Two months passed, and Reagan’s army stood ready for the grand assault. Before his 50,000-strong force, Reagan declared, “Soon we march toward Westwood, claiming it as our stronghold. Then, we’ll surge forth to the capital and overthrow Jorak!”

  The men erupted in a thunderous “Yaaaaaaaaaaa!” Reagan paused, his voice taking on a hint of slyness. “Jorak thinks he has nothing to fear from the tunnel dwellers… Perhaps he’s right…” The army booed in unison.

  Reagan’s grin returned. “Or maybe he’s dead wrong!” The men’s cheers echoed across the land.

  Sir O’Reilly approached, clapping. “Exceptional speech, Reagan. You possess the leader’s spark.” Reagan raised his hands in humility. “Please, Sir O’Reilly, I’m but a humble servant of the gods.”

  Lord Norton emerged from the shadows, eagerness burning in his eyes. “I long to claim Westwood.”

  Reagan’s calm demeanor soothed him. “Patience, Lord Norton. Patience.”

  Reagan’s cousin, Doherty, called out, “Lord Reagan, may I have a private word?” Reagan nodded, and they stepped aside.

  Doherty’s voice took on a hint of hurt. “I’ve stood by you since the beginning. Now, you’d replace me with some rogue knight?”

  Reagan’s smile reassured him. “Doherty, I haven’t forgotten. You share my vision. But the gods themselves chose Sir O’Reilly to lead alongside me. I had a dream; they guided me to find him.”

  Doherty’s curiosity piqued. “The gods spoke to you directly?” Reagan confirmed, “Yes.”

  Doherty wondered, “Why not me? Why didn’t the gods choose me?” Reagan’s arms enveloped Doherty.

  “Perhaps the gods have greater plans for you. You never know.” With those words, Reagan departed to attend other meetings within the hideout.

  WESTWOOD

  In Westwood, the White god’s assaults had intensified, forcing citizens to venture out only under the cover of night. But yesterday’s surprise attack shattered the brief respite, claiming numerous lives.

  Sir Clinton entered the care room, bearing a body. Chirurgeon Wilson swiftly attended to the wounded, his focus unwavering. “Gareth, hot water, quickly!” he directed.

  Gareth nodded, hastening to fetch the water. “Okay!”

  Across the room, Lady Attendant Megan tended to female victims of the White god’s brutality.

  Lord Weah entered, surveying the chaos. His gaze somber, he spoke, “If we survive this, we’ll be the realm’s most resilient souls.”

  Sir Clinton’s concern was palpable. “M’lord, we can’t endure this existence.”

  Lord Weah’s expression turned sorrowful. “Do we have a choice?”

  Sir Clinton pressed on. “M’lord, still no word from Sir Barrys?”

  Lord Weah shook his head. “No response. I’ve ceased sending messages.”

  Sir Clinton’s frustration grew. “The struggle is real. We’re truly alone.”

  Lord Weah offered solace, his voice steady. “We’ll face this together, as one. We won’t falter. Have faith.”

  With those words, Lord Weah departed, leaving the caregivers to their noble work.

  IN THE CAPITAL

  Grand Advisor Liam entered the courtroom, where the Knight King sat alone, sipping wine. Liam bowed respectfully. “Your Grace, the town of Lin coin payment remains outstanding. They claim Lin Haven’s Castle is haunted, and fear prevents them from sending the coins.”

  The Knight King, visibly intoxicated, slurred, “Get on to it.”

  Liam swiftly acted, recognizing the Knight King’s inebriated state. He quickly summoned a group of skilled young knights: Sir Edric the Dark Knight and lord commander of the realm, Sir Barrys, Sir Leon, Sir Gregory, and Sir Barrow.

  Upon gathering, Liam briefed them. “The town of Lin coins, minted by the Great Bank, are stored in Lin Haven Castle. However, the town claims the castle is haunted. We urgently need these coins to fund food projects, as scarcity grips the capital. I charge you five to investigate and retrieve the coins.”

  Sir Gregory raised an eyebrow. “Why include Sir Edric, Liam? We can handle this.”

  Liam’s expression turned grave. “No time for this. You five are our finest young knights. Speed is crucial at this moment.”

  Sir Barrys reassured Liam. “We’ll bring the coins back, worry not.”

  Sir Barrow urged action. “No time to waste; let’s depart.”

  Sir Leon exchanged a confident smile with Sir Gregory, while Sir Edric remained silent.

  Liam addressed Sir Edric directly. “Sir Edric, we need you.”

  Sir Edric nodded resolutely. “We shall retrieve the coins safely, I promise.”

  With determination, the five knights set out for the town of lin.

  As they journeyed to the town of Lin, the five knights rode their horses in silence. Sir Barrow broke the stillness, his voice carrying across the landscape. “So, this is our first mission together, eh?”

  Sir Barrys replied, “Yes, but I’ve had missions with Sir Edric.”

  Sir Gregory snorted, his tone dismissive. “Nobody cares about your past missions with Sir Edric.”

  Sir Barrys countered, “Are you joking? We literally determined the north’s fate.”

  Sir Gregory turned away, his displeasure evident.

  Sir Leon intervened, his words warm. “I heard about your heroics in Windsdale, alongside Sir Dwayne and Sir Edric. The north owes you gratitude.”

  Sir Barrys deflected praise. “Thanks should go to Sir Dwayne; he brought reinforcements.”

  Sir Leon’s expression turned somber. “Sadly, we’ve lost a great knight.”

  Sir Barrys nodded, his voice laced with reverence. “A great knight indeed.”

  Sir Barrow added, his words heartfelt, “He was a hero who returned to save his hometown Windsdale when needed the most.”

  Sir Barrys felt Sir Barrow’s words deeply, his heart swelling with emotion.

  Sir Gregory suddenly spurred his horse forward, his voice tinged with malice as he stared at Sir Edric. “Too bad Sir Dwayne was murdered.”

  The group fell silent, Sir Edric’s expression unreadable, his silence a palpable force.

  Night descended, casting a dark veil over the landscape. Sir Edric continued onward, but the other four knights halted, weary from the day’s ride. Sir Barrow called out, “Haa Hooi! Easy there, Sir Edric. We’ve ridden all day. Let’s make camp here.”

  Sir Edric reined in his horse, his gaze meeting Sir Barrow’s. “Did you not hear Liam? We must be swift and report back instantly.”

  Sir Barrys, standing nearby, intervened. “A break is always needed, Sir Edric. Who knows what dangers await us at that haunted castle?”

  Sir Edric nodded, guiding his horse to join the others.

  As they made camp, Sir Leon and Sir Gregory sat together, while Sir Barrys and Sir Barrow paired off. Sir Edric sat alone, his presence commanding respect.

  Sir Barrow kindled a robust fire, its flames dancing high into the night. “Someone should tell us a story,” he suggested, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Sir Barrys, you’re from the West. I’ve heard Westerners are masterful storytellers.”

  Sir Barrys chuckled. “You’re right, but I’m not the best. Sir Cole, our old friend, was the true storyteller. He’d regale us with tales back in Westwood.”

  Sir Barrow’s curiosity was piqued. “What do you mean by ‘us’?”

  Sir Barrys’ expression turned nostalgic. “We were three orphans, growing up together.”

  Sir Barrow’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Sir Barrys nodded. “Yes…”

  Sir Barrow urged him on. “Go on, tell us.”

  Sir Barrys laughed, settling into his tale. “If you insist…”

  The fire crackled, casting a warm glow as Sir Barrys began his story, his voice warm and nostalgic. “We were three orphans who grew up together - Rogan, Gareth, and me. I owe a debt of gratitude to Chirurgeon Breaus and Sir Cole, who raised me as one of their own.”

  Sir Barrow leaned in, intrigued. “Tell us about Rogan and Gareth.”

  Sir Barrys chuckled. “Gareth was my friend, and we both dreamed of becoming knights. But Gareth’s love for food surpassed his passion for knighthood. He even registered for the melee and fought Sir Edric in the qualifying rounds.”

  Sir Barrys laughed, staring into the fire.

  Sir Barrow asked, “What about Rogan?”

  “Rogan was a skilled warrior,” Sir Barrys replied. “But his love for money consumed him. Everyone called him Rogan the Master of Coin. He was popular back in Westwood.”

  Sir Barrow inquired, “Did Rogan follow you to the capital when you became a knight?”

  Sir Barrys shook his head. “No, he’s in the Northern parts now, living a good life in Windsdale. Gareth followed me to the capital instead.”

  Sir Leon spoke up, “I think I met Gareth once. He looked clueless and overweight.”

  Sir Barrys laughed. “He isn’t clueless, but yes, he’s overweight.”

  A moment of silence passed as they gazed into the fire.

  Sir Edric broke the silence. “What about Miley? How did you know her?”

  “We grew up together in Westwood,” Sir Barrys replied. “She was Chirurgeon Breaus’ apprentice. Sir Cole was friends with Gallagher, Miley’s father.”

  Sir Edric’s interest piqued. “How were they friends?”

  “Gallagher was a blacksmith,” Sir Barrys explained. “He crafted swords for Sir Cole.”

  Another silence fell.

  Sir Barrow said, “The Potts brothers, why don’t you tell us a story?”

  Sir Leon hesitated. “What stories do we have to tell?”

  Sir Barrow encouraged, “Come on, everyone has a side story.”

  Sir Edric turned to Sir Gregory. “Who is Valery Potts?”

  Sir Leon and Sir Gregory exchanged shocked glances.

  Sir Edric continued, “I met Valery. He said he’s nothing but will become something great.”

  Sir Gregory spat, “Valery is our bastard brother, an outcast. He’s nothing and forever will be nothing.”

  Sir Edric corrected, “Half-brother.”

  Sir Leon nodded. “Yes, half-brother.”

  Sir Edric’s gaze narrowed. “Sir Gregory, you called Valery ‘nothing.’ I’ve heard those words before.”

  Sir Barrow’s curiosity rose. “Really, tell us more, Sir Edric.”

  The group fell silent once more.

  Sir Edric’s voice then dropped to a introspective tone. “Nothing makes you something. I saw my family killed before my eyes as a little boy. I was the only survivor. Sir Dwayne took me as his own since then, taught me the way of the sword.”

  His gaze drifted into the flames. “I used to think I was cursed for being dark, till now people refer to me as Sir Edric the Dark Knight. There were Darklins thousands of years ago; we’re not extinct. Now my name spreads across the realm – some fear me, some respect.”

  Sir Gregory injected, his voice laced with malice, “And some hate you.”

  Sir Edric faced him, his expression unwavering. “Yes… To be great, you need to be hated.”

  Sir Gregory sneered. “Pathetic. You’re a freak, and trust me, a freak wouldn’t last long around.”

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  Another moment of silence passed, the tension between them palpable.

  Sir Leon broke the silence. “You know, the worst thing about being knights as twins is that one of us has to fail for the other to achieve. That’s not an easy thing.”

  Sir Barrow nodded. “You have a point.”

  Sir Barrys stared deeply into the fire. “Sir Barrow, you haven’t told us a story.”

  Sir Barrow scratched his head. “Well, I don’t think I have a story to tell. Life’s always been easy for me. My father never put heavy pressure and expectations on me.”

  Sir Barrys countered, “But you’re the firstborn son of Sir Ryan a knight of the High Table. Someday you’ll take his place.”

  Sir Barrow shrugged. “My house, Halton, has always had it easy. If I told my father today I quit being a knight and ventured onto another thing, he’d still love and support me. There are no expectations; I don’t know what it’s like to live hard.”

  Sir Barrys reflected, “Well, it’s not bad to live without expectations. I once lived with expectations when Chirurgeon Breaus died; it weighed heavily on my heart.”

  Sir Barrow’s eyes locked onto Sir Barrys, empathy etched on his face. “How sad.”

  The wind blew, and the fire crackled, shifting positions.

  As the night wore on, the others drifted off to sleep, exhausted. But Sir Edric remained awake, kneeling beside the fire, his gaze lost in the flames as he thought more of the past.

  THE NEXT MORNING

  The four knights slept in, weary from the previous night’s revelations. But Sir Edric was already astride his horse, Soul Snatcher, before dawn broke. With a sharp command, he spurred his mount to neigh loudly, shattering the morning calm.

  Sir Barrow, startled by the sudden noise, sprang awake first. He quickly roused the others, shaking off the remnants of sleep.

  “Time to move,” Sir Barrow called out, his voice crisp.

  The knights hastily prepared, saddling their horses and gathering their gear. As they mounted, Sir Edric led the way, Soul Snatcher prancing eagerly beneath him.

  The group fell into formation, following Sir Edric’s lead. The landscape unfolded before them, rolling hills and verdant forests stretching towards the horizon.

  Their destination, the town of Lin, beckoned. The knights rode in silence, lost in their thoughts, the only sound the soft thud of hooves on the earth.

  Sir Edric’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression resolute. Soul Snatcher sensed his rider’s tension, responding with a fluid stride.

  As they journeyed on, the sun climbed higher, casting a golden glow over the landscape. The knights rode, their shadows lengthening behind them.

  They entered the town of Lin, a dignified figure emerged, flanked by a contingent of guards. He introduced himself with a bow.

  “Welcome, noble knights. I am Gildrith, Lord of Lin Haven castle. Your legendary swordsmanship precedes you. It’s an honor to meet you all.”

  Sir Barrys, Sir Gregory, Sir Leon and Sir Barrow nodded in unison, acknowledging the compliment.

  However, Sir Edric remained stern, his focus unwavering. “We have no time to waste, Lord Gildrith. Take us to the supposedly haunted Lin Haven Castle.”

  Gildrith’s expression turned grave. “World-class knights like yourselves shouldn’t fear anything, but beware: the castle is treacherous. None dare enter. Beneath it lies the coin storage. Retrieve the coin and return it to the Knight King in the capital.”

  Sir Gregory smirked confidently. “This should be easy.”

  Gildrith’s eyes lingered on the knights, his voice tinged with concern. “Good luck.”

  With that, he departed with his guards, leaving the five knights to their daunting task.

  The five knights stormed the castle, their armor clanking as they descended the stairs leading to an underground path with caution and vigilance. Beneath the castle, they reached a cryptic juncture: five doors stood before them.

  Sir Edric’s voice rang out, firm and decisive. “One man, one door.”

  With a nod, each knight stepped forward, selecting a door. Sir Barrys, Sir Gregory, Sir Leon, Sir Barrow, and Sir Edric each grasped a rusty handle and pushed open their chosen door.

  As they stepped through, the doors creaked shut behind them, sealing with an ominous clang. The sound echoed through the chamber, and the darkness seemed to swallow each knight whole.

  SIR EDRIC

  As Sir Edric stepped forward, the darkness seemed to coalesce around him. A dark figure materialized, its presence marked by an unsettling, evil laughter.

  “Sir Edric, the Dark Knight… sit,” the voice commanded.

  From nowhere, a chair appeared beside him, as if pushed by an invisible hand. A gust of wind swept Sir Edric off balance, forcing him into the chair. Ropes sprang from the shadows, binding him securely.

  The voice whispered in his ear, its tone dripping with malice. “You couldn’t protect Miley. Why? A great knight like you… Miley is disappointed.”

  The voice cackled, sending shivers down Sir Edric’s spine.

  “Wait… do you want to see Miley?”

  Miley’s figure emerged from the darkness, her eyes locking onto Sir Edric’s. “Edric, my love… You failed to protect me. Why?”

  Sir Edric’s heart sank, but before he could respond, Miley’s face contorted, transforming into a ferocious beast. The creature’s eyes blazed with malevolence.

  “Hahahahahaha!” The beast’s laughter echoed through the chamber, haunting Sir Edric.

  SIR BARRYS

  Meanwhile, Sir Barrys navigated the darkness beyond his door, his footsteps cautious. Suddenly, a fleeting figure darted past him. With lightning reflexes, he slashed his sword through the shadows, only to realize he had struck nothing.

  As he lowered his blade, a faint whimper caught his attention. A little girl sobbed in the corner, her tiny form shrouded in darkness. Sir Barrys approached her slowly, his heart filled with compassion.

  But as he reached out to comfort her, flames erupted from the girl’s head, engulfing Sir Barrys in a blast of heat. His sword clattered to the ground as he stumbled backward.

  The flames danced before him, revealing a haunting vision: Westwood ablaze, Gareth’s tears streaming down his face, and Sir Cole’s life slipping away in a pool of blood.

  A voice pierced the inferno, addressing Sir Barrys. “Ye, Barrys, you have failed. You left us alone to suffer.”

  Sir Barrys turned, his eyes locking onto the speaker. Chirurgeon Breaus stood before him, his gaze stern.

  Sir Barrys’ sweat-drenched face contorted in anguish as he crawled toward Chirurgeon Breaus. But just as he reached out, the Breaus’ form dissipated into thin air.

  Sir Barrys’ cry echoed through the darkness, a haunting lament.

  SIR GREGORY

  As Sir Gregory navigated the shadows, a faint light flickered ahead. The radiance intensified, illuminating the figure of Sir Anfield, his father.

  “Father?” Sir Gregory’s voice trembled with uncertainty.

  Sir Anfield’s voice, laced with a hint of regret, responded, “My son, my firstborn, you emerged from your mother’s womb first. Yet, Leon, your twin brother, shall claim my seat at the high table when I pass.”

  Sir Gregory’s heart sank. “So Leon will be your successor?” he whispered, pain etching his face.

  The figure continued, its tone unyielding. “I love Leon more, Gregory. I am sorry.”

  Sir Gregory’s voice cracked. “Is that what you truly desire, Father?”

  Sir Anfield’s expression turned menacing. He hefted a massive axe, its blade glinting in the eerie light.

  As Sir Gregory watched in horror, his father’s figure began to approach, the axe poised for a deadly strike. Sir Gregory darted to the side, seeking cover.

  But the figure vanished, leaving Sir Gregory shaken and unscathed. The haunting continued, leaving him reeling.

  SIR BARROW

  Sir Barrow traversed the desolate path, his footsteps echoing through the silence. Suddenly, a coin rolled to his side, as if guided by an unseen force.

  “Ah, this must be the store where the coin is kept,” Sir Barrow murmured, his eyes fixed on the glinting metal.

  But his triumph was short-lived. A fierce gust swept in, knocking him off balance. Sir Barrow stumbled, his vision blurring.

  As he regained consciousness, a crying little girl stood before him. Her tears streamed down her face, mingling with the dust.

  “Just because you have everything easy doesn’t mean it’s bad,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  Her expression darkened, anger flashing in her eyes. “Do you want to know what’s really bad?!” she demanded.

  The girl’s tiny hands grasped Sir Barrow’s, forcing him to witness barbaric visions of suffering souls. The images seared his mind: screams, bloodshed, and despair.

  As Sir Barrow recoiled in horror, the little girl’s form began to shift. Her body dissolved into a malevolent spirit, its presence chilling.

  The spirit swooped into Sir Barrow’s mouth, invading his very being. He coughed violently, his lungs burning.

  The haunting continued, tormenting Sir Barrow with visions of darkness and despair.

  SIR LEON

  Sir Leon hastened his pace, his voice echoing through the castle’s corridors. “Where could the coins be stored? I’ve walked through this place before.”

  Suddenly, a piercing headache forced him to drop his sword, clattering on the stone floor.

  “It can only mean one thing,” Sir Leon muttered, “the castle is changing.”

  A mournful cry echoed through the hall, and a horse materialized, its eyes blazing with accusation.

  “How does it feel knowing you stole your brother’s rightful place as your father’s successor?” the voice taunted. “I thought you were twins.”

  The horse’s form shifted, taking on Sir Gregory’s likeness. The spirit charged at Sir Leon, sword drawn.

  Sir Leon defended himself, pleading, “No, brother, don’t do this! Don’t make me fight you!”

  Sir Gregory’s spirit retorted, “Do your worst!”

  Their swords clashed in the darkness, neither holding back. The fight raged on until a door creaked open, and they stumbled into a new chamber.

  But the spirit vanished, leaving Sir Leon shaken.

  Before him stood Sir Edric, concern etched on his face.

  Sir Leon, driven by the evil words and ego, attacked without hesitation.

  “Stop, Leon… It’s me!” Sir Edric pleaded, backing away.

  Undeterred, Sir Leon charged forward, shouting, “Ahhhh!”

  Sir Edric parried each blow, his expression torn between sorrow and resolve.

  As the fight intensified, Sir Edric’s defense turned to offense. With a heavy heart, he struck the final blow, hitting Sir Leon in his chest with his sword.

  Sir Leon crumpled to the ground, his sword slipping from his grasp as he took his final breath and died.

  Sir Edric stood over him, his voice barely above a whisper. “Forgive me, Leon. May peace find you.”

  As Sir Leon lay lifeless, his blood pooling on the stone floor, another door creaked open, revealing a hidden chamber.

  “A blood sacrifice has been made,” a mysterious voice declared. “We haunt no more. The town of Lin is free.”

  Coins began pouring from their hidden storage, cascading onto the floor.

  Three doors swung open, and Sir Barrys, Sir Gregory, and Sir Barrow emerged.

  Their faces lit up with triumph at the sight of the coin storage.

  But Sir Gregory’s joy was short-lived.

  His eyes fell upon his twin brother, Sir Leon, lying lifeless on the floor.

  Sir Gregory’s sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground.

  He dropped to his knees, overcome with grief.

  “Leon, no!” he whispered.

  Sir Barrys and Sir Barrow exchanged somber glances, their faces pale.

  Their gazes fell upon Sir Edric, standing over Sir Leon’s lifeless form.

  His sword, stained with Sir Leon’s blood, hung at his side.

  The silence was oppressive, heavy with unspoken questions.

  Sir Gregory’s anguished cry echoed through the chamber.

  Sir Barrys’ voice trembled as he asked. “What have you done, Sir Edric?”

  Sir Edric’s expression was somber. “Leon attacked me. He was Lost in the illusion, and I defended myself. And then he died in the process.”

  Sir Gregory’s cry echoed through the chamber, tears streaming down his face. “You killed my brother!!!!!! NO!!!!!”

  He stood, as he picked up his sword, and charged at Sir Edric.

  Sir Barrys intervened, pushing Sir Gregory backwards. “Calm down, Gregory. We were all lost in the illusion. Sir Edric had no choice.”

  Sir Gregory’s anger flared. “You weren’t there!” He dropped his sword, overcome with grief. “Leon, No!”

  Sir Barrow’s voice seemed out of place. “Let’s gather the coins. We’ve found it.”

  Sir Barrys rebuked him. “Leon is dead, and you can’t even say a word?”

  Sir Barrow’s response was callous. “Yes, he’s dead. And my words can’t bring him back. Help pack these coins will Ya?.”

  Sir Edric cleaned his sword and joined Sir Barrow.

  Sir Barrys followed, his eyes on Sir Edric. “You’ve killed a knight.”

  Sir Edric’s voice was low. “I did what I had to do.”

  They packed the coins and exited the castle.

  As they were about leaving the town of Lin, Sir Barrys asked, “Gregory, are you coming?”

  Sir Gregory cradled his brother’s lifeless form. “Go, report back without me.”

  Sir Barrys nodded.

  Delete

  The three knights – Sir Edric, Sir Barrys, and Sir Barrow – journeyed back to the capital, the weight of the coins and the loss of Sir Leon heavy on their minds.

  As the three knights approached the capital, a sense of urgency gripped the air. People stormed the gates, desperate to seek shelter from the impending disaster. Heavy snow fell, and an even larger storm cloud loomed on the horizon.

  Sir Barrys’ eyes gleamed with concern. “The Great Snow,” he muttered.

  The knights rode forward, reaching the upper ring as the capital’s inhabitants scattered in unrest.

  Grand Advisor Liam hastened to meet them. “You’ve returned with the coin. Well done, knights, but we wouldn’t be needing those coins if we don’t survive this.”

  Sir Barrys asked, “What’s happening?”

  Liam’s expression turned grave. “The Great Snow is upon us. A calamity of unspoken proportions.”

  Sir Barrys’ voice rose. “Then summon Wessex, the mighty dragon! Let it stop this disaster.”

  Liam’s tone turned somber. “Only a pure blood of the ancient Westwood or Freeman can ride Wessex. Many have claimed lineage, but all failed, burned by the dragon’s fiery breath.”

  Sir Barrow spoke up, “Ancient Freemans were Darklins, with skin as dark as the night.”

  The group’s gaze shifted to Sir Edric, his face illuminated by the fading light.

  Sir Edric’s voice trembled. “What if I’m not a pure blood? The dragon will burn me alive.”

  Liam’s eyes locked onto Sir Edric. “You’re our only choice, unless we find a true Whitlin with Westwood’s pure blood.”

  Sir Edric dropped the coins and mounted Soul Snatcher, his horse, amidst the chaos.

  The Great Snow bore down on the capital, its icy winds and thick snow destroying everything in its path.

  Sir Barrys called out as Sir Edric rode away, “Where are you going?”

  Sir Edric didn’t respond, disappearing into the storm.

  Liam’s voice turned despairing. “We’re doomed unless he’s a true Freeman.”

  He turned to Sir Barrow and Sir Barrys. “Guide the princess out of the capital. If the Great Snow hits, ride west. History warns us: when the capital falls, the North is next.”

  With urgency, Liam vanished into the chaos.

  The wind howled, clouds darkened, and citizens panicked as the world seemed to unravel.

  In the lower ring, chaos reigned. Citizens panicked, desperate to escape the capital as the Great Snow ravaged the city. Emilia and Sophie struggled to navigate the throngs, their progress hindered by the relentless pushing.

  Suddenly, a colossal shadow darkened the sky. A majestic dragon, its scales glinting like polished obsidian, soared above the capital. The wind buffeted the crowd as the dragon’s wings beat powerful, generating gusts that whipped through the streets.

  Emilia’s eyes widened as she gazed up at the dragon. “Sir Edric, the Dark Knight!” she exclaimed.

  Sir Edric, astride the mighty dragon Wessex, commanded the beast with authority. His voice thundered through the storm, “Fire!”

  Wessex responded, unleashing a torrent of flames that danced across the Great Snow. The inferno illuminated the darkening sky, casting a golden glow over the capital.

  As the dragon’s fire washed over the snow, it began to recede, its icy grip loosening. Sir Edric guided Wessex, directing the dragon’s flames with precision.

  Sir Barrow and Sir Barrys, escorting Princess Elaine, watched in awe as Sir Edric rode Wessex. Sir Nicolas and others, accompanying the Knight King, beheld the spectacle from their own escape route.

  The realm held its collective breath as Sir Edric recreated the legendary tale of Sir Westwood, who a thousand years ago had ridden the mighty dragon Sheyroh to defeat the Great Snow.

  Wessex’s roar echoed through the capital, its fire breathing prowess unparalleled. The dragon’s aura shimmered, imbuing the air with an ancient power.

  As the Great Snow succumbed to Wessex’s relentless flames, the realm slowly returned to peace. The capital’s destroyed sections stood as testament to the calamity, but the kingdom of Herald stood resilient.

  A week had passed since the Great Snow’s devastation. Sir Anfield was still reeling from the loss of his son, Sir Leon. Tears streamed down his face as Sir Gregory shared the news of his brother’s death and burial in the town of Lin.

  The Knight King convened a grand court, gathering the realm’s nobles and knights. “A week ago, our capital faced the Great Snow’s fury. But Sir Edric, Lord Commander of the Realm, rode the mighty dragon Wessex and protected us all, a tale to tell for the generations to come, His pure bloodline a gift to the realm…”

  Just as the Knight King continued to talk, the windows shattered, and the White god appeared. Sir Edric swiftly intervened, shielding the Knight King.

  The White god’s ominous voice echoed, “You won’t protect him for long.” The spirit vanished, leaving the court in shock.

  Sir Barrys instantly stepped forward, his voice laced with emotion. “Your Grace, with all due respect, we can’t keep ignoring the truth. The White god’s presence is clear, many die in the capital, a lot of innocent lives lost in Westwood, yet you hide it. And you send no aid to them as they suffer. I can’t remain silent again.”

  The Knight King warned, “Watch your tongue, Sir Barrys.”

  Undeterred, Sir Barrys continued, “The Great Snow is merely the beginning of the gods’ punishment. We can’t be forced to hide our feelings, when many die everyday.”

  Sir Barrys then walked towards the door with intent

  The Knight King declared, “Sir Barrys, if you leave the capital now, you’ll forfeit your status as a High Table Knight and face lifelong banishment from the capital.”

  Sir Barrys removed his badge and threw it away, a symbol of his post as a knight of the Hightable, and walked away, tears streaming down his face.

  Princess Elaine chased after him. “Wait, Sir Barrys! Don’t leave.”

  “I must go,” Sir Barrys said. “Westwood needs me. I’ve lingered far too long.”

  Princess Elaine revealed, “I have something to tell you, it is is about Sir Cole, you once told me he is like a father to you, I am afraid he is dead.”

  Sir Barrys’s expression turned to shock and anger as he said. “You are saying nonsense, all of you!” He shouted mounting his horse and rode away from the capital.

  Princess Elaine wept as Sir Barrys disappeared into the distance.

  The moment was tense and unclear.

  HOUSE POTTS

  Later that day, House Potts gathered to mourn the passing of Leon Potts, son of Anfield Potts. A somber fire crackled, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the mourners. Clad in dark attire, the family and servants of House Potts paid their respects.

  Although Leon’s body lay buried in Lin, his belongings in the capital were consigned to the flames, a symbolic farewell. Tears streamed down Sir Anfield’s face as he wept for his lost son.

  Sir Gregory stood by his father, offering comfort. The loss of his brother had dealt him a crushing blow, yet amidst his grief, a resolute thought formed: “This is not the end; it’s the beginning of the end.”

  The fire consumed Leon’s possessions, a poignant reminder of the transience of life. As the flames danced, the Potts family honored their fallen kin, their hearts heavy with sorrow.