The fertile fields, the rivers, the greenery, all a part of Veron Valley.
The wall was towering, surrounding the giant city, made of white concrete and bricks.
A bridge connected the entrance to the road, below the bridge were the fields.
The gates were open, as if already waiting for us.
The sunlight painted the Valley In a hue of gold as our carriage rolled the down last stretch of the road. The smell was rich, the smell of ripening plants and wet soil.
The wheels of the carriage slowed down as we crossed the gate, the city coming into view.
There stood, on the right, a woman who liked exactly like my mother, Aunt Celesse.
As the carriage came to a hault, mother and sister exited the carriage first, and I followed last.
Mother went to Aunt Celesse, embracing her, as they engaged in a conversation.
Vaelira followed her, although her attention was on the surroundings.
I was looking at the wall.
"First time seeing the wall up close?" Ser Daryn asked from behind me.
I nodded, the last time I was here, the construction had just started.
Now it stood at more than five times the height of my father, as thick as a carriage.
"Well," Ser Daryn said, looking at a restaurant nearby, "if you want to have a good breakfast, I'd recommend going there, they have the best bread and eggs."
I nodded, I scanned the city with my eyes, looking around the shops.
"Ser Daryn." I called out.
"Yes, my prince?" Ser Daryn asked, looking down at me.
"Tell me, are the swords in Veron Valley any good?" I asked.
Ser Daryn nodded, "Indeed." He lifted his sword up, "This one is from here too. The people of Veron Valley aren't engaged in combat that often, but they are masters of every craft. Only the Ygranths would have better swords, and you can probably find Ygranth swords here."
And now it was time for the crowd to gather.
Shouts along the line of, "The Queen is here!" "Get here! Lady Alyssa and her son and the Princess are here!"...
People started to gather around the carriage.
Soon enough, the once quiet square was now bustling and loud.
I looked at the people, I saw that out of a bakery nearby, a man came out holding a tray of cakes, he was followed by a little girl.
"Let's go, Ser Daryn. Let's enjoy the benefits of being royalty." I said, as I walked towards the man holding the tray, I smiled at the people, "Good morning fellas! It's good to see the people of Veron Valley after such a long time!" I shouted, the crowd cheered.
Cheers were heard from crowd, praising the cute prince, the son of their dear Lady Alyssa.
I reached the man holding the tray, he smiled and lowered the tray, "For you! My prince!"
The little girl beside him looked up at me, smiling.
I smiled at them and the people around them, "Well Well! The cake smells amazing!" I looked at the cakes and then shifted my eyes to the man.
"Eat it." I said, looking at he man, "Also give some to her." I pointed at the little girl.
The man's smile faltered, but he obliged, he took a cake from the tray, eating half of it, and giving the other half to his daughter.
Once they both finished swallowing the cake, I smiled, taking a piece of cake from the tray, "I am sorry for being suspicious. As you may know, my granduncle died of poisoning, all of our family has been taught to be vigilant about such things."
The man smiled again and nodded, "It's alright my prince. But you need not worry about such things here in Veron Valley! We are nothing like those bastards in the capital!"
The man pointed at the people around him, "The people here love you and your mother, they are willing to fight for the Vornhalls, without them we are nothing. They would wage war if something were to happen to you." He said, carrying a sense of pride.
I nodded, taking a bite of the cake, it was delicious.
I prodded Ser Daryn, who also took a cake and hummed in approval.
I swallowed the bite and smiled at the man, "What's your name? Good man."
"It's Larry, My Prince." The man said, bowing.
I placed my hand on his shoulder, "Well, Larry." I took another bite of the cake, "You are a good man! And an even better baker!"
I finished the piece of cake and reached into a bag I had attached to my waist, taking out a handful of gold coins.
I took Larry's hand in mine and placed the coins in his hand, "Larry, I don't want to be the only one enjoying your cakes. Here, take this, and make us cakes for our tired soldiers and the good people here, especially the ones in need. I'll give you some more once the cakes are done."
Larry's eyes widened as the gold coins clinked into his palm. The crowd murmured in approval, pressing closer to see their young prince's generosity.
"Your Highness, this is too much—"
"Nonsense," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Consider it payment in advance. I expect to smell those cakes baking when I walk through this square tomorrow morning."
The little girl tugged at my sleeve. "Will you come back to eat them with us?"
I knelt to her level, ignoring the dirt now staining my trousers. "Only if you save me the biggest one."
Her giggle was cut short as a familiar voice rang out. "Targan Valemyr! Stop charming my subjects and come greet your aunt properly!"
I sighed and stood up, turning around.
It was Aunt Celesse standing behind me, her hands on her hips, when she saw me turn around, she opened her arms and said, "Come here my sweet little nephew!"
I stepped into Aunt Celesse's arms, her arms wrapping tightly around me, the lavender perfume on her entering my nostrils.
She grabbed my face and looked at me, "More handsome and taller every time I see you!" She looked down at my clothes, "Though it seems you've been rolling around in dirt like a pig, is that blood on you?"
Vaelira snorted from behind her, "He tried to carry and skin a boar, turns out he is barely strong enough to lift one. Maybe we should leave him here to work at the farms, so he can build his strength."
Aunt Celesse released my face and turned around, wrapping her right arm around my neck, "Look at your little son, Alyssa! Already becoming a beloved prince! He should've been the heir to the throne."
Mother and Vaelira had exasperated looks, "What was that?" Vaelira asked, pointing at the crowd, who were now praising "Targan The Generous", "I never took you for an people's person."
Mother smiled, "I must say, I am quite surprised too. You'd make a fine king of Veron."
Aunt Celesse nodded, "Who knows? I might have to name you my heir."
Then a silence fell over the four of us.
Aunt Celesse was unable to mother children, she had been pregnant 3 times, one miscarriage and two premature deliveries.
The doctors lost faith a long time ago, and so did Aunt Celesse.
Grandfather Karius was unable to father any sons, and now he was old, ruling Veron with Aunt Celesse.
Aunt Celesse was married to Kevin Hestan, the Heir to the Springlands in the east, eldest son of Clan Hestan.
He died a year ago, he... fell down from the steps of the castle, snapping his neck when he fell down, dying immediately.
And yes, I was the heir to Veron Valley and the name Vornhall, once Aunt Celesse died.
My Grandfather Karius, reached an agreement with my father.
If Aunt Celesse were to die without any male heirs, I'd be her heir, and I would take on the name Vornhall.
The silence stretched between us, thick as the summer humidity. Aunt Celesse's arm tightened around my shoulders before she forced a laugh, shaking off the moment like a dog shedding water.
"Well! Enough standing about in the square like common merchants." She clapped her hands, the sound sharp as a whip crack. Servants materialized from the crowd, bowing deeply. "Baths drawn, fresh clothes laid out, and someone fetch my nephew proper riding boots - those look like they've been through a war."
Mother touched Aunt Celesse's elbow. "We should speak with Father first."
Aunt Celesse's smile didn't reach her eyes. "He's waiting in the solar. But the children needn't trouble themselves with old men's talk." She turned to Vaelira and me. "The east wing baths are prepared. Go wash off the road dust."
Vaelira grabbed my wrist before I could protest. "Come on, little prince. You smell worse than a slaughterhouse."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The castle and the bathhouses were grand.
I had just finished bathing, washing off all the grime and sweat.
Normally, I'd go to visit grandfather Karius. But right now, he was having a fever, so it was best to leave my mother to deal with him.
Karius was a strict and traditional man, who got very angry, very quickly.
The room I shared with Vaelira, had two big beds, and two cupboards, and other normal furniture.
But there was one thing, that stood out.
A painting, of a golden majestic deer in a forest.
I went to the cupboard on my bed's side, opening it.
It contained clothes, all very expensive, some attires for events, a night dress, and some clothes for normal walks out into the streets, ones which don't make you stand out all that much.
But I had white hair, it didn't really matter.
Regardless, I put some clothes on, grabbed a bag of coins, the golden cloth, and walked out of the room.
- - - - - - -
It didn't take much time, finding Ser Daryn.
He was by the castle gates, sparing with some of the soldiers.
His eyes turned to me as I walked out of the castle, stopping the spar.
I approached, the others around me bowing in respect.
"Need something, Prince?" Ser Daryn asked.
"Let's go." I said, walking out of the gates.
Ser Daryn sighed and followed me.
The castle gates led into a garden, past which was the market square.
"Well...?" Ser Daryn asked.
"I wanna have a look around town," I said, looking back at him for a moment, "get to know the things around here. Eat some things." I stopped in my tracks.
Ser Daryn seemed surprised, he stopped in his tracks as well and looked at me, "Are you alright, my prince?"
"I need to ask you for a favor." I said.
"Ask away." Ser Daryn said.
"I need you to reach me how to kill things." I said.
"What." Ser Daryn asked, confused.
I raised my hand and made a few motions, imitating a how swordsman would handle his sword, "I wanna learn how to use a sword, I don't wanna die you know? And now that kings, princes and people are dying all of a sudden, and with the Hollowed aswell."
".. As you wish..." Ser Daryn said.
-
It wouldn't be long until we found a smith shop.
It was littered with swords, axes, armor, and metal.
In the shop were two people, a man working on a hot piece of iron on an anvil, and a woman in the front of the shop, sitting beside a desk, with a cat in her lap.
We weren't exactly discreet, there was no need to be.
In a place like Veron Valley, where the people of my blood are like gods to these men, someone wouldn't dare to attack me.
The woman noticed us, as we turned around from the pathway, to her shop. She stood up, and bowed, "My Prince."
The man who hammering the iron turned around and also bowed, "my prince."
"Good evening, people." I closer to the shop, inspecting all the swords. Then, I looked at the man, "I want your finest sword, the best you've ever possessed."
"And a training sword, a small knife and a few arrows." Ser Daryn added.
I looked at Ser Daryn, "Also that."
"Of-of course, my prince!" The man exclaimed and turned around, looking at the swords he had.
Ser Daryn sighed, "Prince, why are we here? Can't we just use the swords and tools made for us in the castle? I doubt these would be better than them. There's also Rovane, I am sure your grandfather would be glad to give it to you, since he is incapable of using it himself."
"There's more to ruling than sitting in the castle and going out to fight whenever there is a war. A good king is a long of the people and of rationality, a king who connects with his people, a king whose people trust him. Going in the streets like these, helps me connect with my people, and helps them see me for what I am, other than some noble boy born from the right womb." I said, loud enough so Ser Daryn could hear it, low enough so that the others couldn't.
"Besides," I added, "I am not a warrior worthy of Rovane right now, it's not just a sword, it's history, it will remain there with my grandfather until he sits it for me to wield it."
"If I may," Ser Daryn, "Why the sudden interest in swordsmanship? Don't they teach you swordsmanship at your castle in High Ardent?"
"They do." I said, "I just never thought they were so important as to give my heart and soul into training, my uncle, Jaera, the famous 'White Hunter', would train me personally sometimes, but from day I saw Dranyara for the first time when I was 6, I never thought I'd need to learn swordsmanship."
"Hmph. So-" Ser Daryn tried to speak.
"As for why the sudden interest, witnessing the Hollowed for the first time in my life other than hearing about them in the books, and being made a fool of myself when I couldn't hunt a damn boar."
"...alright..." Ser Daryn.
The man disappeared into the back after we made our request. The woman sat back down, her cat still in her lap. Ser Daryn leaned against the counter with a grunt, looking around the shop.
"Some of these are decent," he said. "But I still don't get it. You're not gonna win the hearts of the people with a sword, Targan. Just your words are enough."
"That's the difference between you and me, Ser Daryn," I replied, walking around, hands behind my back. "You've always seen me as a prince. These people need to see me as a man. One who sweats, bleeds, and swings a sword when needed."
Before he could reply, the smith came back.
He wasn't alone. He was carrying a long, velvet-lined tray, and in it—five swords. Laid side by side. No two the same.
He placed it gently on the front desk.
"These," he said, almost reverently, "are the best we have. The top five blades in my possession. Two of 'em, Ygranth made."
Ser Daryn raised a brow. "Ygranth?"
The smith nodded. "Both forged during the Long Frost. You remember that?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I read about it. Twenty years ago. Storms so cold they said the seas between the isles froze. The smiths of Ygranth forged twenty swords from the frostbitten steel of the dead—iron soaked in snow, then heated in dragonfire."
Ser Daryn scoffed. "Old tale. Half of it made up."
"Maybe," the smith shrugged, "but the swords are real."
He pointed to the first one, a sleek blade with a hilt wrapped in blackened leather.
"This one here's called Cold Fang. Straight from the southern forge of Ygranth, passed down to my father from a knight who rode with Prince Yuren during the Siege of Blackhearth."
Then he moved to the second sword. It looked darker, meaner. The steel was almost blue in the light.
"And this… this is The Dark Star."
Ser Daryn squinted. "Dark Star? You're serious?"
"Dead serious," the smith said. "Second best of the Long Frost blades. Only one ranked above it—Dragon's Roar, and that was given to the King's Wolf."
My ears perked up.
"Ser Arthur?"
The smith nodded. "Ser Arthur. The Traitor-Killer. He got Dragon's Roar straight from the King's own hand after he executed Lord Valeorn for treason. One swing, took off the lord's head and the steel collar he wore with it."
Ser Daryn let out a breath. "I saw him once. Years back, in Highmark. I was barely twenty. He sparred against five knights at once, didn't take a scratch. Moves like a shadow. Hits like a mountain falling."
"People say there's no one in the three continents who can match him," the smith said. "Some say even dragons would think twice."
I looked back at the Dark Star. My fingers itched.
"How'd you get your hands on it?"
The smith glanced down for a moment. "It wasn't mine originally. Belonged to my brother, Ser Coenal. He earned it during the Last Border War, saved the heir to House Elthar from an ambush. The Elthars had a claim to the sword through a marriage, passed it down as reward. Coenal gave it to me before he died. Said it belonged in hands that understood steel more than blood."
There was a pause.
"What happened to him?" I asked.
The smith didn't speak for a long second. Then, "Killed by Hollowed near Hollowmoor. They never found his head."
We all fell quiet after that.
He pointed to the third sword. It wasn't flashy. Plain hilt, clean steel, a faint line running down the middle of the blade.
"This one's Mercy's Edge. Forged right here in Veron. Balanced, perfect for a soldier who fights in tight quarters. This is the sword I give to those who don't care about legends—they just want to survive."
Fourth sword had a curved shape, almost foreign-looking. The steel was rippled, like water frozen mid-flow.
"That's Whisperfang. Made from eastern steel. My uncle brought it back from a trade voyage in the Sapphire Isles. Don't ask me how it cuts—it slices clean without making a sound. Like it's drinking the air."
And finally, the fifth one. Shorter, heavier, dark-bronze colored steel, with a jagged edge along one side.
"Breaker. Meant for armor. Not elegant. Just effective. You swing it at someone with plate, and it'll crush the ribs right into their lungs."
The smith crossed his arms.
"Ser Daryn, which one of them do you want other than The Dark Star, I am taking that one." I said.
"What?" Ser Daryn raised his eyebrow, "you are buying me one?"
I nodded.
Ser Daryn grinned, "I'll have the 'Mercy's Edge' thank you." He looked at the smith.
I raised my eyebrow, "I expected a little resistance."
"Oh no way, you've already got enough gold, I wouldn't be able to afford a sword like this one even if I sold everything I ever owned. Ygranth swords are expensive." Then he looked at the smith, "Besides, this man here is not selling for gold, if he were, he'd have enough gold to have a castle."
The smith nodded, he looked at me, "Prince, never in my life, did I ever think that I would sell this sword while I was alive. I'd have rather starved to death before I sold this."
The smith gave me a long look. Then he reached out and slid the Dark Star back toward himself, slowly, like it was an old friend he wasn't ready to let go of.
"I'll give you the sword," he said, voice low, "but I won't let you use it. Not yet."
I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"
He placed both hands on the counter, firm. "You've never been in a proper fight. You've never killed a man. That sword—" he pointed at the Dark Star, "—it's not for show, and it's not for practice. It's seen real blood, real death. You swing this without knowing what you're doing, and it'll pull you under."
I didn't say anything.
He reached back under the counter and pulled out another sword, this one already in a worn leather sheath. He laid it down beside the others.
"This is Whisperfang. Lighter. Quicker. Easier to learn with. Foreign steel—eastern, from the Sapphire Isles. It cuts clean, and it won't argue with you like the Dark Star will. You train with this."
I looked down at it. The hilt was plain, but the blade had that strange rippled pattern like still water catching moonlight. I slowly picked it up.
"I'm giving it to you," the smith said. "Free. As a gift."
I looked up at him. "Why?"
"Because you asked for a sword with the eyes of someone who's not just playing prince," he said. "And because if you're going to be the next Vornhall, I'd rather you start your path with something that doesn't bury you."
He paused. "You can have the Dark Star. But don't keep it with you. Send it to your father. Or your grandfather. Let them hold it until you're ready. It's not going anywhere."
I stared at the blade in my hand, then at the Dark Star. Then I nodded. "Alright."
The smith gave a small nod back, as if he didn't expect me to actually listen.
"I'll have a scabbard made for Whisperfang. I'll also wrap the Dark Star in thick cloth and lock it in an ironwood box. You tell me who it's going to, and I'll see it sent with a mark of your seal."
"Make the box thick enough to keep even the dreams out," Ser Daryn muttered. "The thing makes me feel like I'm being watched."
We bought the rest of the stuff too—training sword, the knife, the arrows, even a new leather tunic with hardened studs for practice.
I reached into my coin pouch and pulled out what I had. Gold. A lot of it.
"Here," I said, putting it on the counter.
The smith didn't touch it.
"It's too much."
I pushed it forward. "It's not for the swords."
He frowned. "Then what is it for?"
"For the pride you carry," I said, "and the sword you gave me for free."
He still didn't take it. The woman behind the desk stood and walked over, gently scooping the coins off the table into a wooden bowl.
"We'll make sure it's put to good use," she said.
The smith gave me one last nod. "Train with it. Wear it down. Make it yours. And when your hands stop shaking when you draw it, then you're ready for the Dark Star."
I strapped Whisperfang to my back and turned to leave.
"Thank you," I said.
The smith just nodded, already turning back toward the forge.
---
As we stepped out of the shop, the last of the daylight was gone. Lanterns lined the street now, casting a warm orange glow against the pale stone walls.
Ser Daryn looked over at me as we walked.
"You handled that better than I thought."
"Better than you would've?"
"Oh, I'd have argued with him. Called him an old fool. Probably stormed out with the sword anyway."
"Glad I'm not you, then."
He chuckled.
"Whisperfang, huh? Suits you. Fast. Quiet. Bit unpredictable."
"Dark Star will wait," I said, looking at the road ahead.
Ser Daryn grunted. "Yeah. But it won't wait forever."