Blood And Light

Arthur tightened the straps of his leather bracers, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts as he prepared for the mission. Darius had given him little time to process the council's decision: he was to lead a small reconnaissance party to the border town of Greystone, where reports of chaos had grown too loud to ignore. It wasn't just the violence—stories of unnatural strength and men's eyes glowing with faint crimson light were unsettling enough to demand immediate action.

Arthur hesitated, glancing at the sword resting on the workbench in the palace forge. Its surface shimmered faintly in the torchlight, the runes engraved along its blade pulsing softly as though alive. He reached for it, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier than usual.

His fingers lingered on the hilt. He still didn't know what truly resided within the blade—or what price it might demand. Yet something deep within urged him to trust it. Whether it was intuition or desperation, Arthur couldn't tell.

As Arthur and his small group rode out of the palace gates, the atmosphere in the capital was tense. The streets, once bustling with merchants and townsfolk, now held an uneasy quiet. Arthur noticed the fear etched into the faces of those they passed, whispers trailing after their horses like ghosts.

"Do you think it's true?" one of the guards whispered to another, his voice barely audible. "About the seal breaking… and the madness spreading?"

Arthur pretended not to hear, but the words struck a chord. Though he hadn't yet seen the madness firsthand, the stories were impossible to ignore. Rumors of men and women turning on their neighbors, their strength unnaturally amplified, had reached the palace with alarming frequency. It wasn't just a sickness; it was something far worse, something he didn't fully understand. Yet.

The journey to Greystone took most of the day, the sun hanging low in the sky by the time the town came into view. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, but the streets were eerily empty. Arthur's group slowed their horses, the tension among them palpable.

"Stay close," Arthur said, his voice firm. The guards nodded, weapons at the ready as they entered the town.

The silence was oppressive. Shops stood open but abandoned, their wares scattered across the ground as though people had fled in a hurry. Arthur dismounted, his boots crunching against the cobblestones. He motioned for the others to spread out and search for survivors.

It wasn't long before they found their first clue: a smear of blood leading into a narrow alley. Arthur's stomach tightened as he followed the trail, sword drawn. The runes on the blade glowed faintly, casting a soft light on the walls around him.

"Over here!" one of the guards called, his voice trembling. Arthur hurried to his side, finding a man slumped against the wall. His chest rose and fell shallowly, blood staining his torn tunic.

Arthur knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What happened here?"

The man's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and wild. "He… he came… said he'd save us… but… he…" The man coughed violently, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"Who?" Arthur pressed, leaning closer. "Who did this?"

The man's lips moved, but the words were barely a whisper. "Kael… Lord Kael… he's…" His voice trailed off, and his head lolled to the side, lifeless.

Arthur felt a chill run down his spine. The name was unfamiliar to him, but the way the man had said it—full of fear and hatred—spoke volumes.

Among the survivors Arthur's group found hiding in a cellar, a middle-aged man with a weathered face and trembling hands recounted an incident that had left a deep scar on the town.

"It started with Jonas," the man said, his voice shaky. "He was a quiet man, worked the stables his whole life. But… something changed. One night, he came back from the woods, eyes glowing red, strength unlike anything I've ever seen. He tore through the marketplace like a beast, throwing carts, breaking walls… even killed two men who tried to stop him."

The man paused, wiping a hand across his face. "It wasn't just strength. It was like he'd become someone else—merciless, cruel. We tried to contain him, but nothing worked. Then Kael arrived."

Arthur leaned forward. "What happened next?"

The man hesitated. "Kael… he stopped Jonas. I don't know how. He spoke to him, calmed him down for a moment, then struck him down when Jonas lunged at him. It was… horrifying, but Kael saved the rest of us that day. After that, some of the townsfolk started following him, said he was our only hope."

Another older woman spoke up, her voice thick with emotion. "Jonas was my nephew. I loved him like my own, but that wasn't him at the end. That was… something else. Whatever took hold of him wasn't human anymore." She looked at Arthur with pleading eyes. "If this spreads… if more men turn like Jonas…"

Arthur exchanged a glance with one of his guards. The story left more questions than answers, but one thing was clear: Greystone had been at the heart of something dark, and Kael's role in it was far from simple.

Meanwhile, miles away, in a makeshift camp hidden deep within the forest, Lord Kael stood before a gathering of his followers. They were a motley group, drawn from the fringes of society: disgraced knights, mercenaries, and desperate townsfolk seeking refuge from the spreading chaos.

Kael surveyed them with a practiced gaze, his presence commanding. His dark hair was slicked back, and his eyes glinted with a dangerous intensity. He wore the armor of a noble, though it bore the scars of countless battles—a reminder of the life he had left behind.

"Today," Kael began, his voice carrying over the crowd, "we take the first step in reclaiming what is rightfully ours."

A murmur rippled through the group, a mix of excitement and apprehension. Kael raised a hand, silencing them.

"For too long, this kingdom has been ruled by incompetence," he continued, his tone sharp. "The seal has broken, and with it, the old ways are crumbling. The weak cling to their traditions, but we—" He gestured to the crowd. "We will rise from the ashes and forge a new path."

Kael paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. He had always been a master of rhetoric, knowing exactly how to stoke the flames of loyalty and ambition.

"What happened in Greystone is only the beginning," he said, his lips curling into a smile. "The corruption spreading through the land is not a curse—it's an opportunity. Those who embrace it will become stronger than they ever dreamed. And those who stand in our way…" His smile widened, cold and menacing. "…will learn what true power looks like."

The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices echoing through the trees. Kael turned to his second-in-command, a wiry man with sharp features and a permanent scowl.

"Greystone was a success," Kael said, his voice low. "But we can't stop here. Send word to our scouts. I want to know how close the palace is to discovering our plans."

The man nodded. "And what of the reports about the sword, my lord? The one they say can resist the corruption?"

Kael's expression darkened. "A minor inconvenience," he said dismissively. "The sword may be strong, but it's only a tool. Tools can be broken."

Back in Greystone, Arthur and his group worked quickly to secure the town. From the survivors, Arthur pieced together a troubling picture of Kael's influence. Once a nobleman of renown, Kael had become a symbol of hope to some and a harbinger of doom to others. Whatever his true intentions, one thing was clear: Kael was no ordinary man.

Arthur glanced at the sword strapped to his side. Its runes pulsed faintly, as if sensing his unease. He didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain: the kingdom would not survive without a fight.