The morning air was crisp, tinged with the scent of pine and frost as Sol stepped from the palace gates. Captain Jareth waited by the escort horses, his armor catching the early sun, bronze and steel gleaming. The veteran's expression was calm but alert, scanning the city gates as if expecting trouble at any moment.
"Prince Sol," Jareth said, bowing slightly. "The northern pass can be treacherous. Bandits, wild beasts, and unpredictable weather. If you wish, I can lead the way, keeping to the safer trails."
Sol mounted his horse, the reins cool under his hands. 'Safer trails might be predictable,' he thought. 'But sometimes, predictability is a trap. I need to test my instincts from the start.' He allowed himself a small smile. "Lead the way. And Jareth… keep your eyes open. Anything unusual, tell me immediately."
Jareth raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Understood, Your Highness."
The city faded behind them, replaced by rolling hills, dense forests, and winding rivers glinting like silver threads in the sunlight. The path to the northern mountains was narrow, winding between jagged rocks and cliffs. Travelers rarely dared this route alone, but Sol knew every kingdom had its dangers, and caution alone would not ensure safety.
Hours passed as they followed the trail, the rhythmic clip of hooves the only sound for miles. Sol's eyes scanned the treeline, noting the subtle signs of wildlife and movement. 'Tracks here, slightly offset from the main trail… someone—or something—has passed through recently,' he observed silently. 'Could be hunters, could be bandits… best to be ready.'
"Not often do we see young princes travel without a full guard," Jareth remarked, glancing at Sol. "Most are cloistered, protected at every turn. Your Highness is… bold, or perhaps reckless."
Sol shrugged lightly. "Bold, perhaps. But caution without initiative achieves nothing. I prefer to see the world, understand it, and act with knowledge rather than fear."
Jareth chuckled softly. "Wise words. Let's hope the bandits—or worse—agree."
The warning proved timely. Just before the sun dipped toward the western ridges, a cloud of dust erupted from the side trail ahead. Sol raised a hand, signaling Jareth to halt. From the underbrush emerged three figures, their faces masked, weapons glinting in the light.
"Looks like your 'initiative' has found us," one sneered, stepping forward.
Sol's fingers twitched, instinctively hovering near the concealed sword beneath his cloak. 'Not yet,' he reminded himself. 'This is a test of strategy, not brute force.' He assessed their stance and numbers quickly. Two held short swords, one a polearm. Their movements were coordinated, but sloppy enough that a skilled observer could exploit gaps.
"Greetings," Sol said, his voice calm, betraying nothing of his internal calculations. "I am merely passing through. There is no need for conflict."
The lead bandit laughed. "Passing through? On your own? That's a laugh. Hand over anything of value, and we might let you leave with your head intact."
Jareth shifted slightly, placing himself slightly ahead of Sol. "Your Highness—"
"Stand down," Sol interrupted, eyes narrowing. 'No need to worry him yet. Let me see what they're capable of.' He drew a slow, deliberate breath. 'Control, precision, timing.'
The first bandit lunged at Jareth, swinging his short sword. Sol moved instinctively, stepping forward and intercepting the strike with a small hand signal to distract the attackers. Jareth barely parried, and Sol noticed an opening: the polearm wielder had overextended in anticipation of a strike from the right.
With a swift step and a controlled movement, Sol grabbed a loose stone and flung it directly at the polearm wielder's knee. The man stumbled, giving Jareth an opening to push forward and disarm the first bandit.
The last two attackers hesitated, startled by the sudden coordination. Sol didn't give them time to recover. He drew himself up straight, projecting a calm authority. "Leave now, or you will regret it." His tone carried weight—not authority of title alone, but an unspoken certainty that made even seasoned bandits pause.
The one remaining bandit swung aggressively, but Sol sidestepped, his movements fluid, precise. He feigned a step forward, then drew back, and the bandit tripped over a root, sprawling into the dirt.
Jareth exhaled, lowering his sword slightly. "Remarkable… Your Highness."
Sol sheathed his sword under the cloak, heart still steady. 'No need to reveal the blade yet,' he thought. 'They were unworthy of its power. But I can feel it responding, eager. Patience is still key.'
The sun rose high above the mountains, casting short shadows across the path. The northern peaks loomed ahead, jagged and imposing. Snow dusted their tips even this late in the year, a reminder that weather alone could kill as surely as any enemy.
As they continued, Jareth spoke quietly. "Your Highness, the northern pass narrows as we approach the Serpent Ridge. Ambushes are common there. Eboncrest scouts have been known to patrol these routes disguised as bandits."
Sol nodded, absorbing the information. 'Serpent Ridge… the perfect first test. Terrain advantage favors those who know the land. But I will know it better than they expect.'
As their long journey continued, Sol allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. He was no longer the boy who had simply trained and dreamed of power. He was the prince, the envoy, the bearer of the Heaven Splitting Dragon Blade. The weight of responsibility and potential pressed upon him, but it was a pressure he welcomed.
'The world stretches out before me,' he thought. 'Eight stages, countless dangers, and unknown mysteries. I will step forward with eyes wide open and resolve unshakably. The path to Eboncrest begins now—and I will not falter.'
Tomorrow, the first true battle of this journey would begin.