The bell rang across the camp the next morning—three slow chimes.
It was the signal all the heirs had been waiting for.
The Field Assignments.
The instructors gathered them in the briefing hall, a massive circular structure adorned with flags from the noble houses of Vaelora. Maps lined the walls. Scribes stood by with scrolls, reading out names and destinations.
"For the next phase," Captain Edric Vale declared, "you will be sent to different provinces across the kingdom. You are to act not just as warriors—but as leaders, tacticians, and emissaries of your name. How you conduct yourselves will be seen by more than just us."
His eyes swept across the heirs.
"It will be seen by the King."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. The pressure was real now—this wasn't just about sparring rings or drills. This was about legacy.
"Some will assist border fortresses. Some will escort supply caravans under threat. Others will investigate magical anomalies, banditry, or regional disputes."
Scribes began handing out sealed scrolls to each heir—assignments stamped with the royal crest.
Ari received his last.
He broke the seal. His orders were short:
> Assignment: Village of Derath.
Location: Far-East Border, near the Vireth Woods.
Report: Repeated monster attacks. Minor civilian casualties. Suspected magical disturbance.
Objective: Investigate. Defend. Report back.
Team: None assigned. Solo mission.
---
Four days later.
The road to Derath twisted like a serpent through the eastern borderlands of Vaelora—quiet, narrow, and half-swallowed by nature. Moss clung to stone markers faded with age, and fog rolled in thick from the Vireth Woods, blanketing everything in grey. Ari rode alone, his horse's hooves muffled by damp soil, his breath barely rising in the cold air.
It had been four days since he left the Trial Camp. Four days since his name had been whispered in fear.
Now, there was only silence.
The scroll he'd received stated his task plainly: protect the remote village of Derath from minor beast attacks. Investigate. Report. A mission too simple for some heirs—an insult.
But Ari knew better.
Nothing sent by the Trial Board was ever simple.
The first sign came long before the village: a cart half-buried in mud, its wooden frame shattered, and blood staining the leaves nearby. The horses were gone—no corpses, no tracks. Only claw marks gouged deep into the bark of trees. He dismounted, sword in hand, and examined the scene.
Three sets of prints. One human. Two... not.
The beasts were real.
But they weren't wild.
---
Derath appeared just past dusk, nestled like a secret between skeletal trees. The village was small—maybe thirty houses, all built from dark wood, their roofs sagging under years of rain and rot. No walls. Only a crude fence and a rusted iron gate barely hanging on its hinges.
Ari pushed it open, the creak echoing down the abandoned road. Lamps flickered behind shuttered windows. Eyes watched him from the dark.
No one welcomed him.
He tied his horse outside a crooked inn called The Hollow Hearth, then entered.
The warmth inside didn't match the mood. A single fire crackled at the center hearth, and three old men sat at a table, sipping stale ale. Behind the counter stood a woman in her forties, her hands trembling as she cleaned a mug that was already clean.
They all looked up.
And stared.
"Are you the prince?" the woman asked, voice brittle.
Ari nodded.
The men exchanged glances. One spat into the fire.
"Too late," another grumbled.
Ari walked to the counter. "What do you mean?"
The woman's eyes lowered. "We sent word two weeks ago. Attacks started small. Livestock. Then our hunter. Then my sister. No one's come down from the hills in days."
"Who else lives near the village?"
"Just miners up by the ridge. Old mine's long shut. Been shut since before I was born."
Another of the old men snorted. "You'd be a fool to go near that place, boy."
"Why?"
"They say it sings at night."
Ari frowned. "Sings?"
The man nodded slowly. "Not with music. With screams. Real quiet, like the forest is choking on them."
Ari stayed silent a moment.
Then turned to the woman. "I'll need a room. And I want to see the most recent attack site."
The woman hesitated—then gave him a key.
"Room's upstairs. If you need me, I'll be praying."
"Praying for what?"
"For the next prince they send."
---
That night, Ari didn't sleep.
He kept the window open, watching the treeline beyond the crooked fence. The wind was wrong—too still. And the forest didn't hum with life. No insects. No birds. Just cold, waiting silence.
Near midnight, a scream broke through the quiet.
Not human.
But close.
Ari shot to his feet, grabbing his sword and cloak. He burst from the inn and sprinted toward the scream—toward the northern edge of the village where homes thinned into brush.
He found it behind a barn.
A creature—seven feet tall, with a wolfish frame and arms too long for its torso—was hunched over something. A man's body. One of the villagers.
The beast looked up. Its eyes glowed yellow in the dark.
Ari didn't hesitate.
He lunged, blade flashing, slashing across its shoulder. The thing howled and leapt back—not in pain, but in surprise.
It hissed at him. Then… it smiled.
And turned to flee.
Ari gave chase.
Through brush. Over roots. Into the trees.
The creature was fast—its form flickering between shadows as if the forest itself helped it vanish.
Then it disappeared entirely.
Ari stopped.
He was standing in a clearing.
The air here was thick—almost magically heavy. He scanned the area, heart steady, sword raised.
And then he saw them.
Symbols.
Etched into the trees in a perfect ring. Not old carvings. Fresh, bleeding magic.
A summoning circle.
Or worse.
He knelt and touched one of the symbols. It pulsed faintly under his fingers.
And the moment he did—
Voices filled his head.
Screams. Chanting. Laughter.
He staggered back, gripping his skull.
Then a whisper cut through the noise:
"He's seen the gate."
Ari's eyes snapped open.
But the forest was silent again.
And the circle was gone.
---
He returned to the village before dawn, bloodied but alert.
The townspeople were already gathering. They'd found the body behind the barn.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"Another one…"
"No use fighting…"
Then they saw Ari, sword still drawn, cloak stained.
And they went quiet.
Ari faced the villagers.
"I found tracks leading into the forest. There's something unnatural in those woods."
"You don't say," one of the older men muttered.
Ari ignored him. "Where's the mine?"
An old woman, wrapped in patchwork shawls, raised her hand weakly. "North. Follow the river. You'll know it when the wind turns cold."
He nodded.
But before he could leave, a hand grabbed his arm.
The innkeeper.
"You're not like the others, are you?" she whispered.
Ari looked at her. "What others?"
"The last ones they sent. They never made it back. They went toward the mine. Just like you. But none of them… they didn't have your eyes."
"My eyes?"
"They didn't look like they'd already died once."
---
That evening, Ari scouted the north ridge alone.
He followed the river just as the old woman said. As he walked, the trees thinned, and the air grew colder—not the natural chill of night, but something deadlier. Still. Sterile. Like the world had stopped breathing.
Then he found it.
The mine.
Its entrance loomed like a mouth opened too wide. Rusted rails stretched into the darkness. Crates, ropes, and tools lay scattered around the abandoned site, untouched for years.
Except… not all of it was old.
Footprints.
Fresh.
Heavy.
He knelt, brushing the dirt. Something had walked in recently—something large. And not alone.
Dozens of footprints. Human and beast.
He drew his sword and stepped inside.
The mine swallowed him in silence.
For minutes, all he heard were his own footsteps—until he reached the first chamber.
And froze.
At the far end, etched into the stone wall, glowing faintly red, was the same circle he'd seen in the woods. This time larger. More intricate. Symbols danced like fireflies, writhing in place.
And standing before it—a figure.
Cloaked in black, wearing a mask shaped like a laughing skull.
The figure turned, as if expecting him.
"You came earlier than I thought," the masked voice rasped.
Ari raised his blade.
"You're behind the attacks."
"I am merely the first to answer."
"To what?"
"To the Kingdom's decay."
Ari stepped forward. "You're using forbidden rites. Corrupting beasts. Turning them into slaves."
"No. I am freeing them."
The masked figure lifted a hand.
Ari heard movement—shuffling, snarling, bones cracking in the shadows.
And then—they emerged.
Twisted soldiers.
Six of them. Half-human. Half-monster. Wearing remnants of armor once worn by the soldiers that was sent here before him. Eyes glowing. Limbs broken and re-formed. Flesh stitched by arcane force.
Ari's heart dropped.
"Those were… the kingdom's soldiers."
The figure's voice dropped to a whisper.
"They came seeking glory. Now they serve a better cause."
Ari's grip tightened.
"And you'll join them soon enough."