EDWIN
Sleep was just beginning to settle over him when the voices rose outside his window. Edwin let out a weary breath. He had been looking forward to this night's rest ever since their horses trotted through the gates of Tan-ethyl about a day and half ago. The road had been long, his body screaming and demanding sleep, and Lady Yavana's soft fir sheets had felt like a blessing from the Creator Himself.
He pushed them aside with diffidence and stood. His boots were cold, his coat colder, but at least he remembered the key this time. He paused after locking the door, feeling oddly proud of himself.
The strongest lessons often come from the dumbest mistakes we make in life. When you get to my age, you'll likely be the wisest among us. His uncle Osfred's voice echoed in his mind. Edwin could still picture the man's scowl the day he'd woken to find his coin purse emptied because he'd forgotten to latch the inn door.
"Not tonight," Edwin muttered. His sack of coin hung secure at his belt, he tightened the black sword belt his father made for him, twice around his waist.
Benard and Roland had taken the ground-floor rooms, closer to the stables. "To keep an eye on the horses," Benard had said, though Edwin suspected his friend simply preferred a door that opened straight to the beer hall.
He rapped on their doors. "Roland? Ben? You hear the noise outside?" He got no answer but silence. He wanted them to hear him, so he knocked harder. Still nothing.
"Heavens!," he rubbed his knuckles, thinking they probably went outside.
The inn's beer hall was nearly empty except for two drunkards collapsed atop the tables like sacks of grain. Even Lady Yavana had wandered out. The front doors stood wide open, letting in the cool night air, still heavy with the damp of the earlier rain.
A small crowd had gathered outside the Broken Shield Inn. Thirty or forty people, he did not count, some barefoot, some still in their nightclothes, gaping at something north of the inn. Near the stables he spotted Roland and Benard, chattering.
"I called for you both," Edwin said as he approached. "Thought you were in your rooms. Nearly broke my fingers at your damned doors."
Roland shrugged. "World could've ended, and you'd have slept through half of it."
"Aye," Benard added with a grin. "We saw a dragon. Wings like sails, tail longer than—"
"Stop it," Edwin said flatly. "Pricks."
Benard clutched his chest. "Such cruelty. And after we tried to share our miracle with you."
Edwin gave a dry, humourless smirk and turned instead to a grey-bearded man standing nearby. "What happened here?"
"Stars, boy," the man said, voice bright with wonder. "Three of them. Three glorious stars." Star-fall. Edwin felt his chest tighten with a sudden, childish hope.
"They each shone differently," the man went on. "One red, one blue, one silver. Never seen their like."
He chuckled softly, almost shy. "Old sayings claim that when one sees a bright falling star, a significant change follows. Wishes fulfilled. Fortunes turning. And tonight…" He lifted his hands helplessly. "Tonight I saw three."
Edwin smiled despite the cold of the evening. There was something honest in the man's joy.
"Look there." The old man pointed northeast. "Beyond the Grey Mountains. That's where one fell."
"Fell?" Edwin asked.
"Aye, red as blood. Came down swift. The other two streaked eastward, but dimmed quickly enough."
Somewhere far beyond the jagged silhouettes of the mountains, a faint glow flickered, like the remains of a distant bonfire. Too far to make sense of. Too strange to dismiss.
By the time the light faded, half the folk had already drifted back indoors.
Edwin offered the old man a grateful nod. "Creator's blessings be upon you."
"And upon you, lad."
He returned to his companions at the stables.
"Stars," Edwin said with a scoff. "Really?"
"It's what everyone was saying," Roland replied.
"The Creator blessed this night," said Benard, unserious as usual. "And the righteous response is to drink while those blessings still last. They said they were three of them, three beers to match three blessings, what say you, lads?"
Edwin smirked. "So you didn't see them either," he made a mocking face.
Roland lifted his hands. "We'll leave star-reading to the wise fools on the Isle of Wisdom. They spend their whole lives staring at the sky. You won't see me doing that; what I'd rather do is go back inside that tavern and have myself a few more drinks"
Benard clapped Edwin's shoulder. "Come inside. Two more rounds, and then to bed. We've miles yet to ride."
They drank, they laughed, they boasted, and eventually they stumbled back to their rooms. But sleep did not come easily to Edwin. He lay staring at the ceiling, mind wandering to the fallen star, the long road ahead, and the promised two-week celebrations in the capital, the glorious city of Tydoria.
King Arlen Ironfall's birthday would open the festivities, claiming the entire first week for himself. The following week would mark Princess Alora's birthday, but there was more: Queen Roselyn was expected to finally bring forth the long-awaited Prince of Erddarn. There would be hunts, jousts, feasts, art displays, singers, puppeteers, and of cause, Princess Alora, famed for her beauty even in small villages like Tan-ethyl. Roland and Benard talked more of the knights, feast halls and the ladies. Edwin dreamed of seeing the royal family up close, especially the princess.
He thought of home too, of his mother, father, and little Elly, who always ran to him with shining eyes. He would miss them. But Tan-ethyl was lively enough during festivals, and his family would not want for company.
Will I join the contests, will I ride in the joust? Perhaps try the axe-throw?
He almost laughed at himself. He was more stable on his own two feet than he was on a charging horse. But he wanted to become someone, to make his family proud. So he knew he was going to participate in one thing or the other.
Sleep claimed him at last, only to thrust him into one of those strange dreams.
He stood in Tydoria, victorious in contests, the king himself praising him. Choose your reward, King Arlen said, then suddenly day turned to night, and the city burned. A cold steel hand clamped his leg, rooting him to the ground. "Do not play the hero, child," said a pale woman in a gown of milky white, pearls shining like stars. "Remain still. If you want your family to live."
His legs froze, no, melted, no, grew roots that burrowed into the earth.
"It will all be over soon," a man's voice whispered. "The world shall be free from wickedness. Have faith."
Edwin tore himself free in a jolt. Dawn was breaking.
He sat up, breathing hard, then rubbed his face until the dream lost its sharpness. He'd had strange dreams all his life. Few ever meant anything.
They wasted no time getting ready for the road. Benard fed the horses. Roland and Edwin packed their bags. Before the sun fully rose, they were already upon the Crownway, the long road leading toward Tydoria.
Morning mist curled around the grass. A white carriage thundered past, drawn by four white horses, flanked by armored knights bearing the heraldries of a great silver star surrounded by several smaller ones on a field of black.
"Well now," Roland said. "There's your sign of how serious this celebration is." "What sign?" Benard grumbled.
"That carriage is from Greymark," Roland said, proud as a rooster. "Do you know where Greymark is?"
"North," Benard muttered.
"Farther north. Twice or thrice the distance we've ridden. So if Lady Tarrek of Greymark has ridden this far south, then something important is happening indeed."
Edwin bowed mockingly in his saddle. "Thank you, sir… scholar?" "I heard she's a witch," Benard said.
"That was the Snowpine witch," Roland corrected. "She killed Lady Tarrek's husband."
"That she did," Edwin added, "and Lady Tarrek thanked her for it." Roland exhaled. "Well… yes. There is that." Benard snorted. "Every woman needs a man."
"Except for her," said Roland.
"And perhaps she's riding south to select one," Benard laughed. "Before all the handsome ones find sweethearts."
"Or to kill Queen Roselyn and steal the king," Roland said dryly.
"Or take Sir Benard the Brave instead," Edwin tossed in.
Benard puffed out his chest. "First, I kiss her-softly, sweetly. I lead her up to the upper chamber where a fine featherbed awaits, draw her close with one arm at her waist, the other gliding through her hair and along her neck… and then I toss her out the window so I can get a peaceful sleep."
"You're an idiot," Roland said.
"Yes," Benard agreed with a shrug. "But aren't we all? The pathetic three, I'd call us."
"Speak for yourself, Ben," Edwin said with a faint grin. "We're only pathetic if we insist on thinking we are. Keep your chins up, lads. We're on the road to greatness, though if you keep moping like that, we'll end up crawling back home with empty hands and bruised pride."
"Oh certainly," Roland said. "We'll rise to greatness… right after you stop snoring so loudly even the stars are now falling because of it, and after Benard learn which end of the map is north."
Their laughter echoed down the road.
Edwin was still grinning when he heard it, something shifting in the forest to their left.
"Hold," he whispered, pulling Malow, his brown stallion, to a slower trot.
"Wolves?" Benard asked.
"No, listen."
It sounded like wolves, almost. But something was twisted in their howling, a rough cracking beneath it that prickled his skin.
The first sunlight split the treetops. And out came creatures Edwin knew only from folktales whispered by the older adults to the young by the fire in their homes.
The Moongrave Howlers.
They slunk out from the bushes one by one, gaunt, towering wolf-shapes with smoke curling from their jaws, eyes glowing like coals, fur black as a moonless night. Edwin felt the blood drain from his face.
Their bite was flame and agony… weakens flesh and spirit alike…
His father's stories returned to him. He knew the beasts were meant to be long extinct.
Yet here they were. Seven of them.
The horses quivered beneath their riders, trembling with fear. Edwin knew they could not outrun them.
He drew his blade. Roland and Benard followed.
If they were to die, they would die with steel in hand.
The howlers spread in a slow arc, circling them. Inch by inch the ring tightened, their growls vibrating through the morning mist.
Edwin felt true fear seize him. The festivities, the princess, the king. All of it slipping away in the breath between heartbeats.
The beasts closed in.
And the world seemed to hold its breath.
Edwin tightened his grip on his longsword. Beside him, Roland nocked an arrow with trembling fingers, and Benard twirled his short blades as if speed alone might save them. But the Howlers were already closing in, their breaths a chorus of rasping growls and smoky heat. The horses were understandably unsteady and neighing endlessly beneath them.
The beasts moved with dreadful purpose, not wild like wolves, but deliberate, coordinated, as if guided by some unseen hand.
One lunged first.
Roland loosed an arrow that struck the creature's snout, but it only slowed it for a heartbeat. The beast barreled into him, knocking him clean off his horse and onto the mud. Edwin shouted his name, but another Howler blocked his path, jaws opening wide enough to clamp a man in half.
Benard acted first. With a roar, he drove both short blades into the creature's flank. It howled, not in pain but in fury, tossing its massive head and sending Benard sprawling.
The boys fought, hard they fought, but every clash of steel only showed how hopeless they were. Edwin's blade scraped off bone-hard hide. Roland scrambled to his feet and drew his sword, but a Howler's talon raked his arm, leaving lines of flame-like agony burning beneath the skin. Benard barely avoided a killing bite when Glimmer, his horse, kicked backward and broke free, galloping down the Crownway in terror.
A second Howler leapt.
Edwin raised his sword in both hands, but the force of the impact shattered his stance. He fell to one knee, the beast's jaws snapping inches from his face, black smoke washing over him, stealing his breath.
This is it, this is how we die.
The Howler drew back for the killing bite.
And then-
A voice spoke, calm and clear, from the road behind them.
"Enough."
The word was soft, almost conversational. Yet power moved in it, not loud, not dramatic, but absolute. The beasts froze as though the very air had turned solid around them.
Seven enormous Moongrave Howlers, creatures of ancient nightmare, went still as statues.
Edwin forced his head up.
A lone man stood a short distance away on the Crownway, his silhouette bathed in the newborn gold of the rising sun. He wore a simple traveler's cloak, boots dusty from long road miles. Nothing strange marked him, except for what he had just done. Just a man.
Too ordinary to be on this road at dawn. Too calm, and too powerful to be real.
He stepped forward, and the Howlers retreated from him, whining as if cowering before a predator far greater than themselves.
Roland's breath hitched. Benard wiped blood from his brow. Edwin simply stared.
The man glanced at the beasts, then at the boys.
"These creatures do not belong in this world anymore," he said, gentle enough to sound almost sad. "Their time has passed."
Edwin swallowed. "W-who are you?"
The man smiled faintly, as if amused by the question. "A wanderer," he said. "Call me… Mauren Veylor." Edwin and the boys could not hide their fear and confusion.
Mauren's gaze softened as it drifted from one boy to the next.
"Roland of Highmarsh," he said quietly, "your mother prays you will return from this journey wiser, not wounded." Roland froze.
"Benard Stonehand," he continued, "your father worries you hide sorrow behind that laughter of yours."
Benard's face drained of colour.
Then Mauren looked to Edwin, and Edwin felt as though the man saw straight through bone and blood and memory.
"Edwin Thornvale.
You long to make your father and mother proud."
Edwin's throat tightened. He had never spoken that to anyone.
"Tell no one of this," Mauren said. "Not of these beasts. Not of this morning. Not of me." The words were calm, and yet carried an unspoken weight, a warning woven into their softness.
Benard found his voice first. "And why should we-?"
Mauren's eyes flicked toward him. Not threatening, simply tired.
"Because some truths are dangerous," he said. "And the world soon will have more of them than it can bear."
He gave them a final, almost fatherly nod.
"Go on to Tydoria, lads. Do good where you can. Be better than the world that waits for you." Just like that, he turned and walked into the trees.
The massive Howlers followed him, their hulking forms bowing low, like hounds to a quiet master.
Within moments, all of them faded into the forest's shadow.
Edwin stood trembling in the morning sun, sword weak in his hand. Roland pressed a cloth to his bleeding arm. Benard muttered a curse under his breath.
"We must have that looked at the moment we arrive in Tydoria." Edwin said helping Roland to mount his horse.
The morning mist drifted softly across the Crownway, carrying no sign that death had nearly taken them.
And yet Edwin felt it, that something had shifted in the world. Something old.
He mounted his horse with shaking hands, Benard joined Roland on his horse. They hoped they will find Glimmer down the road.
None of them spoke for a long while.
At last Roland whispered, "Edd… who or what in the Creator's name was that man?" Edwin looked to the forest on their left, but Mauren had vanished into it.
"I don't know," he said.
"But he wasn't lying when he said this world's changing."