It was a fine morning.
Birds sang sweet melodies across the sky, their voices blending with the distant lowing of cattle. The river flowed in graceful twists and wide turns, shimmering beneath the golden sun, embraced by the lush green forest that guarded the land like a silent sentinel.
At the heart of it all stood Count of Sterling — prosperous, radiant, alive.
Laughter drifted through the streets. Though the people hurried from one task to another, there was no tension in their rush — only joy.
Flower garlands were strung across rooftops. Silk banners fluttered from wooden balconies. The scent of fresh jasmine and marigold filled the air.
It felt like a festival.
Near the town square, a group of middle aged men worked carefully with flower strings.
"Hey, tie it properly!" one man called out, adjusting a garland.
"It's our lord's daughter's wedding.There must not be a single mistake."
Another chuckled.
"This is more than a wedding. It's a celebration for all of us."
A third man nodded eagerly.
"Of course it is. Two generations of blood and rivalry between the Sterling and Bradford families… and it ends because of Lady Yelena's love."
"Yes," another added proudly, lowering his voice with reverence.
"The Bradford family — one of the strongest houses in the our Valedyrn Kingdom. And now… our allied force."
Their laughter blended again with the music played at the town square.
At the Sterling Manor, the atmosphere was even more chaotic than the town square.
Servants rushed along marble corridors carrying silk fabrics, jewel cases, trays of perfumes, and golden ornaments.
The chandeliers had been polished until they reflected the morning light like scattered stars.
Every corner of the manor whispered preparation.
Inside the bridal chamber, however, the chaos softened into warmth.
Lady Yelena Sterling sat before a grand mirror framed in carved ivory.
Sunlight streamed through tall windows, touching her face like a blessing.
Her long hair was being carefully braided with pearls and delicate white flowers. A gown of silver-white silk flowed around her like moonlight resting upon snow.
The servants surrounding her could not hide their admiration.
"My lady," one of them said while adjusting the jeweled hairpiece,
"you are so beautiful today that even angels in heaven would feel ashamed to stand beside you."
The other maids burst into giggles.
Yelena laughed softly, her cheeks warming with color.
"Stop it," she said gently, though her smile betrayed her happiness.
Another servant leaned closer, fastening the final clasp of her necklace.
"We've heard many stories about your fiancé, my lady. His victories, his intelligence, his charm… But we wish to hear about him from you."
Yelena's reflection changed — softer, distant, almost dreamy.
"It was when I joined the Central Academy of Valedyrn," she began quietly.
"On the first day ceremony… I was standing among the students, nervous and lost in the crowd. And then I saw him."
Her fingers curled slightly in her lap.
"Our eyes met. Just for a moment. But it felt as if the world grew quiet around us. As if… something had shifted."
One of the maids gasped dramatically. "Love at first sight?"
Yelena lowered her gaze, shy but smiling. "Perhaps."
"Oooooh!" the servants teased, leaning closer and pressing against her shoulders playfully. "What a lovely love story!"
"Stop it!" Yelena protested, laughing now, trying to push them away gently.
A sudden blast of trumpets tore through the peaceful morning.
The sound rolled across county of Sterling like thunder — bold, triumphant, impossible to ignore.
Inside the bridal chamber, Yelena froze.
Her eyes widened.
"He's here!" one of the maids gasped.
Without another word, Yelena gathered her skirts and rushed toward the tall window, her bridesmaids following in excited chaos.
Below, the Manor gates had opened.
Through them rode Adrian Bradford.
He sat tall atop a magnificent black warhorse, its armor gleaming beneath the sun. Adrian wore a tailored white ceremonial suit trimmed with silver embroidery, the fabric fitting his broad frame with effortless nobility. His dark hair moved gently with the wind, and his sharp features were calm yet radiant.
He looked every bit the heir of the powerful Bradford House.
The people cheered as drums and trumpets surrounded him. Banners of Bradford and Sterling waved side by side for the first time in two generations.
Adrian's eyes searched the manor windows.
They sparkled. Not with conquest.
But with longing.
Yelena pressed her hand against the glass, breath catching softly in her chest. A smile bloomed across her face — hopeful, innocent, full of dreams.
The bridesmaids squealed in delight behind her.
"He's even more handsome than the rumors!"
"My lady, look at the way he searches for you!"
Yelena could not look away.
But elsewhere…
Inside a darker carriage behind the parade rode Duke John Bradford, Lord of the Bradford House.
Beside him sat his mistress, Aasha Bradford — elegant, sharp-eyed, dressed in deep crimson silk.
John's expression was not joyful.
It was calculating.
"This is all because of your son," John muttered coldly. "All my plans… ruined."
Aasha tilted her head slightly. "You wished to marry him into the Harrington family."
"Yes," John replied sharply. "The Harrington alliance would have secured political dominance over the eastern territories. Instead, he chose this… countryside count Sterling's girl."
His eyes narrowed.
Aasha studied him carefully. "And yet, you accepted."
A slow, thin smile curved across John's lips.
"Yes."
He leaned back, folding his hands.
"Even this countryside hides and powerful that even annhilated the powerful barbarian tribe, The Varkhals. That is why our families have fought for two generations."
Aasha's gaze sharpened.
"So this marriage…"
"…is merely acquisition," John finished calmly.
His voice dropped lower.
"Once everything is legally tied to Bradford… I will crush what remains of Sterling."
Aasha smirked faintly.
"You truly despise them."
"Who would love a countryside bumpkin family?"
John scoffed.
"But no matter. Once I obtain what I need… they will fall."
At the grand entrance of Sterling Manor stood count Richard Sterling, Lord of the Sterling House.
But his face filled with worries.
As he knew the kind of man John Bradford was.
He knew his ambition, the greed, the hunger that had fueled two generations of bloodshed between their families.
Still he accepted this marriage proposal only because of his sweet little girl's wish.
Her wish to marry her love.
The Bradford procession came to a halt.
Adrian stepped down first from his warhorse, boots landing firmly upon Sterling soil.
Then the carriage doors opened.
John Bradford emerged — regal, imposing, cold.
Beside him, Aasha Bradford descended gracefully, her crimson attire striking against the pale manor walls.
For a brief moment, silence settled between the two patriarchs.
Richard forced a measured smile.
"Welcome, son-in-law," he said warmly, though tension lingered beneath his tone.
"This whole land feels more delighted by your arrival."
Adrian bowed respectfully. "No, father-in-law. It is my honor to become your son-in-law… and the husband of your daughter."
Before Richard could respond—
"Not yet."
John's voice cut through the air.
Adrian stiffened.
A subtle ripple passed through the gathered nobles.
"Please,Father…" Adrian said quietly, tension threading through his voice.
"Restrain yourself."
John did not look at him immediately. His gaze remained fixed on Richard.
The air thickened.
For one long second, it felt as though the old war might reignite right there at the manor gates.
Richard's jaw tightened.
But he would not allow today to break.
Instead, he stepped forward calmly.
"The groom should prepare himself,"
Richard said evenly.
"The ceremony will begin shortly."
His voice carried authority.
The tension eased — barely.
Adrian inclined his head and turned toward the manor.
But before following the attendants, he stopped beside his father.
"Father," he said softly, almost pleading. "As your son… this is my final request to you. Please… do nothing that would affect this marriage."
There was sincerity in his eyes.
John looked at him — not as a father looks at a son, but as a ruler studies a piece on a chessboard.
Adrian turned and walked away without waiting for an answer.
And John's eyes drifted toward the manor — toward the lands beyond it.
Inside the bridal chamber, laughter still lingered in the air.
Yelena and her bridesmaids were teasing one another when the door opened gently.
Lord Richard Sterling stepped inside.
Immediately, the bridesmaids straightened and greeted him respectfully before slipping out one by one, closing the door behind them.
Richard looked at his daughter.
For a moment… he forgot politics. He forgot war. He forgot Bradford.
All he saw was his little girl.
"You are beautiful," he said softly. "Just like your mother."
Yelena's smile trembled.
"She would have been so happy to see you today…If she were alive"
His voice faltered slightly.
The mention of his late wife stirred a quiet ache between them. Yelena's eyes shimmered.
Richard noticed immediately.
He forced a lighter tone. "I am a fool to bring that up now."
Yelena shook her head gently. "No, Father. She would be happy."
They shared a soft, bittersweet smile.
Then—
The trumpets sounded again.
It was time.
The grand doors opened.
Yelena walked forward, her arm linked with her father's. The red carpet stretched before her like destiny itself. Flower petals rained gently from above. The people of Sterling cheered, their joy overflowing.
Inside the church of hope,
At the altar an old priest from the church of hope, and an overseer who acts as an witness in marriage done among the noble families.
Along side, Adrian Bradford stood waiting.
When he saw her… he forgot to breathe.
She was radiant.
As if light itself followed her steps.
Richard placed her hand into Adrian's.
For a brief second, the two men exchanged a look.
A silent agreement.
Let this end the war.
The old priest lifted the holy book.
"Under the blessing of our Goddess of Hope," he declared solemnly,
"Adrian Bradford, do you take Yelena Sterling as your partner in life?"
Adrian's eyes never left Yelena.
"With pleasure."
A faint blush colored her cheeks.
The overseer turned to her.
"Yelena Sterling, do you take Adrian Bradford as your husband?"
She swallowed softly.
"Yes."
The crowd erupted in soft applause.
"Then let the rings be exchanged."
Adrian gently took her left hand.
His fingers trembled slightly — not from fear, but from emotion.
The entire people of county leaned forward.
This was the moment. Peace and unity.
An end to two generations of hatred.
And then—
The sky roared.
A massive, mythical axe tore through the air with a deafening crack.
It struck Adrian with catastrophic force.
The impact shattered the wooden stage beneath him.
And also the old priest shattered into the bits and the overseer flew away by the impact.
His body was thrown aside, collapsing heavily against the altar.
The sound of bone, wood, and metal colliding echoed like thunder.
Blood splattered across Yelena's white gown.
Her mind went blank. The ring slipped from Adrian's fingers.
He did not move.
Screams exploded across the crowd.
"What the hell just happened?!"
John Bradford roared in fury. Aasha Bradford shrieked.
The people scattered in panic.
Richard Sterling spun around, heart pounding, searching for the attacker—
And then he saw him.
A towering figure stood beyond the broken stage.
A black coat draped over his massive frame.
The fabric stretched across broad shoulders.
An tribal tattoo,
A jagged broken circle with three diagonal claw slashes crossing it and a split fang at the center.
Sharp spike-like edges rise from the bottom.
Slowly, deliberately, he pulled back his hood.
Richard's eyes widened.
"The Varkhal…" he whispered.
That Varkhal roared,
"GRAVEREAVER....."
The axe embedded deep in shattered wood, suddenly trembled.
With a violent pull of invisible force, it ripped free and flew back through the air.
The Varkhal caught it effortlessly.
He swung it once.
The sheer force sending a wave of wind that knocked nearby guards off balance before resting it upon his shoulder.
His gaze settled on Richard.
"I came," he said menacingly, voice carrying across the chaos, "to collect what belongs to me.".