As the heavy rain that kept him awake into the deep night stopped, Loryn awoke. Raising his upper body wrapped in thin grey undergarments, he rubbed his sleepy grey eyes while letting out a tired sigh turning into vapor before quickly vanishing, becoming one with the chilly, humid morning air, carrying the potent scent of the damp moss and wet wood through the small tent’s thin white cloth. After removing the woolen blanket he couldn’t bear to leave behind, he reached out of the tent and pulled in his dirty black leather shoes before putting them on and crawling out of the tent. While putting on his remaining clothing, Loryn looked around the dense foggy forest with squinted eyes, only seeing his black horse tied to a thick black tree, the white air clearly visible as it neighed. Looking up, he saw the dark grey sky with some lighter patches where the sun penetrated through, singular raindrops still falling from it and rolling down parts of his pale, skinny face. After fully clothing himself, he let out a small sigh, looked into the tent, and grabbed the map from the grey and brown fur he had laid out on the ground after being fortunate enough to have bought them from a merchant he had met passing through a small village.

“I should arrive this afternoon,” Loryn thought, looking at the map.

He had been riding for five days. When he was lucky enough to reach a village before nightfall, he could give himself and his horse some rest. On other days, he had to sleep outside after finding an appropriate place to put up his small camp.

After having packed up the tiny camp and putting it on his horse, he tied it loose and mounted it, slowly riding toward the Red bay.

Barin’s old eyes didn’t leave Loryn’s back as he rode through the forest, watching him from a distance. Mounted on his brown horse, Alys’s words repeatedly echoed through his mind.

‘Only intervene when absolutely necessary. The boy must realize that this world isn’t as magical as he hopes it to be.’

After Loryn had ridden enough of a distance, Barin continued following him.  

…  

Loryn watched the leaves sway in the warm wind, making a familiar calming sound as they rubbed against each other. The forests of orange and red he knew his whole life became less and less the further he rode from Redwood, replaced by bright green leaves indicative of summer. As he rode along the road, he spent his time with the only thing he could do; think. Loryn never thought much; he’d rather do. His earliest memories were of the old Barin, with less white hairs at the time, painting him vivid pictures with stories of old. Tales of the first king, Ellnyr, uniting the continent with the aid of his chosen brother, Bellwin. Stories of the Forsaken, tearing a deep wound across the land, connecting the two continents with his sword, Al’Lassir forged with the help of dark magic originating from the far east, behind even the lands of Ashiir. He and his army were left behind, fighting back the Pale ones from the White Stepps. But they were not alone. The Forgotten Gods are said to have aided them in their struggle, giving life to nature itself and letting tall trees fight alongside them together with magical little green creatures wielding old magic while riding on boars and deers bigger than horses. Even giants, as tall as the trees, are said to have come from the mountains of the cold north.

Loryn remembered every detail of the stories Barin had told him. As a child dreaming of joining the Forsaken, the men and women that named themselves after the legendary figure and swore to protect Beymore from any threat, small or big—to this day, stopping the Grey’s, remnants of the Pale ones army from passing the Last Keep, the last and most significant of the thirteen castles built during the war against the Pale ones.

Only a few people of the common folk living in the east of Beymore still remember those legends and even less believe them. Considering them to be nothing but stories told to children to impart some kind of wisdom onto them, or simply scare them for the adult’s bemusement. But Loryn never stopped believing them, which resulted in his older brother playfully mocking him from time to time. Will was also told those stories, but as he grew up, that’s all they became to him; stories.

Lóryn and Will were similar as children. He remembered the two of them sneaking out of the castle and reenacting the stories Barin had told them, but as the years flew by, the more different they became from each other. As Ellia started training Will herself and taking him into battles, he began to resemble her more. He became more serious, not yet as cold as their mother but seemingly on his way to it. All the while, Loryn stayed the same, not even his appearance changing much. While Will started to resemble the heroes of Barin’s stories, growing tall and muscular, Loryn stayed the short, pale, skinny kid he always was; the only thing significantly growing was his dark curly hair. Now instead of sneaking out with Will, he snuck out with Lia.

The sight of the sparkling sea, colors of purple, red, and yellow dancing in between the white foam as the bright sun hit its blue surface, woke Loryn from his thoughts. With a smile carving itself in his face, the sound of the swaying leaves was drowned out by his ever faster-beating heart. His dark curly hair flew in the wind as he urged his horse to sprint toward the bay.

…

The scent of carrots, potatoes, cauliflower, and beans swimming in the yellow soup filled the room, the fire boiling it warming the room and comforting the men sitting at the long, old, wooden tables, loudly talking, laughing, and gesturing, spilling the beer in their mugs.

Bross watched them while wiping the table counter, rolling his eyes at the thought of cleaning the mess the men would inevitably leave behind.

Bross and his sister worked in their father’s tavern since he was a young boy dreaming of traveling the world. When he was young, he climbed on the roofs of the harbor’s houses, watching the horizon for ships coming from all over the known world. He imagined where the ships came from, maybe from the dry, hot land of Ashaii or maybe from the Golden Isles of Lylerya. He watched the ships coming into the harbor and talked to the men as they stepped off their boats and rested in the tavern, serving them food and beer while trying to attain more information about where they came from.  

As he grew older, the stories became enough for him. With age, the thought of leaving behind the Red Bay he spent all his life in terrified him more than it filled him with excitement.

Hearing the tavern door open, the men who were just indulging in loud conversations turned around, eying the men entering the room. A man in dirty black leather stepped into the tavern, followed by three men in similar armor. Seeing the men, the people already in the tavern quickly averted their gazes, looking away with bitter and resentful faces .

“Bross!” One of them yelled, having just sat down in the corner of the room.

Bross hesitated before taking a deep breath and walking up to the men.

“What can I bring you today, Dorin?” Bross asked, his voice audibly tense.

Hearing the nervous Bross, a smirk carved itself in Dorin’s face. “How about you bring Taria here? We’d like to be served by her.”  

“… She isn’t working today… she, she is ill,” Bross explained, gulping between his words.”

Watching Bross’s uneasy face for a while, Dorin turned to one of the men he entered the tavern with and lightly threw his head to the side.

Understanding Dorin’s gesture, the man stood up and started walking toward the door behind the counter leading into the small kitchen.

“Wait, no-” Bross called out before feeling something cold against his neck.

“How stupid do you think I am, Bross?” sarcastically asked.

One of the other men, still sitting by his side, held a sword full of scratches and marks against Bross’s neck.

Shortly after Dorin’s man entered the kitchen, the people in the tavern heard a painfilled scream, followed by the man stumbling back out of the door with a knife driven deep into his right upper chest, blood rapidly flowing out of the deep wound and dripping on the wooden floor. A woman with long red hair woven in a basket pattern stormed out of the kitchen and hit the already wounded man, gruntingly leaning on the wooden counter over the head with a metal pan, making him slump to the floor; blood spurting out of the gaping head wound.

Her heavy breathing was the only sound being made in the silent tavern.

Taria looked at the unconscious man she had just attacked lying on the ground, bleeding from his wounds, before turning her gaze to Bross, Dorin’s other man now standing behind him, his sword pressed to Bross’s neck so hard blood started to flow from it.

 “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you crazy whore!” Dorin shouted as he jumped up, his bulging brown eyes so wide open they would’ve fallen out had he opened them any further.

Taria tried to suppress the emotions of disgust and anger washing over her when she heard Dorin’s voice, the memories of his dirty hands feeling all over her body, letting first a feeling of hopelessness and sorrow surface which was then quickly replaced by hatred. She didn’t think when she positioned herself directly in front of the door; the knife she had just used to cut carrots with still in her hand. Neither did she think when she drove the knife into Dorin’s man’s chest or when she grabbed the metal pan hanging on a hook next to the door and hit him with it over the head, but now she wished she would’ve thought.

Seeing the blood slowly flowing down her brother’s neck, she was stunned. The rage that had controlled her body until this moment vanished as fast as it appeared.

“Oh bitch I’ve gone easy on you up until now, but-“

“Release him,” A young voice yelled from across the room.

Turning to the person who dared to speak up, Darin saw a scrawny boy with snow white skin contrasted by neck-long raven black curly hair falling down his skinny face, wielding a beautiful silver sword.

Darin was about to mock the boy before he saw the sword that he recognized was worth more than all the valuables he had stolen from people combined.

‘Is this a god-damn noble kid?’ Darin asked himself, making him hesitate.

“I said, let him go!” Loryn yelled, hoping the volume would drown out the sound of his racing heart.

“Hey, kid you-“

“Know your place, kid!” Dorin’s third man interrupted before walking towards Loryn, his sword drawn.

Loryn watched as he took a clumsy wide swing toward him. Quickly bowing under the awkward swing lacking in speed and strength, Loryn was about to drive his sword deep into the man’s side before suddenly freezing.

Barely avoiding the death he already saw, the man didn’t hesitate and took another swing at Loryn, using all his strength, not wanting to miss his chance.

Before his sword got even close to Loryn’s still body, a small hole appeared through the man’s throat.

As he dropped his sword and slumped to the floor, both hands gripping his neck, desperately trying not to drown in his blood filling up and flowing out of his mouth. A young man with beautiful long golden hair stared down at him with piercing bright green eyes and a little smile before he quickly lost interest and looked up at the stunned Loryn.

Baris stood right behind him with his sword drawn, still trying to figure out what had happened.

“You owe me,” The beautiful stranger’s delicate voice penetrated the deafening silence.