Kaelen ventured into the jagged throat of the mountains.
On the surface, the peaks looked normal, but the air told a different story. The temperature didn't just drop—it turned hostile. His legs trembled under the sudden chill. His lungs burned, hammering against his ribs as they struggled to pull oxygen from the thinning atmosphere.
"This place is wrong," he whispered to himself.
He stopped dead.
Ahead, the trail was a graveyard. Birds lay scattered, dropped mid-flight, frozen like stones on the ground. Shredded livestock—goats and mountain deer—were smeared across the rocks in a grisly display of raw power.
"This is bad," Kaelen muttered, tightening his grip on his sword. "I just hope those two are safe."
He pushed deeper. Every breath felt like a jagged blade in his chest. His muscles screamed with every step. His knees buckled beneath the mountain's oppressive silence.
"I can't… do this anymore."
He slumped against a gnarled tree, stabbing his sword into the frozen earth to keep himself upright. He looked at his right hand—red, raw, covered in calluses and scrapes from a thousand failed practice swings.
"Then again… if I don't—"
The wind seemed to carry the village's voices with it.
Weak.
Failure.
Smug.
"I'll never be strong," he muttered. "They'll be right about me forever."
A jagged, defiant grin split his bloodied face.
"No," he said quietly. "I won't lose this. Not today. Not ever."
He surged upright, uprooting his sword with a spray of frozen dirt.
"Where are you?!" he roared, his voice echoing through the canyon. "Come out and make things easier for both of us!"
Silence answered.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then the air grew heavy.
An immense, invisible pressure slammed into his shoulders, threatening to force him to his knees. It wasn't just gravity—it was intent.
Kaelen strained his neck and looked back.
A Warden emerged from the mist. A towering monolith of ancient malice.
Kaelen grinned wider, teeth clenched against the pain.
"There you are. I was starting to think you were a coward."
The Warden didn't warn him.
It blurred.
A massive fist tore through the air with the force of a falling boulder. Kaelen threw himself into a desperate backflip, the wind stinging his face as the blow shattered stone behind him. He skidded across the frost-covered ground.
"That was close," he spat, wiping grit from his lip. "He's fast… well then."
He leveled his blade. Steel caught the dim mountain light.
"Let's get serious!"
Kaelen charged, pouring fear and fury into a blinding thrust.
The Warden didn't flinch.
With a sickening thud, its hand clamped shut around the live steel.
Kaelen's heart plummeted. He yanked at the hilt, boots churning the soil, but the sword was locked in a vice.
Before he could react, the Warden's free hand crashed into his ribs.
White light exploded across his vision.
The sound was like cracking timber.
Kaelen was launched through the air, his weapon torn from his hands.
"Oh crap", he thought as the world spun. *I'll die if I don't break this fall.*
Mid-air, his fingers caught the rough bark of a pine. He swung toward another trunk, trying to kill the momentum—but his strength failed. He dropped the last ten feet, hitting the earth with a heavy, wet thud.
Blood blurred his vision. His fingers clawed at the dirt, dragging himself toward his fallen sword.
"I've gotta… I've gotta win this."
He wrapped his hand around the hilt—
—and a shadow swallowed him.
The Warden was already there, its massive foot rising to crush his skull.
Kaelen reacted on instinct. He hurled the sword up horizontally. The Warden's boot slammed into the flat of the blade. The vibration rattled his bones. The impact sent him skidding backward until his spine slammed into an ancient, wide tree.
The air tore from his lungs in a ragged gasp.
Broken.
Bleeding.
Terrified.
He scrambled behind the trunk, collapsing into its shadow.
Crouched in the dirt, Kaelen fought for air.
"Oh man… this is bad," he wheezed. "What do I do?"
He pressed his palm over his eyes as adrenaline drained into terror.
So they were right. Everything I said… it was just a bluff.
His shoulders shook as he broke into silent tears, streaks carving through the blood on his cheeks.
Memories flooded him—laughter, sneers, the way the villagers always looked down on him.
Ira.
The moment she pushed him away burned the deepest.
They've looked down on me from the start.
Kaelen bit his lip until he tasted blood. The sadness didn't disappear—it hardened, twisting into something cold and sharp.
"I'll kill this thing," he hissed.
He peered out from behind the tree.
The Warden wasn't searching for him.
It stood motionless before a small, weathered shrine embedded into the mountain wall.
"Oh…" Kaelen whispered. "I see."
He began to circle, slow and careful.
"You're protecting something," he said quietly. "Something important."
The shrine radiated a strange warmth, subtle but undeniable. Frost refused to settle near its entrance.
For a moment, Kaelen thought he heard something shift behind the stone.
He lowered his stance.
"Breathe."
He closed his eyes.
He stopped seeing—and started feeling.
Air pressure.
The heat of his breath.
The pull of the cold wind.
*There.*
Everywhere else, the cold flowed freely—except one direction, where it bent around a solid, living mass.
"Got it."
Kaelen's eyes snapped open.
He didn't run—he launched.
His body moved faster than his thoughts, lighter than it had ever felt.
The Warden sensed the motion and reached out to seize the blade again—
—but Kaelen was already gone.
"Oh no you don't!"
He pivoted mid-air, spinning like a cyclone. The sword whistled once.
Steel met flesh.
The Warden's wrist fell to the ground.
The scream that followed was primordial—a sound so massive and agonized it rolled down the mountainside, rattling stone and shaking the windows of every house in the village below, wondering if whoever was inside had heard it too.
BOOM!
The ground groaned under the impact.
Kaelen's boots dug deep into the dirt, his blade burying itself into the earth to kill his momentum. He stood there, breathing hard, eyes locked on the shrine—
"That was a hell of a scream," he muttered to himself.
He glanced back through the swirling dust. The Warden loomed in the shadows—a nightmare of twisted flesh and malice.
"I was just using the wrong sense at the wrong time."
SKREEE!
The Warden shrieked. Its mangled limb began to knit back together with a sickening crunch of bone and dark magic.
It lunged.
Claws like obsidian daggers swept toward his throat.
He didn't flinch.
With a hair's breadth of movement, he tilted his head. The strike whistled past, cutting only air. In the same heartbeat, he spun.
Shing!
His sword sang. A clean, silver arc. A spray of ichor.
The Warden's arm hit the grass before the creature could even register the pain.
"Now then," Kaelen growled.
His aura flared, casting a sharp light against the darkness.
"Let's finish business."
He exploded forward.
The Warden tried to parry, but he was a blur. He slipped under a desperate claw swipe and drove his blade upward.
One stroke.
One devastating, vertical slice through the beast's midsection.
The Warden collapsed.
Kaelen dropped to one knee upon the steaming torso. Reaching for his belt, he pulled out a glass jar and held it aloft.
Shimmering blue soul-essence swirled out of the Warden like phantom smoke, spiraling into the vessel.
"Beautiful," he whispered.
The glow reflected in his dark eyes.
Then, he shook his head, snapping back to reality.
"Oh right. Can't let it leak."
Clink.
He sealed the jar tight. Mission accomplished.
The battle was over, but something was wrong.
A pull—deep, ancient, and heavy—tugged at his chest. The shrine up ahead was calling to him.
He stepped toward the threshold, but the moment his hand neared the entrance, the air rippled.
BOOM!
A massive wave of energy erupted. An invisible barrier slammed into him, sending him tumbling back into the dirt.
He snarled, pushing himself up. He tried again, lashing out at the air with his sword, but the barrier only grew more violent. Every strike sent a shockwave through his arms that made his wounds throb.
"Forget it," he gritted out, spitting blood. "The bastard must have poured his entire life force into this seal."
He couldn't break it. Not yet.
Retreating down the mountain, he found a slumped figure hidden in the brush. The man was a mess—pale, bloodied, and barely breathing.
It was a hard choice. Carrying a wounded man down a mountain after a life-and-death battle was a death wish.
But he didn't leave him.
He hoisted the survivor onto his shoulder, his own muscles screaming in protest. As they descended the rocky path, the man stirred.
"Kaelen… is that you?"
"Good to see you're alive, Asher," Kaelen replied, his eyes fixed on the path.
"Did you… did you kill it?" Asher's voice was a trembling wreck.
"Yes. And I did it alone."
Asher let out a choked sob, burying his face into Kaelen's shoulder.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Kaelen felt a rare heat rise to his cheeks. He looked away, annoyed by the sudden surge of emotion.
"Hey, cut it out. I'm just doing my job… and it's not finished yet. But there's nothing more I can do up there."
Asher's eyes widened in awe.
"Incredible. Who'd have thought you'd end up being a Binder?"
Kaelen stopped dead.
"Binder? What's that?"
"You don't know?" Asher wiped his eyes. "They're local vigilantes. The villagers call them when the Royal Knights are too busy polishing their armor to answer a plea for help."
Kaelen's jaw tightened.
"So the 'nobles' just leave people to die?"
"Yeah," Asher sighed. "Pretty much."
They broke through the mountain treeline to find a familiar face. An old man was waiting, waving like a lunatic.
"Hey kiddo!"
Kaelen reached the clearing and immediately dropped Asher like a sack of potatoes.
"Ouch! Watch it!" Asher yelled.
Kaelen didn't even look back.
He took two steps toward the old man, his eyes half-closed with exhaustion.
"What a surprise, old man. You didn't mention the Warden was that strong," he said with a smug, tired grin.
The old man barked a laugh, nearly spitting on himself.
"Hahaha! You're one funny kid!"
"How so?" Kaelen asked, genuinely confused.
The elder stepped close, grabbing Kaelen's head playfully.
"You tried to fight a Warden in total darkness relying only on your eyes! Man, you're hilarious!"
He laughed until his face turned red. Then, his expression softened.
"You did well, kid. Honestly, I was coming to rescue you, but you handled it."
Kaelen felt a surge of pride. He masked it with a smirk.
"Yeah, yeah. You underestimated me!"
He playfully punched the old man's gut.
"Now! Give me my pay!"
The man smiled and tossed a heavy pouch. Kaelen caught it mid-air, the clink of gold music to his ears.
"This is yours, old friend. I'll look after Asher and get the lady myself. You should head home."
"Yeah, right…" Kaelen stood tall, adjusting his sword. "What's your name, anyway?"
The old man smiled and stretched his hands. "Ryker. Ryker Rowen."
Kaelen gripped the man's hand.
"Kaelen Morvach."
The sun began to bleed over the horizon, bathing the world in gold. The grassy fields seemed to wake up as the flowers opened to the light.
"You know," Ryker said, looking at the sunrise. "I like you. If you ever need a place to belong, look me up. I'd have you in my crew of Binders any day."
Kaelen smiled.
"Sure. I'll think about it."
He turned and began the long trek home.
He didn't sheath his blade; he simply dragged it behind him, leaving a thin trail in the morning dew that evaporated almost as soon as it was made.
The knock came just as the last candle guttered out.
Ira and her mother, Emilia, sat at the small dining table, locked in a silence that had stretched for hours. The air was thick with the scent of burnt tallow and unsaid words. Every creak of the mountain wind against the shutters had made them flinch.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
A sharp, heavy knock echoed through the small cabin, three times in slow succession.
Emilia froze, her knitting needles halting in mid-stitch. At this hour, a knock was never good news.