The blizzard that had cloaked Kaelen's grim work turned into a full-blown winter storm by dawn, burying the Dragon's Tooth Lodge under a thick blanket of snow. It was a squall that would typically keep even the hardiest hunters confined, yet the discovery of Gareth's mutilated body shattered all thoughts of discomfort. The horrified cries of a stable hand, who had stumbled upon the scene, sliced through the howling wind, echoing through the lodge and dragging the remaining guards from their slumber.
The scene in Gareth's room was a tableau of unspeakable horror. The bed was a crimson lake, Gareth's body twisted and mangled, his throat slit. The greatsword, a symbol of House Valerius's pride, impaled the fireplace mantel, pinning a blood-soaked piece of his tunic, a silent, chilling accusation. The guards, hardened men of war, recoiled in disgusted shock. This was no common murder; this was a message, carved in flesh and blood.
News reached Castle Valerius within hours, carried by a lone, half-frozen rider who pushed his horse to its breaking point. Lord Valerius received the report in the privacy of his war room, his face a mask of stone. He listened to the grim details, his hands clenching into fists until his knuckles turned white. Gareth, his eldest, his strongest, gone. Brutally murdered. And the calling card, the broken lion, left in such a grotesque manner.
"He dares," Valerius whispered, his voice dangerously low, more terrifying than any shout. "He dares defile my son. In my own hunting lodge." His eyes, usually sharp, now burned with an infernal rage. "He is not just a rat. He is a serpent, slithering in the shadows."
Tristan and Rowan, pale and shaken, stood before him. The bravado that had colored their youth was dissolving, replaced by a dawning fear. Dagran was one thing, a knight. But Gareth was family, a direct heir. This was a direct assault on the heart of House Valerius.
"Father," Tristan began, his voice barely a whisper, "what do we do? He's a ghost. He leaves no trail."
Valerius slammed his fist on the oak table, rattling the maps and goblets. "He leaves a trail of blood! And he wants us to see it! He wants us to fear him!" He paced the room, a predator cornered. "He thinks he can break us? He thinks he can hide?"
He spun to face his sons. "Summon every able-bodied man. Double the guards on all keeps. Patrols are to be trebled. Set traps. Lay ambushes. Offer a bounty on his head – dead or alive, but alive is preferred. A thousand gold. Let every mercenary, every bounty hunter in the realm know that Kaelen, the so-called 'Ash Shadow,' is a marked man."
He pointed to a map of his lands. "He strikes where we least expect, then vanishes. He uses the wild lands as his shield. Good. Then we shall burn the shield. Send men to every village, every isolated homestead. Question everyone. If anyone, anyone, is suspected of harboring him, burn their homes to the ground. Let their families scatter. Let them starve. Make them understand the price of defiance. We will make these lands a living hell for him."
He turned to Rowan, his gaze chillingly direct. "Rowan, you will remain within the castle walls. Double your personal guard. Tristan, you will organize the patrols. No man is to leave this castle alone. No man is to venture far without a full company. He seeks to isolate us, to pick us off. We will deny him that satisfaction."
The fear in Tristan and Rowan's eyes was undeniable. They had watched their father unleash his wrath on others, but to be the potential targets, to live under the shadow of Kaelen's relentless vengeance, was a different kind of terror. They were no longer untouchable lords, but prey in their own domain.
As Valerius's orders spread, a wave of fear rippled through the populace. Homes were ransacked, innocent families interrogated, some brutally, under suspicion of harboring the "Ash Shadow." The land itself seemed to hold its breath, caught between the hammer of Valerius's fury and the chilling vengeance of Kaelen.
Meanwhile, Kaelen was miles away, hunkered down in a hidden cave, watching the blizzard rage outside. He felt no remorse, no lingering doubt. Each act of violence was a calculated step, a necessary incision. He knew Valerius would react with predictable, brutal force. He counted on it. The more Valerius raged, the more he exposed himself, the more his power would be stretched thin.
He pulled out his map, tracing a finger across it. The twins, Tristan and Rowan, were still at Castle Valerius. Too heavily guarded for now. But there was another, a particularly vicious knight named Ser Kaelen, ironically, whose surname was Blackwood. Ser Kaelen Blackwood had been amongst the first into their home at Elara's Point, his sneering face etched forever in Kaelen's memory. Blackwood was known to be garrisoned at Fort Valerius, a smaller but still formidable outpost guarding the main road leading to the capital. He was brutal, prone to torture, and would likely be part of Valerius's expanded patrols.
The path to Fort Valerius would be treacherous, cutting through territory now swarming with Valerius's enraged forces. But Kaelen welcomed the challenge. He thrived in the shadows, the storm his ally, the rage of his enemies his guide. He would find Ser Kaelen Blackwood. He would deliver another message to Lord Valerius, one carved in the heart of his own defenses. The gyre of vengeance was widening, pulling more and more into its devastating spin.