If a traveler were to arrive at the port of Bren, located in the far east of the continent of Sten San, they would undoubtedly be greeted by a pleasant sea breeze, heralding the mild climate of the port town of Carth. As soon as our traveler sets foot on land, they will find themselves before a magnificent marble statue depicting a robust knight with a long spear in his right hand, pointing toward the horizon. Once past the pier, standing at the feet of the lancer Bren and heading north, the traveler will arrive at the entrance of a paved road flanked by the towering walls of massive shipyards. To the west, this road leads to the imperial road and the continent's main trade routes, while to the east it merges with Carth's main street, the Street of Swordsmen, a road over 50 feet wide that splits the town in two, with hundreds of colorful shops, taverns, and inns lining both sides. Among these, on the eastern side of the road, there is one in particular, no more beautiful nor more famous than the others, whose wooden sign reads: "The Sleepy Bard Tavern."
Behind the counter, our Bard — a tall man in his thirties, whose disheveled brown hair covers a furrowed brow while his beard shadows his chin and cheekbones, leaving few parts of his face uncovered — was just finishing filling a mug of Dark Wizard ale when the doors slammed open, revealing a slender young man whose angular face was shadowed by a pointed black hat decorated with a small green feather.
"They've arrived," he said worriedly to the Bard, not sparing even a glance at the few patrons seated at the tavern's low tables.
"Slam the door one more time, Ges, and—" At that moment, the doors swung again, straining the creaking hinges, and with a loud crack as they hit the walls, two figures appeared in the entrance.
"Captain, we have visitors," announced the taller figure with the fair complexion typical of the region, while the shorter man went to sit at the counter, looking at Ges with surprise.
"You're late, Luck," exclaimed Gesler triumphantly.
"Never thought the day would come when the rookie would beat us," said the man seated at the counter, whose one eye now fixed on the figure who had arrived with him.
From one of the tables, a voice rose: "My beer, Bard."
"Get it yourself, Cav, we've got things to do," Gesler replied.
The man at the table spat on the ground and hurled some insults at the young man, then closed the book he was reading, took the mug from the tray on the counter, and sat back down, looking bored.
Meanwhile, from the kitchen emerged a girl the same age as the young man, with long blonde hair flowing down her back, serving a bland stew to the last customers of the morning. Once they finished the meager meal, the innkeeper led them to the exit and turned the sign to indicate the tavern was closed until evening.
"Jey, go call Marth and Valor," the captain ordered the innkeeper girl. He hadn't even finished his sentence before the girl was already ascending the spiral stairs to the inn's rooms.
"Time to face the gallows, eh captain?" asked Luck.
"The gallows… No, that's a glorious death. For deserters, a dagger in the stomach in jail is more than enough," added Lothar bitterly, his single cobalt-blue eye now examining the captain's impassive face.
"Today's visitor may surprise you," commented the captain.
"Fen, don't tell me that—" cried Jey, alarmed, returning from the rooms followed by two visibly worried figures. She didn't have time to finish her sentence before the doors slowly opened.
Annoyed, Jey shouted, "Can't you read? The tavern is closed." But as the figures crossed the threshold, her words died in her mouth.
Four tall figures dressed in raven-black imperial cloaks entered the tavern, escorting a grim hooded man, dressed in a light brown leather tunic embroidered on the chest with the imperial emblem: three raven falcons flying above a bloodstained battlefield.
In a flash, Luck drew his twin daggers, Jey notched an arrow on her curved bow, Lothar reached for the hilt of the sword still sheathed, while Gesler had already drawn his. Marth and Valor, having come down from the rooms unarmed, could only recoil in fear.
The silence weighed like a mountain ready to collapse. Every glance exchanged was a dagger cutting through the air.
"Weapons down, soldiers," barked the captain before the situation spiraled out of control. Reluctantly, everyone fought the hatred and rage stirred by that symbol they once loved, now bearer of memories filled with death and betrayal, and lowered their weapons — only Gesler hesitated.
"Now, soldier," roared the captain.
Trust in the captain made the young man sheathe his weapon, though his fiery eyes met those of his commander in a glance full of emotion — a glance to which the captain could only respond by lowering his own, fully aware of how much the boy had lost because of that symbol.
With all weapons lowered, the hooded man spoke with an ironic tone: "Is this how you greet your savior, Fenrir the Bard?"
Spits flew onto the floor from all around.
"Sit down, Myles," the captain urged, serving the man a Dark Wizard ale.
"What are you doing here?" growled Gesler, seething with rage.
"So, your captain told you nothing?" replied Myles.
Inquisitive eyes turned toward the Bard, who remained silent.
"They say the higher you fly, the harder the fall. That's exactly what I see in you. If only the empire's citizens knew what had become of the Lightning Heralds, the elite strike squad of the empire, undefeated in battle — oh, how they would laugh. Jesters would grow rich at your expense, composing so many ballads that with your lute, you wouldn't manage to play half before dying, captain. The Lightning Heralds, the Fearless, isolated from the world, in a continent not your own, now afraid even of your own shadow. Don't you want to return to old glories? Don't you want your names to resound across the world once again?"
"You took those names from us, took everything. Leave," growled Luck, tired of the man's hollow mockery.
"I suppose then I'll have to send the empire's Hounds here to Carth, to finish what they started. Rest assured, I'll make sure your deaths aren't slow — we'll start with your families in Lapis, and only when you have nothing left to lose, only then will you be granted death, which will come as a blessing. By the way, Gesler, I hear Shirley is growing up quite well…"
At that name, Lothar and Luck lunged forward, trying to strike the man, but were both blocked by the imperial cloaks, while the captain had barely managed to restrain Gesler, albeit reluctantly.
"The proposal, Myles — now," the Bard snapped angrily.
"Fine. Your orders are as follows: join the God-Eaters, open the gates of Dark Castle, and bring us the head of King Ecbert the Indecisive. You'll be under the direct command of the Spring Fox. To avoid attention and questions about high ranks, you'll all be demoted to recruits — or perhaps I should say promoted to recruits, considering the whole world believes you dead, or missing for the more romantic. That's how it must remain. You'll use false names and speak to no one of your past. Only I, the emperor, the grand council, and the elite of the imperial cloaks know of this offer. Only your captain will be made a corporal to ensure some formal command over your unit."
"The Anaster campaign — the graveyard of the war principles and of the blitzkrieg so desired by the old emperor, as well as the tomb of countless imperial squads. I thought Caltrax's retreat from the front marked the empire's definitive defeat. Instead, it was merely a change of guard. May Osiris take you… dying of cold and hardship for a campaign we don't care about and cannot win, or being slaughtered in our homes with no one ever knowing — is that really the choice we're left with?" Luck said bitterly, disappointment darkening the faces of his companions.
"The new commander is unlike his predecessors," Myles resumed. "Appointed by Kitsune herself as her mortal herald after more than a hundred years since the last, in just two months he reclaimed Lamp Paros from the Kvedian rebels with barely 400 men. Equally brilliant and mad, he's the kind of man who wouldn't hesitate to ask a soldier to bring him the entire ocean in the palm of their hand — and yet, he enjoys the blind loyalty of his troops. Those fools would follow him unarmed into Veles' halls. Imagine now what a man of such caliber could do with the legendary company of the storm god Zephyrus at his side — even if diminished — and with half of the First Crimson Twin Legion, tired of guarding the nearly impregnable walls of the capital and dealing with the nobles' whims. These two factions, joined by Valar's irregulars, the Third Legion, and the remnants of the Sixth he already commands, will give the Spring Fox all the cards needed to lead the empire to a historic triumph."
"Or a historic failure," added Marth, skeptical.
"Enough," snapped Myles. "I'm tired of discussing. The offer stays on the table until tomorrow, when I set sail for the capital. If you're willing to accept, be at Bren's port at the first rooster's crow. Otherwise, be prepared to face the consequences of your decision." And just as he entered, without any ceremony, the imperial man left the tavern with his entourage.
"Fen, you're not seriously considering his words, are you?" began Gesler.
"Boy, do you really think they'd come to us with this offer if the situation weren't desperate? This campaign has drained the empire of men and resources for years. The best solution would be to withdraw from that godforsaken land. But the emperor has made it a personal challenge — to succeed where his father failed. And so he's even sent half the only legion defending the capital, as well as asking ghosts of the past long forgotten by history for help," Fenrir concluded.
Disheartened, Jey spoke up, "The emperor hasn't considered that we're not who we used to be. Zephyrus hasn't spoken to me in years. I can barely hit a still apple from 100 feet with my arrows nowadays."
"And there are only eight of us," added Valor.
"Also, even if this commander is truly as he's been described, and Lady Tyche grants us a lucky dice roll letting us take Dark Castle — what's to stop the empire from pointing a knife at our throats again?" asked Luck.
A deep voice thundered from the other side of the room, "Fools. We've waited seven years for an opportunity like this. A chance for revenge. Do you really want to keep living like this? Believed dead by our friends? Believed dead by our families? Giving up isn't in my blood. Never will be. How could I face Julia and our fallen comrades in Osiris' great hall?"
Cavendish cleared his throat and continued, "No, I won't back down out of fear of a measly knife when I see before me the chance to finally get close to that rabid dog. Every night for these long seven years, I've relived the same scene, torturing myself for not acting differently. I've come close to ending it all many times. But now, finally, my sword has a target again."
Continuing Cavendish's speech, Lothar added, "And back then, we were young and inexperienced, too caught up in our own success to see the empire's schemes. This time, we'll make sure to stay a step ahead of our enemies — starting with this offer, which will let us take the first step toward revenge, drawing close once again to the empire's heart."
"And maybe we'll finally find out who gave the order that night," concluded Marth. "Just like a hand cannot act without the mind, a dog doesn't move without the master's command."
Finally, after hearing everyone's opinions and struggling to find the strength to pose the fateful question to his companions — to his friends — Fenrir spoke with solemn voice:
"I know I have no right to ask you this again, but… would you follow me once more into battle? Not for the empire's hunger for conquest, but for us, and for our loved ones?"
A noisy silence fell over the room. A whirlwind of emotions and thoughts overwhelmed everyone's mind — excitement, fear, relief, anger, thirst for vengeance. No one was certain of the answer they wanted to give.
And yet, the answer was the same for all:
"Yes, sir."