Everlasting dream (18+)

 

[Haldor Firefury]

 

Haldor Firefury was a legend. A man whose name was known across the land as a mighty warrior and a hero to his people.

As the son of a mighty general, Haldor's destiny was shaped from a young age. His father, a renowned general in the Stormhaven army, saw potential in his son and wasted no time in honing his combat skills. Haldor's early years were filled with grueling training, preparing him for a life of valor and bloodshed.

But it was not enough for Haldor to simply become an ordinary soldier. No, he wanted to become a true warrior of his people, a champion among champions, and a conqueror of lands. And his talent allowed him to have it all. With unmatched courage and determination, he threw himself into his training, and by the age of sixteen, he was already making a name for himself as a formidable opponent. A hope of his generation.

By the age of eighteen, Haldor had risen through the ranks of the army, proving himself worthy to his superiors and his fellow soldiers. He quickly gained a reputation for his fearless nature and ferocity in battle, and he was soon appointed to lead a regiment of Stormhaven's finest warriors.

Under his command, they were unbeatable, carving a path of destruction through the enemy lines and leaving a trail of bodies behind them. Over time, his true last name, his father's, was forgotten. The name "Firefury" came instead. Obtained by his famous two-handed sword, its blade, wreathed in flames, became a symbol of his power. His name echoed through every corner of Stormhaven, and he was celebrated as the pride of the kingdom. To his enemies, his name became synonymous with death and destruction, and they trembled before him, knowing that their lives were in his merciless hands.

During the Elven War, Haldor fought valiantly, his sword flashing as he cut down his enemies with deadly precision. His bravery and skill were matched only by his stubborn determination, and he was the first to arrive on the battlefield and the last to leave.

The Elves had no match for his raw power, and his presence alone was enough to send his enemies running in fear. He was a force to be reckoned with, and his name struck terror in the hearts of his foes. A towering figure among the people of Stormhaven, a land known for its fierce warriors and legendary battles. A result of years of rigorous training and combat experience.

Elven War was the time of his peak. Haldor truly etched his name into the annals of history during that time. He led his troops into battle with unwavering resolve, facing the forces of the Elven Kingdom of Astralwyn head-on. Victory followed victory, and Haldor's valor earned him the second title of "The First Sword" among his people.

Haldor's strength and skill earned him the respect and admiration of his fellow warriors, who looked up to him as a symbol of hope in the darkest of times. The people of Stormhaven saw in him a savior, a champion who would lead them to glory.

He had been given everything: honor, wealth, power. All the things a man could ever desire. And yet, none of it was enough. He always hungered for more.

But destiny is a fickle thing, and it can change in the blink of an eye. One fateful day, while leading a scouting party, Haldor crossed paths with an elven mage deep within the forests of Astralwyn, or what remained of it at that time. The mage's eyes blazed with fury and desire for revenge, and Haldor sensed it well. Danger in the air sent shivers down his spine.

Before he could react, a sudden and terrifying jolt of dark lightning surged through his entire body. It was as if the very air around him had turned into a fierce storm, ripping through his flesh and bones with searing agony. The pain was so intense that it felt like a thousand needles were piercing his every nerve.

His comrades, who had been by his side just moments ago, were caught off guard by the mage's devastating attack. They hadn't even had a chance to blink before they, too, were enveloped in the same tormenting lightning, their anguished cries echoing in the air.

For him, it was a living nightmare. The excruciating pain was unbearable, and he found himself gasping for breath, unable to comprehend the sheer brutality of the assault. His vision blurred, and his limbs quivered uncontrollably. Each second felt like an eternity as he writhed in agony.

It was a scene of pure carnage.

One by one, his comrades began to lose their minds, driven mad by the unrelenting torture. Their eyes rolled back, their bodies twitching and spasming as their screams filled the air. It was as if the darkness had descended upon them, a black cloud of despair that swallowed them whole.

As Haldor lay on the ground, his body numb and broken, he could only watch in horror as his fellow warriors began to kill themselves, one by one, driven mad by the insurmountable pain.

The mage vanished into the shadows, leaving Haldor broken and defeated. Haldor was the only survivor. After a few hours of torture, he was evacuated by the second team, but his body and soul were shattered.

The lightning strike had changed Haldor Firefury in more ways than one. The once-flaming sword, a symbol of his might, had been reduced to charred remnants. However, it was his inner fire that suffered the most, the fiery passion that once burned the brightest within him. No longer the unyielding champion of Stormhaven, just an ordinary soldier. 

He spent months healing and years trying to get back to his former state, spending all his wealth just to recover. It helped him return to a decent level of strength, but it was still only a piece of his former self. Most importantly, the bitter taste of loss lingered in his heart, his dreams of glory shattered by a single encounter.

It left him with a deep hatred and resentment towards the elves, and he swore revenge on the ones who had taken everything from him.

Haldor's reputation was destroyed as well. The Stormheaven is a place where your strength is honored above everything else. His glory days were over. He became a shell of who he once was, a broken man haunted by memories of the past. The elves, the source of his downfall, had become the target of his hatred. He had lost everything, and forgiveness was the last thing on his mind. Haldor Firefury's once-mighty spirit seemed as broken as his body.

Eventually, he withdrew from the world, retreating into solitude in a small cottage on the outskirts of Stormhaven.

As for the war, it was only a matter of time before the elves were defeated. Eventually, the Northern Empire Stormhaven conquered the Elven Kingdom of Astralwyn. After the war, the Stormhaven leadership decided to offer Haldor a trophy as a reward for his bravery and valor during the war.

Haldor, a bitter and broken man, was presented with the Princess of Astralwyn, Nivalis Silverfrost. She was a stunning beauty with flowing silver hair and piercing blue eyes.

Haldor, however, was furious. He saw in her a reminder of his failure. A constant reminder of his shame and defeat. In his eyes, she was not a person; she was merely a servant, a lowly being beneath his notice and unworthy of his respect.

He had never looked at her as a living, breathing soul. Instead, he saw her as a possession, a trophy to be claimed, and a tool to be exploited. Her sin, in Haldor's eyes, was being an elf, a sin that justified his cruel treatment of her. To him, she was no more than an object devoid of feelings and humanity.

***

As Haldor walked tiredly through the thick, fluffy snow, each breath he exhaled turned into little puffs of mist, like tiny ghosts escaping from his mouth. All around him, the world was covered in a soft, white blanket of snowflakes, turning the forest into a magical winter kingdom. But Haldor's mind was focused on one thing only.

Sharp eyes, trained by years of hunting, caught a glimpse of a breathtaking deer. The deer's elegant form was bathed in the gentle glow of sunlight, walking through the ancient, tall trees.

Haldor's heart raced, and a feeling of excitement flowed through his veins. Over the years, he had mastered the hunting craft and knew that this was his chance. A soft growl escaped his mouth as he effortlessly gripped his trusty bow. His fingers skillfully placed an arrow, its dark tip glimmering in the soft sunlight. His hand remained as steady as the solid roots of the towering oak tree beside him.

While holding his breath, Haldor aimed with unwavering determination. The world around him seemed to blur as he focused intently on the majestic deer. It was as if time itself had frozen in that moment. Then, with a fluid motion, he released the arrow, and it sliced gracefully through the crisp winter air.

The sheer satisfaction that surged through him was indescribable. The arrow hit its target with almost poetic precision, finding its home deep within the deer's heart. The majestic creature crumpled gracefully, and the snow around it instantly became stained with a vivid, crimson hue.

A triumphant grin curved Haldor's lips as he approached the fallen deer, his steps heavy with pride. He knelt beside the majestic beast and retrieved his arrow with a sense of grim satisfaction.

— "A fine kill," he murmured, admiring the creature's grace even in death.

As he considered what to do next, a cruel thought crossed his mind. Haldor had heard tales of the Elven Kingdom of Astralwyn and their deep respect for nature. He knew that the deer held a sacred place in their hearts, and its slaughter, and especially eating one, would be seen as a great offense.

A dark gleam flickered in his eyes. He would use the deer to his advantage, as he had done many times before. Watching his wife's face whenever he brought a deer home was his favorite thing to do. His heart was set on making the elves suffer, especially Nivalis, his wife. He couldn't resist this urge, this dark desire that had taken root in his heart. The cruelty of his actions lay in the knowledge that he was mocking her heritage, undermining her connection to her people.

His eyes glinted with mischief. — "Let's see how that stubborn wife of mine likes fresh venison," he mused, a wicked smile gracing his rugged features. He could only imagine the look on her face when he returned with the deer.

It would be a sweet victory indeed.

With that thought in mind, he began the task of skinning the animal.

Taking his time was crucial. It was a task that required both patience and skill, but he had perfected the art of skinning over time. His skilled hands moved quickly. His hands were stained with the deep red blood of his prey as he held onto the animal's fur firmly. Like a seasoned hunter, he carefully removed the hide.

The sound of the knife cutting through the flesh filled the air, and Haldor couldn't help but relish the sensation of the blade as it sliced through the meat. The smell of blood and gore filled his nose, and he took a moment to appreciate both the sight and scent.

Once he had finished cleaning the deer, he hoisted it onto his back, feeling his muscles strain under the weight. It was a heavy load, but he was determined to bring it home.

The cold wind outside howled like a wounded animal as Haldor began dragging the deer's lifeless body back to his home. A dark trail formed behind him, like a grim reminder of the path of death and destruction he had once caused.

As he walked back towards the village, his bow slung over his shoulder, he couldn't help but smile. His mind was filled with thoughts of the delicious feast that awaited him and the look of surprise and shock on his wife's face when he returned with his prize.

It would be a night to remember.

Haldor strolled into the village, and the folks there gazed at him with amazement and respect. They couldn't believe their eyes when they saw him bringing back a deer this big single-handedly. It would have taken three men to lift it, but somehow, he managed to reach the village alone. Let alone his hunting skills left a lasting impression on them.

A smile stretched across Haldor's face once again as he felt a surge of pride welling up inside him. It reminded him of the days when he was their hero, the one they looked up to.

As he got closer to his house, he spotted his wife, Nivalis, standing by the open window. She watched him carrying the deer, and her expression changed only when she recognized the animal, but quickly changed it back. It gave Haldor a sense of satisfaction.

Haldor grinned at her, a wicked smile twisting his features.

— "I have something special for you," he said, his voice filled with bitterness.

— "Look what I've got!" he exclaimed, a triumphant tone in his voice. — "This is going to be a great meal."

Nivalis remained quiet, her face showing no emotion.

— "What's wrong with you?" he snapped, his voice sharp.

Nivalis stayed still, not reacting to his boasting.

Haldor's anger grew. He couldn't bear her stubborn silence any longer. — "Ah, maybe your sight isn't what it used to be. Alright, I'll just show you what I've got a bit closer," he grumbled as he kicked open the creaky door with his leg and stepped into the house. He lowered the heavy deer onto the floor for her to see.

A closer look made Nivalis's eyes widen at the sight of the sacred animal, a symbol of nature to the Elven people. Her eyes were about to get wet as she stared at the dead deer. She quickly tried to compose herself, but it didn't stop her heart from racing.

— "I took it down myself," Haldor proudly declared.

"I can see that," Nivalis replied, her voice void of any emotion.

Nivalis let out a tired sigh, her slim shoulders slumping.

"It's going to be a delicious meal," she added, turning away from him.

— "Of course," he replied, his irritation growing.

"I'll go prepare the meal," she mumbled, making her way to the kitchen.

Haldor watched her walk away, and an uncomfortable silence settled between them. He didn't like the way she was acting. She tries to act as if she doesn't care. He could sense her discomfort. He knew it was an act. He knew her too well. She wasn't fooling him.

At that moment, Haldor's sharp eyes fell upon his daughter, Silvia. She stood there, in the corner of the room, a tiny figure. Her gaze fixed on the deer, her eyes wide.

— "Well, aren't you going to thank me?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Silvia's gaze shot up to meet her father's, and in her young eyes, a tremor of fear danced like a fragile leaf in the wind.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

A scowl darkened his face as he saw his daughter's reaction. It only confirmed his suspicions.

It was clear to Haldor that she did not fully understand the reason behind her words, the significance of the deer. She was unaware of the effort it took to bring down such a majestic creature. The hours spent tracking it, the lurking dangers in the wilderness – all of it remained hidden from her understanding.

But what bothered Haldor even more was her lack of understanding about respect. She didn't seem to appreciate the sacrifices he made for the family or the fact that he provided for them every day. It was as if she didn't get it at all.

He sighed deeply, thinking to himself how crucial respect was. Without it, love couldn't flourish, and without love, there could be no real family.

— "Now go and help your mother prepare the meal," he added, turning away from her.

She nodded slowly, her response slightly louder than a whisper as she mumbled, "Alright..."

Silvia walked towards the kitchen, her footsteps echoing in the silent house.

As Haldor stood alone, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. He raked his fingers through his tousled hair, his frustration apparent in his furrowed brow.

"I swear," he grumbled under his breath, casting a disdainful gaze around the room, "I'm surrounded by nothing but fools."

In one quick motion, he picked up the deer, its weight making his muscles strain. Slowly, he began to walk towards the kitchen, the deer's hooves dangling and brushing against the ground, leaving tiny marks on the wooden floor. They clean the mess later, anyway.

When his job was done, he decided to take a seat at the worn-out kitchen table, his eyes glued to the flurry of activity as they worked tirelessly to prepare the evening's meal.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the meal gradually came together. Only when the tantalizing aroma of cooking food filled the air his annoyance began to fade away like a distant memory. When the dishes were finally ready, Haldor shook off his irritation and concentrated on the task at hand - eating.

And oh, what a meal it was! The venison, close to perfection, practically melted in his mouth. Each bite was a savory burst of flavor that sent waves of pleasure through him. Haldor couldn't help but savor every bite, sipping occasionally from his wooden tankard of mead to wash it all down.

But what truly made his evening was the sight of Nivalis. She sat across from him, and her usually graceful demeanor was replaced by a clumsiness as she struggled with her meal, trying to scoop all the meat out of the dish and did her best not to look at the deer carcass hanging over the fireplace.

He watched her, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.