Fourteen years ago, King Aldric Thorne and Commander Alan Westfelt were the
closest of friends, brothers in arms, bound by loyalty and bloodshed on the battlefield.
The king trusted no man more.
However, behind the scenes, Duke Severin Valehart had begun executing a dark
scheme to seize political power. Desiring the throne for himself and his lineage, the
duke began covertly poisoning the king's food, lacing it with hallucinogenic
substances. Over time, King Aldric's judgment became clouded. He grew paranoid, emotionally unstable, and unable to distinguish truth from illusion.
The queen and concubines noticed his growing distress and voiced their concern, but their worries were dismissed. Duke Severin, now in control of political affairs, used the king's condition to manipulate court decisions, gradually turning the nobility against their once-heroic commander. Then came the breaking point.
Fresh from a victorious military campaign, Commander Alan returned to the capital,
bringing news of their triumph and expecting celebration. The king welcomed him at
first, praising his bravery and loyalty.
But then, in a sudden and chilling shift, King Aldric's expression darkened. He
accused Alan of treason, for attempting to poison him and usurp the throne.
Shocked and confused, Commander Alan knelt before the king and said solemnly,
"Your Majesty, I would never betray you. I have served you with all I am."
Before Alan could continue, Duke Severin interrupted, stepping forward with feigned
concern and venom in his voice.
"Your Majesty, this man is dangerous. He must not be allowed to walk freely
any longer. Strip him of his title, before it's too late." Alan tried to speak again, but the duke silenced him with authority, and the drugged king, torn and unsteady, gave the final order: "Alan Westfelt… I hereby relieve you of your title as Commander of the
Knights. You are banished from the kingdom. Leave now and never return."
Stripped of honor and cast out in disgrace, Alan Westfelt vanished from the capital,
taking his family with him. But in his heart burned not vengeance… but the truth and the will to return one day and protect the crown from the very snake that had twisted it.
After being banished from the capital, Alan Westfelt left behind his title, his sword, and
the kingdom he once vowed to protect. With his wife Evelyn and their young daughter
Sylvia, he settled in a quiet village nestled near the forest, far from the politics and
betrayal of the royal court.
Though stripped of honor, Alan carried on with quiet dignity. Each morning, he would
rise before dawn and venture deep into the forest, training alone in silence. His blade
still moved with purpose, not for revenge, but to remain strong, should duty ever call
upon him again.
When he returned home each evening, the sight that greeted him was one that soothed
even the deepest wound: his wife's warm smile and his daughter's innocent
laughter.
"Food's ready," Evelyn would say softly, a loving smile lighting her face as
Alan leaned down and kissed her forehead.
Just then, the sound of small footsteps would echo across the wooden floor.
"Daddy! Daddy! Lift me up!" cried little Sylvia, running toward him with
outstretched arms.
Alan would sweep her up into his arms, spinning her gently in the air as she giggled in delight. "That's my princess," he would say, holding her close, his heart full, even in
exile.
Though the world had turned its back on him, within the walls of their modest home,
Alan found peace. And even as the shadows of the past loomed quietly in the distance,
a new light was beginning to grow, in the heart of his daughter.
Meanwhile, Back at the palace...
While peace had found its way into Alan Westfelt's home, the same could not be said
for the halls of the royal palace. There, Duke Severin Valehart, still driven by ambition
and deception, continued weaving his dark schemes to take control of the kingdom.
Unable to bear the thought of Alan living freely and worse, happily, the Duke
dispatched spies to keep watch over the former commander and his family.
What the spies reported enraged the Duke further: Alan had not fallen into despair. He
was thriving. Training. Smiling. Raising his daughter with pride.
Envious and spiteful, Duke Severin returned to the king with yet another fabricated tale.
"Your Majesty," he said, with a voice as smooth as it was poisonous, "Alan
Westfelt has not learned his lesson. He trains in secret and gathers strength.
This is no coincidence. I fear he plots to return and seize your throne."
Already weakened and clouded by the Duke's continual drugging, the King's mind
trembled under the weight of paranoia.
"He dares betray me again?" the King thundered, rising from his throne in
fury. "This time… he shall not be spared."
Without seeking counsel from his queens or questioning the truth, the King gave a
chilling command:
"Send the royal soldiers. Let him be executed at once."
And so, the soldiers were gathered. Armored men, sworn to obey, began marching
from the palace gates, blades drawn, faces grim as they made their way toward the
peaceful village where Alan and his family now lived.
Unaware of the danger closing in, Alan's home stood quiet and still… for now.
The Fall Of a Hero
Night had barely fallen when the village fell under a dreadful silence. The animals stirred
nervously. The wind howled unnaturally through the trees. And then the sound of
marching boots, growing louder by the second.
Inside a small wooden house nestled at the edge of the forest, Alan Westfelt stirred
from his evening rest, instinct immediately kicking in. He grabbed his sword from beside the door. "Evelyn," he said firmly, eyes narrowing. "Take Sylvia. Go. Now."
Evelyn's heart dropped. "Alan, what's happening?"
"They've come. The soldiers. The Duke must have moved again."
Before she could argue, he grabbed her hand tightly.
"You need to protect Sylvia. Get to Mira, your old friend in the mountains.
She'll help you escape the kingdom."
Tears were already falling down Evelyn's face, but she nodded. Sylvia, now just six
years old, looked up, confused and scared.
"Daddy…?"
Alan knelt quickly, taking his daughter into his arms one last time.
"My princess," he whispered, voice thick with emotion, "you must be brave
now. Take care of your mother. And never forget who you are."
"But what about you?" Sylvia asked.
Alan smiled faintly.
"I'll be right behind you."
But deep inside, they all knew the truth.
Evelyn bundled Sylvia in a cloak, kissed Alan fiercely, and ran through the back of the
house into the dense forest while Alan stepped outside, one man against a battalion.
As the soldiers reached the house, Alan stood alone in the clearing, sword drawn, the moonlight gleaming on the silver edge of his blade. "Commander Alan Westfelt," the lead knight declared, "you are under royal
decree. Surrender and you will be granted a swift death." Alan didn't reply. Instead, with a roar that shook the still night, he launched forward, blade dancing like
flame and steel, cutting down the first wave of attackers with divine speed, his
god-blessed lineage flaring in every strike.
But they were many. They surrounded him.
And still he fought to buy time. For Evelyn. For Sylvia.
Finally, after what felt like hours, his body gave out, pierced by blades, arrows, and
exhaustion.
Alan collapsed on his knees, blood soaking the soil, but his eyes never wavered. He
smiled faintly, knowing they were gone. Safe.
A mother's sacrifice
Meanwhile, Evelyn and Sylvia reached the edge of the kingdom's outer woods. Mira,
Evelyn's old friend and a skilled herbalist, opened her door with wide eyes.
"Evelyn?! What—?"
"No time," Evelyn panted. "Please, take Sylvia. Get her out. To the southern
river. There's a boat waiting there."
Mira hesitated. "And you?"
Evelyn kissed her daughter once more, whispering:
"Be strong, my little light. You'll grow up and shine brighter than all of us."
Then she turned, sword drawn, ready to lead the soldiers away.
"I love you," she called out, disappearing into the forest before Mira or Sylvia
could stop her
Evelyn's End
She ran into the path of the soldiers, slicing branches to make noise, drawing their
attention.
"There she is!" one yelled.
They chased her, away from her child, away from hope. She fought with all she had, but
like her husband, she was outnumbered.
She was cut down beneath the same moon that had watched her love die.
Her last breath was a whisper carried by the wind:
"Sylvia…"