A beautiful land stretched wide, kissed by a warm breeze that lifted the hair of the soldiers as they marched. At the front of the formation, their leader—Agarth—rode tall on his horse. His eyes were sharp, focused on the endless road that cut through the plains like a silver line. Their destination was the Kingdom of Thoms, and if everything went well, they would reach it in a day.
The horse beneath Agarth snorted, hooves pressing into the wet soil. In front of the soldiers hung a heavy curtain of clouds. Thunder rolled through the sky, shaking the air. The horses trembled and jerked their necks upward. Animals always sensed danger before humans did.
Agarth narrowed his eyes.
Agarth:
"I think a storm is on the way. Let's find a spot to camp. Go—find somewhere safe before this storm swallows us whole."
His voice cut through the wind with urgency. The soldiers nodded in unison and scattered ahead, scouting the area. Hooves splashed through mud as they sped off.
Within minutes, the sky darkened completely. The winds howled like wild beasts tearing through the forest. Rain crashed down in violent sheets, shaking the leaves and bending the branches as if nature itself were under attack. Even Agarth, hardened by years of battles, felt the sting of the cold rain slicing across his face.
But he pressed on.
Suddenly, a soldier galloped toward him through the storm, soaked but determined. His horse rushed forward, hooves pounding desperately.
Soldier:
"Leader! We found a place! The men have already set up camp—it's protected by a large tree. The ground is dry even in this storm!"
Thunder boomed above them, casting lightning across their armor.
Agarth:
"Good work. Go on ahead—I'll be there shortly."
Water streamed down his face as he closed his eyes, taking a brief breath before continuing through the storm.
Soldier:
"As you say, my leader."
He bowed slightly before riding off, leaving Agarth alone at the edge of the lake.
Agarth remained behind for a moment longer. His gaze fell upon the silent, moonlit water. Billions of raindrops struck the surface, creating ripples that distorted the reflection of the thunder-filled sky. Each flash of lightning reflected back at him, like the eyes of a roaring beast staring into his own.
His eyes softened—then hardened again.
Agarth (murmuring to himself):
"After centuries… no one has found the Black Blade. Where did he hide it?"
"Since the battle a thousand years ago, Norm's blade vanished. Either destroyed… or waiting for its successor."
"I must find it… before the Army of Death rises again. Before the Great Shadow returns to his eternal form."
Rain continued to hammer down, but Agarth didn't move. He stood there, letting the storm beat against him as the weight of history pressed down on his shoulders.
Hours passed. The soldiers rested under shelter, but Agarth remained awake—eyes fixed on the lake, mind trapped between fear and determination. The Black Blade… the Death Blade… the Necro Sword… the Blade of Hope. It had many names. And each name carried the same truth:
If the blade chose the wrong person… it would kill them instantly.
But if it chose the right one…
The storm eventually calmed. Dawn rose with gentle warmth, sunlight dripping through the leaves like soft, golden rain. Birds sang timidly, sensing the storm's departure.
The soldiers mounted their horses again, energized and ready. Agarth led them, his cloak fluttering behind him.
By midday, they crossed the Mountains of Heaven—tall, heavenly peaks cutting through the blue sky. On the other side lay the vast lands of the Kingdom of Thoms. Green hills stretched endlessly. Flowers painted the fields. Winds brushed against their faces in peaceful waves.
It felt surreal… too peaceful.
Their horses began to gallop, hooves thundering across the soft ground. When the towering castle gates finally appeared in the distance, their pace quickened even more. Upon reaching the gate, all dismounted, stepping forward with dignity.
A lone voice echoed from atop the ramparts.
Gatekeeper:
"State your name!"
Agarth stepped forward, raising his head proudly.
Agarth:
"Agarth Norm, son of Braith."
The gatekeeper froze. His eyes widened. A Norm? The leader of Norm's Kingdom? His hands trembled as he unlatched the enormous chains keeping the gate sealed.
With a groaning creak, the gates parted.
The soldiers entered slowly, leading their horses by hand. The inside bustled with life—vendors shouting prices, children chasing each other, the aroma of spices and fruits blending in the air. Bright fabrics hung from stalls, and people laughed as they bargained.
But Agarth ignored it all.
He walked past the noise, past the colors, past the warmth of the people. His mind was fixed only on the castle.
His soldiers stayed back to rest their tired horses. Agarth alone stepped inside the castle gates, his boots echoing sharply against the stone path.
Inside, the corridors felt strangely familiar. Marble floors, tall pillars, intricate carvings… memories lingered in the air. He walked through hallways he had once walked with a younger Yade—laughing, fighting, and dreaming.
Finally, he reached the large door at the end of the passage. He touched the cold metal handle, then slowly pushed it open.
Inside sat his old friend—Yade Thom, heir to the Thom bloodline. He rested at a long dining table, a gentle smile forming on his face as he saw Agarth.
Yade (smiling warmly):
"You're finally here, my friend. How are you?"
He stood, opening his arms as Agarth stepped in.
Agarth (grinning as he embraced him):
"Brother… still looking fat, huh?"
Yade (laughing loudly):
"It means I'm healthy! But look at you—you look like a hunter who hasn't slept in days."
Then his smile faded. The air in the hall shifted.
Yade (serious):
"So… tell me. Why have you come? There must be a reason."
Agarth sat down, placing his gloves on the table.
Agarth:
"I'm searching for something."
Yade raised an eyebrow.
Yade:
"Let me guess… the blade?"
Agarth nodded slowly.
Agarth:
"Yes. The Blade."
Yade exhaled sharply, leaning back.
Yade:
"It's been centuries. No one has found it. Do you want my help? You know the rule—if someone unworthy touches it, they die instantly."
Agarth shook his head.
Agarth:
"No. I'm not here for that. I came to ask you… something else."
Yade's expression shifted again.
Yade:
"Ask? What could you possibly ask me?"
Agarth lowered his head slightly, his voice turning grim.
Agarth (quietly):
"My son… Aron… has been hearing whispers."
Yade leaned forward.
Whispers?
Agarth continued, eyes darkening.
Agarth:
"Whispers of the blade… calling him."
Silence.
The hall froze.
Yade's eyes widened.
His breath caught.