Children of Gehenna

Outside the great hall, the corridors felt even more oppressive. Each step felt like a descent deeper into the unknown, away from the familiar halls of power and into the realm of exile. 

The Blackthorn Mercenaries had not appeared as a random band of combatants; they had been directed with chilling preciseness. The forged order had been their invitation, a key that unlocked the fortress of Eldoria's defenses. Their assault had been quick and vicious. While the city's defenders struggled to keep the chaos at bay, the mercenaries plundered the treasury and left behind a trail of wreckage. The entire event had been staged to cast suspicion on a loyal servant of the crown.

Tristan's thoughts turned to the implications of that plan. Who had benefited from this chaos? Who had stood to gain by his downfall? His mind raced with possibilities, each more damning than the last. The conspiracy must've run deep, and if he was to survive—and someday prove his innocence—he would need to unravel the web of deceit that had imprisoned him. 

As the procession moved through a quieter corridor. In the dim light, he allowed himself a brief moment of reflection. He remembered the days when honor and loyalty were not just words but a way of life. He recalled the camaraderie of his fellow knights, the warmth of shared victories, and the trust that bound him to the kingdom. Now, all those memories felt like distant echoes, drowned out by the relentless surge of betrayal. His words alone amounted to nothing.

The air grew colder as they neared the exit—a heavy oak door leading to the courtyard. The chill in the air–couldn't compare to the numbness in Tristan's heart. A solitary guard unlocked the door, and Tristan stepped out into the open. The courtyard was empty, save for a few silent prisoners who seemed as resigned to fate as he was. 

Exile to Gehenna was not simply a punishment—it was a severing of all ties with everything he had ever known. The kingdom that had once embraced him now spat him out like a bitter pill. The injustice of his sentence would not be the end of his story. Instead, it would catalyze a journey—a journey into the heart of darkness itself. 

One of the guards who had led him out turned back for one last look.

 "Follow me," The first said rudely, breaking Tristan's reverie. 

There was no room for further reflection—each moment now was a battle between resignation and determination.

Tristan was escorted toward a waiting carriage, a sturdy vehicle with worn leather seats and creaking wheels

The doors shut behind him with a dull thud, sealing him inside. A few minutes of silence that felt like an eternity took over. And then his ride began.

 The castle's outer courtyard was a blur of shifting shadows and whispers. Tristan watched as the familiar stone walls gave way to less-tended grounds, the cared-for gardens replaced by wild, natural vegetation. Each passing tree and crumbling wall told a story of neglect—a kingdom in decline, much like the honor that had once defined him.

The journey to the harbor was long, and as the night deepened, so did Tristan's thoughts. He wondered who among those he once trusted had been complicit in the conspiracy. There were no easy answers, only questions that burned in his mind like embers waiting for the wind to fan them into flames.

At the harbor, the scene was equally grim. Dim lanterns swung in the coastal breeze, casting flickering light on the docks. Ships bobbed in the water, their masts creaking as if mourning the loss of what once was. Tristan was led to a decently sized boat right beside many other unfortunate souls who held the same fate as he did. Its hull was weathered and its sails patched from years of service. This was to be his first step toward Gehenna—another step away from the life he had known and into a future fraught with danger and uncertainty.

Before boarding, Tristan was allowed a final, fleeting glance at the city, before he was forced onto the brigantine by the prisoners behind him. Eldoria, with all its splendor and betrayal, receded into the distance, its towers disappearing into the night. For a moment, Tristan closed his eyes and silently vowed that he would return. 

The captain—a weathered man with a scar etched across his cheek—offered no words of comfort. 

The boat's hull struck the water with a dull thud every time it crashed into a wave as it began to move away from the harbor. Tristan felt a pang of finality. The city, the court, and all that he had loved were now behind him.

And yet, as the shoreline faded into darkness, Tristan's thoughts were still burning with resolve. The road ahead was uncertain, shrouded in mystery and danger. 

In the quiet lurch of the boat, as it cut through the dark water, Tristan allowed himself one last moment of introspection. The cool night air mixed with the scent of salt, grounding him in the present even as his mind was overwhelmed with plans for the future. There was pain, certainly, but there was also determination. Exile to Gehenna couldn't be the end—it had to be a beginning because if it wasn't that, it would be the former.

As the harbor lights dwindled and the stars emerged in the velvet sky, Tristan's gaze was fixed on the sea before him. Somewhere out there, beyond the familiar shores of Eldoria, lay the cursed island—a place of dark magic, treacherous secrets, and hidden truths. And though the journey would be long and fraught with dangers both seen and unseen, he would meet it head-on. 

The boat's gentle rocking, the rhythmic sound of water lapping against its hull, and the distant cry of a seabird became a quiet symphony to Tristan's thoughts—a lullaby of determination and hope among despair. In that moment, he allowed himself to believe that even in the darkest night, there was a chance for redemption. The memories of honor and loyalty were not yet extinguished; they were waiting, hidden beneath layers of pain to be reclaimed.

For now, the road ahead was uncertain. With each passing moment, Tristan felt the weight of the past give way to the promise of the future—a future that he would shape with his own hands, no matter the cost.

As the moon traveled across the sky, the boat sailed onward into the vast, dark unknown. Tristan's eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where the start of a new beginning shone like a distant star—a beacon of truth waiting to be discovered.