tang of sweat and steel. Already, the clatter of swords and the rhythmic stomp of boots echoed through the open grounds as soldiers drilled under the pale sky. The sharp cracks of scroll-lock rifles rang out in the training grounds, followed by the sound of swords clashing.

  Sorvin, being the commander of King Farodin’s elite Fornyren Guard, stood at the edge of the grounds, his arms crossed, watching his men with a scrutinizing gaze. His sky-blue eyes were unreadable, cool as the frost still clinging to the grass. Even at this early hour, he was dressed in full uniform, his dark coat lined with silver trim, the insignia of his station stitched into the shoulder.

  He scanned the field, taking in the forms of the soldiers sparring, testing their limits, and refining their techniques. One caught his eye—a new recruit, Andrak, whose footing was off as he engaged in a bout. Sorvin couldn't help but feel sorry for the kid, probably not even in his twenties, and yet like Sorvin when he was young, Andrak joined without skipping a beat.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Keep your footing steady, Andrak,” Sorvin called, his voice carrying easily over the sounds of combat. “A staggered stance leaves you open to a counterstrike.”

  The young soldier straightened immediately, adjusting his position before nodding. “Yes, Commander!”

  Sorvin gave a small, approving nod but said nothing more. He expected discipline, but discipline alone wasn’t enough. The C?sr?thian Empire was on the move, and mere competence wouldn’t keep their kingdom safe. They needed precision. Efficiency. Perfection. He saw what they were capable of 12 years ago.

  The thought of war settled heavily in his chest, but he had no time to dwell on it. But then a voice snapped Sorvin out of his thoughts.

  “Commander Sorvin!”

  Turning his head, already recognizing the voice before his gaze landed on Captain Ellarion approaching briskly. The older officer’s face was lined with age, his features weathered from years of battle and service. A scroll was clutched in his hand, its wax seal unbroken.

  “You have been summoned by the king,” Ellarion said as he handed Sorvin the parchment. “His Majesty has taken note of your successes during the War of the Raging Flame. He wishes to assign you to a new task.”

  Sorvin broke the seal with a practiced motion and quickly scanned the contents. His jaw tightened slightly.

  Arlith.

  King Farodin's request was clear. Sorvin was to assemble a small but elite unit to escort Princess Arlith on a diplomatic mission—a journey to rally allies against the encroaching C?sr?thian Empire. It was a mission fraught with danger, one that would take them beyond the borders of the kingdom and into uncertain territory.

  Ellarion’s sharp gaze lingered on him. “It’s no small responsibility, to lead such a mission. The princess will need protection, and she’ll need someone who can keep her steady."

  Sorvin exhaled through his nose with a hint of frustration at this mission, folding the scroll and tucking it away. “The princess has a kind heart,” he said evenly, his expression unreadable as he glanced back at the troops. “But she’s stepping into a world of politics and war while also being easily manipulated. Very well. It'll be my job to ensure she makes it through unscathed.” He says as he and Ellarion begin to walk to the king's chambers.

  After a few minutes, a sharp knock could be heard at the door of the king’s chamber which drew Farodin from his thoughts. He turned, straightening his posture. “Enter.”

  Captain Ellarion stepped inside, his expression unreadable as he held his hand up in the Farcoser salute. “Your Majesty, Sorvin has been summoned.”

  Farodin nodded, steeling himself. “Good. Send him in.”

  A few moments later, Sorvin entered, bowing his head slightly as he gave the Farcoser salute. Despite the difference in rank, there was an unspoken understanding between them—one forged in blood and battle.

  Farodin wasted no time. “Sorvin. As the parchment had stated, you are to assemble a unit and escort my daughter on a diplomatic mission.”

  There was no reaction from Sorvin at first. Only a brief flicker in his gaze, a subtle tension in his stance. “Princess Arlith,” he said as if testing the weight of the words around Farodin.

  The king only exhaled slowly when he heard Arlith's name from Sorvin. “She is to seek alliances against the C?sr?thian Empire. The road will be dangerous.” His voice darkened. “I need someone who can protect her. Someone I trust.”

  Sorvin’s expression remained unreadable. “You know what kind of world she’s stepping into.”

  “I do.”

  “But does she?”

  Farodin hesitated.

  “She will learn,” he finally said.

  Sorvin studied him for a moment longer before nodding. “Very well. I’ll ensure she makes it through unscathed.”

  There was nothing more to say.

  As Sorvin turned to leave, Farodin called out, his voice quieter now. “She carries more than just the fate of the kingdom, Sorvin. She carries a name that was meant to be a bridge between two worlds.” His jaw tightened. “But I fear she may find herself standing between them instead.”

  Yet there was no room for hesitation.

  The following hours passed in a blur of preparation. Sorvin wasted no time in handpicking the members of the entourage, choosing only those whose skill, loyalty, and discipline were beyond question. Among them were hardened soldiers, expert marksmen, and an Irithil mage known for his mastery of celestial magic—each one a crucial piece in ensuring the success of this mission.

  By mid-afternoon, the chosen soldiers stood assembled at the port of Arloch. The air was thick with the scent of salt and sea as waves crashed against the stone piers, the wind tugging at their cloaks and banners.

  Sorvin stood before them, his presence commanding. The sunlight gleamed off their polished uniforms, the steel of their weapons reflecting the golden light of the morning sun. The weight of the mission settled on his shoulders, and even if there was doubt in him, he dared to not show it.

  “This mission is unlike any we’ve undertaken before,” he began, his voice steady, carrying over the gathered soldiers. “We’re not just protecting the princess. We’re protecting the hope of our kingdom.” His gaze swept over them, meeting their eyes. “Each of you was chosen for your skill, your loyalty, and your ability to rise to any challenge. I expect nothing less than excellence from all of you.”

  A resounding “Yes, Commander!” echoed in response.

  The soldiers settled into their tasks—checking their firearms, adjusting their gear, some exchanging murmured words about what awaited them beyond the safety of the kingdom.

  Sorvin said nothing further, his mind already turning to the mission ahead.

  Princess Arlith…

  The thought lingered, unshaken. This was more than just an escort mission. It was the first step into something far greater. Something that could decide the fate of not just the Kingdom of Farcos itself, but the whole world.

  It is said that the Divine Two still watch over the world. Aeloria, the goddess of light and creation, guides the living while Zaryx, the god of death and transformation, ushers the departed to their rest.

  But there was a time when they were not gods.

  Once, before the world had taken shape, Aeloria and Nyxar had been lovers. A balance of light and shadow, creation and destruction, neither complete without the other. But love had turned to resentment, harmony to war.

  And in the end, they had been sundered.

  Their war had ended millennia ago, yet its echoes still shaped the world. Kingdoms divided by faith, bloodshed over which god should be followed, and wars fought in their names long after they had been lost to legend.

  And now, Arlith—named in the shadow of that war—would walk a path that might decide its future.

  But whether she was Aeloria’s light or Nyxar’s shadow remained to be seen.