The sun was setting, yet the world felt unchanged. He had spent years waiting—for what, he wasn't sure. But something inside him whispered that the time for waiting was over.
Aldric Ravenshield sat atop his horse, gripping the reins tighter than necessary. The golden fields of Dystonia stretched before him, calm, peaceful... and suffocating. The scent of fresh corn filled the air, the rustling of fields whispered of home—but to him, it was a cage. His people found comfort in the routine of village life. He found only restlessness.
Lord Aldric, son of Duke Alistair Ravenshield, sat atop his horse, gazing out over the fields that stretched endlessly before him. His dark black hair, as rich as his father's, whipped in the soft breeze, but there was little satisfaction in the view. To the people of Dystonia, this was home—a sanctuary of sorts in a world that seemed to move on without them.
He shifted in the saddle, letting his gaze wander across the workers in the fields. Their hands were calloused from years of labor, but there was a pride in their work. He could see it in the way they smiled, despite their hardships. Aldric envied that—he wished he could feel that same pride in something.
His father's voice echoed in his mind, a reminder of the noble values that had been drilled into him since childhood: Nobility is not in birth, but in deeds. But what deeds had Aldric truly done? He was born into wealth, raised in luxury, and trained in the arts of leadership, combat, and magic. But for all his lessons and skills, he had never once stood beside these people in their time of need.
Aldric exhaled sharply, shifting in the saddle. A fleeting urge to ride past the village borders—to leave, to be more—gripped him. But duty held him back. Instead, he flicked the reins, pushing his horse forward.
---
As Aldric rode back towards the Ravenshield manor, the large estate perched atop the hill overlooking Dystonia, he could already see his father in the courtyard, overseeing the construction of a new barn. Duke Alistair was a towering figure, his broad shoulders and regal presence commanding respect, even from a distance. His expression, however, was always one of calm focus. The Duke never seemed hurried, no matter the challenge.
Aldric dismounted and approached his father, the creak of his boots on the cobblestone walkway drawing Alistair's attention.
"Ah, Aldric," the Duke said with a smile. "You return early today."
Aldric hesitated for a moment, then spoke his mind. "Father, I don't feel like I'm doing enough. These people—our people—they live their lives in the fields, in the markets, in a world of constant labor. But what do I do? I sit in the manor, learning things I'll never truly use. I want to help them, to do something that matters."
Alistair raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. He set down the scroll in his hands and walked over to his son, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"You do help them, Aldric," he said, his voice low and steady. "The lands you manage, the protection you offer, it all matters. But being a noble is not about seeking glory. It is about ensuring that the people who rely on you can live their lives without fear. If you are truly restless, then perhaps you are not yet seeing the bigger picture."
Aldric shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "I just feel so—so helpless. I see our people struggling, and I want to do something more. But what can I do? I'm not like you, Father. I don't have the same... strength."
Alistair chuckled softly. "Strength is not measured by the size of one's sword, Aldric, but by the weight of one's actions. You are stronger than you know."
Just then, a young servant approached, bowing respectfully.
"My Lord," the servant said, "there is word from the village of Marlowe. They say a group of bandits has been seen on the outskirts."
Aldric stiffened, his pulse quickening. "Bandits?"
The servant swallowed, avoiding his gaze. "No one knows how many, but..." He hesitated. "The villagers say their leader controls the earth itself. They're terrified.
Aldric looked back at his father, determination flashing in his eyes. "I'll go to Marlowe. I can't just stand by."
Alistair's gaze was sharp, his brow furrowing. "Marlowe is a day's ride from here. You'll need a company of knights. I will gather them—"
"No," Aldric interrupted, his voice firm. "I'll go alone."
The Duke stared at his son for a long moment. "Aldric, this is not a matter to take lightly."
But Aldric's mind was made up. He could not stay idle, not when there were people in danger. "I'll go now, Father."
---
With a final nod, Aldric mounted his horse and rode off toward the village of Marlowe, the wind pulling at his cloak. The journey was long, but his resolve was stronger than ever. His thoughts raced as he pushed the horse faster, the village of Marlowe drawing nearer with each passing minute.
---
By the time Aldric arrived, the sun had begun to set. The village was quiet, too quiet. As he rode through the cobblestone streets, he could see the smoke rising from the outskirts—faint, but unmistakable. It was not the smoke of cooking fires. It was the smoke of destruction.
He spurred his horse forward, heart racing. When he reached the source of the smoke, he found the village in flames. Houses that had once been homes were now gutted by fire, the screams of frightened villagers filling the air. Aldric's eyes narrowed, and he could see the marauders at the far end of the village, looting and causing havoc.
His pulse pounded in his ears. His father would have warned against this, called it reckless. Maybe it was. Maybe this was where he would die.
He gripped his sword tightly, his resolve hardening. He had no time to wait for reinforcements. This was his moment.
Aldric charged forward, his horse thundering across the dirt road. The bandits turned, surprised by the sudden attack. But Aldric did not hesitate. He leaped from his horse, drawing his sword as he landed.
"Leave them alone!" he shouted, his voice carrying through the smoke. His heart pounded in his chest, but he stood firm.
A massive figure stepped forward—Varek Earthshatter, the leader of the bandits. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a fierce gaze that seemed to burn through Aldric.
"So, the Ravenshield pup comes to play?" Varek's deep voice cut through the smoke, laced with amusement. His scarred hands flexed as the ground beneath him cracked and shifted.
"I've heard of you, boy," he continued, stepping forward. "A noble brat, desperate to be a hero." He tilted his head, smirking. "You should have stayed in your mansion."
Aldric's grip tightened on his sword. "I'm not playing. I'm here to protect these people."
Aldric's instincts screamed at him to move, but his feet felt rooted. Was this what true power looked like? Not just skill with a sword, but complete control over the battlefield itself?
Varek chuckled darkly, raising his hand. Suddenly, the ground beneath Aldric's feet rumbled, and from the earth, massive stone arrows shot up, aimed directly at him.
Aldric twisted mid-air, barely dodging the stone spikes that erupted from the ground. Dust and debris clouded his vision as he landed, breath ragged. The earth trembled again—Varek wasn't done.
"Too slow." The bandit leader raised his hand, and the ground surged once more. Aldric had no time to think. The next attack was coming—fast.