Treece was peaceful for exactly seven more years.
Long enough that Liam began to forget fear.
Long enough that Evelyn began to believe they might actually grow up normal this time.
Long enough for Yuna to laugh again, for Caelen's memory to soften instead of burn.
And long enough for the Blight to decide it was time to remind the world that peace was only ever borrowed.
By age seven, Liam Dureth was already known throughout Treece for two things:
His swordsmanship—which, for a boy so young, bordered on unnatural. His tendency to sprint directly toward any problem instead of around it.
"Too much lightning in that one," old farmers joked as he raced by, training sword strapped to his back.
He trained every morning with Garren, the knight his father had trusted almost like a brother. Garren was a wall of a man—broad-shouldered, scarred, with grey creeping into his beard—but his movements were sharp, precise, beautiful in their efficiency.
He taught Liam footwork first. Always footwork.
"Any fool can swing a blade," Garren said, tapping Liam's ankles with a stick whenever he stepped wrong. "But only a warrior knows where to stand."
Evelyn watched from a fencepost nearby, head buried in one of Yuna's borrowed books, eyes flicking up every time Liam took a hit.
"You should use your lightning more," she called.
"I'm practicing footwork," Liam grunted, ducking under Garren's strike.
"Your footwork sucks."
"So does your fire control!"
"Say that again—"
"Focus!" Garren boomed, smacking Liam on the back with the flat of his blade.
Liam yelped, Evelyn cackled, and the day went on.
It was peaceful. Mundane. Perfect.
Which was why what followed felt like a betrayal.
It came at sunset.
Yuna was in the garden, gathering herbs for stew. Liam and Evelyn were dragging a bucket of water toward the kitchen door, sloshing half of it down their shirts in the process.
Then Evelyn froze.
"Did you feel that?"
Liam blinked. "Feel what?"
She didn't answer.
Her ember-colored eyes narrowed, turning toward the northern tree line—the border between Treece and the wild, disputed land locals called the Heretic March.
A cold wind drifted through the village, carrying with it the faintest tremor of mana.
Dark. Wrong.
Liam felt it then—like a prickle under the skin, a pressure in the air that didn't belong.
Before he could speak, the bell atop the hall tower began to ring.
Three fast strikes, then one long.
Garren burst from the training yard, sword already in hand. "Inside!" he shouted. "All of you! Get inside!"
Liam's stomach plunged.
Not drills.
Not practice.
This was real.
"What's happening?" Evelyn asked, voice trembling.
Garren didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The first scream came from the north fields.
They weren't truly barbarians—not in the sense of mindless beasts. But that was what the people of Kaereth called the tribes living in the blighted-adjacent lands.
These raiders, however…
Something was wrong with them.
Their eyes glowed faintly red.
Their skin bore darkened mana scars.
Some carried weapons forged from bone that pulsed like living things.
This wasn't a raid for food or
supplies.
This was a test.
Sent by hands unseen.
Sent to see how easily Treece might break.
Yuna grabbed the twins by their shoulders. "We're leaving," she said, voice sharp with fear she barely kept controlled. "Now."
"But—" Liam started.
"No." She knelt, gripping both their
faces. "Your father died protecting this land. I will not lose you too. Do you understand me? You run. You do not look back."
Evelyn swallowed hard. "What about Garren? What about—"
"Run."
Her voice cracked on the word.
And that was when Liam knew this wasn't a fight they could stay for.
Because Yuna Dureth never cracked.
Garren caught up to them as they reached the stables, blood already streaking one arm.
"Lady Yuna," he panted, "the northern line is gone. We need to move now."
Yuna nodded once, pulling the twins toward the waiting carriage—one she'd ordered prepared months ago, after Caelen's death, just in case.
A scream tore through the air.
Then another.
Then the unmistakable roar of something monstrous.
"Garren—" Liam started, but Garren shoved him toward the carriage door.
"No arguing today, lad." Garren forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You have a future waiting in Eldermire. Don't you dare throw it away."
"But you—"
"I'll hold the line."
Liam's breath hitched. "You'll die."
"Then I'll die buying time for the last good things in this cursed world." Garren winked. "Besides… you still owe me ten more years of training."
He stepped back, raising his sword as figures broke through the treeline.
"Go!"
Yuna cracked the reins.
The carriage lurched forward.
And Treece—the only home they'd ever
known—started to burn behind them.
Smoke filled the sky. Flames climbed
the wheat fields like hungry serpents. Shadows moved—too tall, too twisted—closing in from all sides.
Liam pressed his face to the back window, throat tight.
Garren stood alone in the road, sword
gleaming with silver mana, lightning from Liam's own lessons crackling faintly around the blade.
He held the line.
He didn't move.
He didn't run.
And then the raiders crashed into him.
The carriage turned a bend, cutting Treece from sight.
Liam didn't breathe for a long time.
Neither did Evelyn.
Yuna drove in silence, hands white-knuckled on the reins, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked.
Liam reached for Evelyn's hand.
She took it without looking.
The wind howled around them as they fled south, toward the capital.
Toward safety.
Toward a life that would never be the
same again.
Behind them, Treece's sky glowed red.
Like a wound.
Like a warning.
And far across the sea, in Ostren,
something ancient stirred at the scent of new despair.
The Hollow King lifted his cracked golden mask toward the horizon.
And he smiled.