Rain poured from the sky as if the heavens themselves mourned, beating down on dark green blades of grass that tickled the underside of Lydus's ankles. Despite his reservations, he couldn't deny the beauty of the view. In the distance, enormous mountains loomed, dwarfing the one he now sat upon. They snaked along the horizon like a restless beast, their peaks stretching skyward as if yearning to touch the clouds.
The wind swirled relentlessly, an undeniable force of nature that battered against his woolen jacket and howled past his ears. Lydus's sharp jawline was set, his short black hair ruffled by the storm. His eyes, soft yet instinctively narrowed, stayed fixed on the horizon. A chill seeped into the earth and clung to his bones, but he didn't seem to mind. Nature was his solace, the one thing that kept him calm—sane, even.
The peace was soon interrupted by the soft crunch of approaching footsteps. He didn't turn to look; he recognized that light saunter anywhere.
Emmelia wordlessly sat beside him, as though the wet grass meant nothing, her tired yet expressive green eyes fixed on the view. Her long blonde hair was damp, and her features, though soft, bore the subtle marks of malnourishment.
A friend of his since childhood, she had always been the grounding force in everyone’s lives, the one who held them together when the world seemed ready to tear them apart.
"You know..." she broke the silence, her voice gentle but pointed, "it's not healthy to sit out here in the cold." She nudged him lightly. "Come on, let's head back."
Lydus exhaled a long breath, the mist of it swirling in the icy air. "She'll kill me," he murmured.
Emmelia let out a quick laugh. "Who, Adira?" She grinned. "You abandoned your post—of course she will." Her smile faltered as she noticed his expression darken. "Everything okay? You left without saying anything."
"Mm..." He mused, his breath misting again. After a pause, he added, "Hunting grounds." He held up a hand as Emmelia sighed. "I know I've said this before, but with winter just weeks away, prey is being pushed further back. And..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "We can barely find enough as it is."
"Yeah..." she murmured quietly. "But maybe Adira's right. If we go too far out, the kingdom might notice. It'd be safer for Alex."
"I don't think so." He replied firmly, "My brother would be safer if he didn't starve."
Looking for a way to shift the mood, Emmelia added, "What about the crops?"
"What about them?" Lydus leaned back, his hands pressing into the damp earth. "The soil inside the ridge isn't fertile enough. Sure, we could try terraces on the mountainside, but you know how that would end. It would draw attention—and the rebellion's had enough of that."
"Okay...so we ration," she offered weakly.
"Ration?" Lydus turned to her incredulously. "With what food? If we—"
"Lydus." She cut him off firmly. Reaching out, Emmelia gently turned his head to face something in the distance. "Look."
Annoyed but curious, his gaze followed hers. Miles away, an extravagant keep rose above the landscape, its massive stone walls curving upward into proud towers. Atop those towers flew the flag of Orerha, a kingdom whose hatred for life was as vast as its beauty. Encircling the keep were rows of houses, blending into a blur of brown and white. So close, yet impossibly far. The universe had a cruel sense of balance, she thought. Duality of Life
"That's where we are," Emmelia said softly. "Perched on the edge of a mountain, staring down at their world. The outskirts of the kingdom, right along Yorothen's border."
"Did you know," she continued, almost breathless, "that other kingdoms don't even have keeps like that?"
He thought about what she said for a moment, and yet the thought only made his disdain for the kingdom more bitter. Somewhere within those gilded walls, King Cyrulen and his heirs dined on feasts larger than his entire village could afford in a year. Monarchs of the latest bloodline, born to rule by the accident of ancestry, had never bled in the fields or fought to survive a bitter winter. Lydus clenched his fists. His mother had died over some preventable disease, yet the king’s treasury overflowed with wealth hoarded for wars they’d never fight themselves.
Lydus narrowed his eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"
She turned to him, her expression flat. "So, you'll stop being so moody and shut up."
It was hard for her to keep a straight face, and soon a chuckle escaped her lips. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. A bell tolled in the distance, its deep chime reverberating through the air. Lydus opened his mouth to speak but hesitated as the sound ceased. The two exchanged solemn glances before Emmelia stood, brushing damp grass from her clothes, and held out a hand.
Lydus let out a soft laugh. "What's this?"
She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm helping you up, idiot."
"Yeah, but..." He paused, his smirk widening. "Are you strong enough?"
Emmelia didn't dignify the question with a response. Lydus finally clasped her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. "Just barely," he muttered with a grin as he steadied himself.
She rolled her eyes with a slight grin. "Okay, asshole. Let's go."
"Sorry," he said quickly as they began to walk. Yet, in truth, she didn't mind. Part of his charm was his inability to take anything seriously—except, of course, when Adira was there to dismiss his plans. Perhaps that was personal, she thought idly, her gaze flickering toward him.
The terrain sloped gently upward, an incline that demanded care but posed no real danger. Their boots squeaked against the wet grass where trees stood like sentinels around them, their branches shedding bright red foliage.
After a brief five minutes of walking, the incline grew steeper, forcing their steps to slow. Lydus halted abruptly in his tracks without warning, causing Emmelia to bump into him.
"Did we overshoot?" she asked, stepping back and sniffing the damp air.
Lydus responded with a simple shake of his head. Without a word, he knelt in front of a stone that jutted awkwardly from the earth. At first glance, it appeared random, no different from any other fragment of the rugged terrain. But as Emmelia leaned closer, she saw it.
Etched into its surface was a symbol—no, a rune. The faint markings obscured by grime.
It was unlike anything she'd ever seen before, and her curiosity was immediately piqued. "You're saying Arawn did this?" she asked and glanced at him.
Lydus hesitated for a moment. "Yeah. A while back," he admitted cautiously. His hand moved to the rune, fingers tracing its grooves as though committing the markings to memory. "Adira and Everett don't know..." He tilted his head toward her. "And I trust you not to tell them. If they found out Arawn made a second entrance into the ridge—well, let's just say it'd be a massive pain in the ass."
"As long as it's safe." Emmelia smiled, though her brow furrowed slightly. "It is safe... isn't it?"
I have no idea, Lydus thought, but he forced a confident smirk. "Definitely," he replied, the word rolling off his tongue a little too smoothly. Before Emmelia could respond, he let his hand fall flat against the marking. Closing his eyes, he mumbled something under his breath—a phrase Arawn had taught him. Trerifo malisay mavu.
At first, there was nothing. Just the whistling of the wind and the sharp bite of cold air. One second. Two seconds. Then a low rumble.
His eyes darted to the ground, watching the grass tremble beneath their feet. He quickly stepped back as the sound grew louder, that of grinding stone.
"What happens now?" Emmelia whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise.
Lydus raised a hand to signal her to wait. "Just give it a second..." he murmured.
The rumbling gave way to vibrations, and moments later, the ground in front of the stone shifted. Slowly, as if the earth itself were alive, the surface opened up, folding inward like the planet was swallowing its own skin. A cloud of dust billowed into the air before settling, revealing a small tunnel descending into darkness, carved neatly into the mountain's heart.
Lydus couldn't help but grin as he stepped back, his arms outstretched in triumph. "See?" he laughed and took another step. "Mag—"
His words cut off as his foot caught the edge. He slipped and landed flat on his back with a solid thud. Groaning, he blinked up at the gray sky.
Emmelia clutched her sides, trying to stifle a laugh but failing. "Oh, yeah," she teased. "Real magic." 103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbFPbMAcR83
Here's the refined version:
"Whatever," Lydus mumbled, brushing himself off as he stood. The cavern reeked of mildew, its darkness so complete it felt like a void, swallowing all traces of light. Without a second thought, he extended a hand to help Emmelia down, the gesture almost instinctive.
He shifted sideways to squeeze through the narrow entrance. Jagged rock snagged at his woolen coat but mercifully spared his skin. The passage gradually widened as they moved deeper, the space expanding just enough to let them walk upright. Even so, their shoulders occasionally brushed the rough walls.
"So..." Emmelia grunted as she ducked under a low-hanging section of the ceiling, "how exactly does that 'magic' work?"
"Don't know," Lydus admitted with a shrug, his voice echoing faintly in the cavern. He added quickly, "Arawn told me to use the entrance sparingly. Supposedly, it... tires him."
She sighed softly as the passage widened, allowing them to stand upright once more. The air was dense and smelt of mineral. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the steady, rhythmic drip of water echoing through the cavern.
"Tires him?" she finally asked.
Lydus nodded, though he knew she couldn't see it in the dim light. "That's what he said. Not sure what it means, and I'm not planning to ask."
Emmelia hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line, but she let it go. Instead, she shifted her attention to the uneven ground beneath her boots.
Lydus sensed her awkwardness and added, "What do they have you on now?"
She glanced at him and let out a humorless laugh. "Watch duty," she replied, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. "It's important, but..." Emmelia trailed off, "I miss sewing."
Lydus turned his head toward her, "Sewing?
"Yeah." Her lips twitched into a faint smile. "It's... predictable. Calming, even. You know where each thread is supposed to go. You don't have to worry about it stabbing you in the back."
Lydus raised an eyebrow, chuckling. "That's a low bar for comfort."
"Maybe," she said, "But it's better than sitting in the cold with a spear in your hands, waiting for nothing."
"Don't have to tell me twice..." Lydus muttered in agreement, coming to a stop before an opening. Faint beams of sunlight filtered through, spilling onto the ground in a pale glow. "I'd rather be hunting," he added quickly before squeezing through the narrow gap and stepping into a small field.
His gaze fell on a familiar yet no less magnificent sight.
The town of Bridgevault—more an outpost than a true settlement—lay nestled where two mountains met, forming a natural barrier against outside forces. Its homes and other structures were built from dark brown timber, their roofs made of thatch. Messily paved pathways wound through the town like a haphazard maze. On one side, a large opening provided an easy route in and out.
It's lucky, Lydus thought, that the entrance faces away from Orerha. Then again, no one ever came to the mountains. There was no reason to.
Emmelia brushed past him and began descending the incline, her boots crunching on the uneven ground until she reached the flat stretch of grass below. The sparse trees were little more than long, skinny sticks, dotting the landscape irregularly.
As they reached a pathway and crossed Bridgevault's threshold, the rich smell of freshly baked sourdough bread met their noses. It made their stomachs churn painfully—a rare scent, only present when a supply run to Outsway, a nearby town, had been successful.
Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of the houses, but the streets were empty. Lydus sighed, his voice breaking the stillness. "She's got everyone in the square, I bet.
"Yeah..." Emmelia agreed, then grabbed his sleeve with a sly grin. "And I bet they're all waiting for you." She tugged him along teasingly.
Cutting between two buildings, they rounded a corner and came to an abrupt stop. A crowd had gathered in the open square, surprisingly quiet save for a few murmured conversations. At the center of the square stood a stage, one hastily constructed.
On top of the platform stood Adira. Her black hair was tied into a bow and her eyes sharp like always She wore a leather vest, her stance confident—or at least that's the image she wanted to project. But Lydus knew better. He could see it in the way her eyes narrowed slightly, the faint tension in her jaw. She was nervous.
Dammit, he thought, and began pushing through the crowd. Some cursed under their breath as Lydus pushed past them, but most simply stepped aside, used to his brusque behavior. The air reeked of body odor and stale breath, thick enough to turn his stomach.
When he reached the base of the stage, he paused briefly, his eyes scanning the precarious wooden supports. The edges of the platform had sunk deep into the muddy ground. With a quick motion, he threw one leg up and hoisted himself onto the stage. Rolling onto his back for a moment, he stared up at Adira.
The murmurs of the crowd fell silent.
"As if this day couldn't get any worse," she muttered.
"I'm here, aren't I?" Lydus replied dryly, climbing to his feet with a smirk—a smirk that quickly faded when she muttered a sharp curse under her breath.
Adira turned away from the crowd, her fingers absently fidgeting with the edge of her vest. Her voice was low, almost hesitant, when she asked, "Where were you?"
"Well..." Lydus hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. "I needed some air."
"Really? I—" She stopped herself, taking a steadying breath. "Bandits. Maybe raiders. They were spotted along the mountainside."
"Along the—" His eyes flicked toward the watching crowd before he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "No one comes this close to the border... on either side."
"I know," she muttered grimly. "But they did, and Everett—"
"What's going on?" a man from the crowd interrupted, his shout cutting her off.
Adira turned back to the crowd, her usual demeanor sliding into place. Lydus, less concerned with appearances, let his gaze drop to the creaking boards beneath his feet.
"Bandits," she announced steadily. "Hunters spotted them along the mountainside." The crowd didn't stir. Unexpectedly, and so, she continued, "They were ambushed but managed to fight them off...regardless, we're pulling back the hunting grounds."
"Pulling them back?" Lydus interjected. "To where?"
"Closer to the ridge," she replied, dropping her voice so only he could hear. "We'll figure out the details soon."
Lydus bit his lip, holding back the words he wanted to say. Noticing his silence, Adira turned her attention back to the crowd.
"With winter coming, things will be scarce... and..." Her voice faltered.
Lydus followed her locked gaze and spotted it: a figure moving through the middle of the gathered people.
He stood tall and wore heavy gear. Reinforced with metal bracings along his arms, the rebellion's emblem displayed on his chest. His short, curly brown hair was wild and unkempt, like a wild beast.
"Dammit, Everett." Adira grumbled.
The crowd parted slightly, murmurs rippling through the assembly. Everett's gaze swept across the group before landing on Adira, "Oh... if it isn't my favorite person," the man drawled, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. He gripped a weathered bag in one hand, the other bracing against the stage as he leaned casually against its edge. His calloused fingers traced the splintery boards absentmindedly.
Adira crouched to meet his gaze, "What happened out there?"
For a moment, he didn't respond. His grip on the bag tightened, the leather creaking under the pressure. He seemed to weigh his options carefully, his silence drawing every eye in the square. Finally, without a word, he tossed the bag onto the stage.
Adira stepped back instinctively; eyes fixed on the sack as it tipped over. The contents spilled out, rolling to a stop at her feet.
A severed head stared blankly back at them, its face twisted in terror, the expression of someone who had seen death rushing toward them. A murmur rippled through the crowd—shock, disgust, fear. Some gasped audibly, others recoiled, shielding children from the grisly sight. But many couldn't look away as if frozen in horrified fascination.
Blood still seeped from the jagged stump of the neck, pooling slowly on the wooden boards.
Everett rolled his shoulders in a lazy stretch as his gaze swept over them, almost feral, before he raised his sword high. "Their leader," he announced curtly, then brought the blade down with a sickening thud, piercing the skull of the fallen bandit. Blood pooled around the point of impact as Everett's eyes locked onto Adira's, holding her gaze as if daring her to challenge him.
Lydus tilted his head slightly, watching Everett with a bemused expression. Always so dramatic, too dramatic at times—but there was something about him, something Lydus couldn't help but admire despite himself.
"Not going to speak?" Everett's eyes narrowed with a huff. "Fine." He shifted sharply to address the crowd. "All of you, go back."
The crowd hesitated and exchanged uncertain murmurs. Why had this meeting even been called? It was clear Adira had more to say, but Everett's grand theatrics had stolen the moment.
After a few moments of indecision, the villagers began to disperse. Some lingered near the edges of the square, reluctant to leave, but none dared challenge Everett directly.
Once the crowd had mostly retreated to their homes, Adira jumped down from the platform, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. She approached Everett lowly. "Were you followed?"
Everett gestured to the decapitated head, "Does it look like I was?"
Adira muttered a curse under her breath and pressed a finger into his chest. "You could've exposed us. The reb—"
"Rebellion?" Everett cut her off, grabbing her hand with a firm grip. "We're not a rebellion anymore. This place is falling apart. We need to venture out, find more resources. But your—" He stopped himself, glancing around, searching for a more tactful way to phrase it.
"He's right," Lydus interjected from where he sat on the edge of the stage, his legs swinging lazily above the ground.
Everett turned with a stare. "You stay out of this."
"No," Lydus replied as he met Everett gaze-on. "My father was just as much in command as either of yours. I have a say in this too."
Everett stared at him for a moment, almost awkwardly, before shrugging it off and turning back to Adira.
"We don't need a ton of people," he argued. "Just a small group. If we see anything suspicious, we'll turn back. Imagine what some fresh venison could do for us." He gently lowered her hand. "For fuck's sake, Adira, we can rebuild, but not without food."
Adira stepped back and shook her head. "I don't care," she muttered, "Last time we tried that—we lost..." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "Losing more people will end us. Once we figure out the agriculture, everything will fall into place."
Everett's jaw tightened as he stepped back from Adira. "Fine. Keep waiting. Keep hiding. Let's see how long the ridge keeps us alive before winter kills us."
Lydus, still seated on the edge of the stage, raised an eyebrow. "Everett's right...but you don't have to be this brash about it."
"Brash?" Everett scoffed, "You'd know all about what helps, wouldn't you?" Everett's expression flickered for a moment, but the words were out before he could stop them. "...Just like your father did."
Lydus's eyes narrowed, and he slid off the stage in one fluid motion. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Adira opened her mouth, but before she could intervene, Everett stepped closer. "It means your father had his head in the clouds while the rest of us—"
Lydus didn't let him finish. His hands shoved against Everett's chest, sending him stumbling back a step. "Don't talk about him like that."
"You think I'm wrong? Maybe if he hadn't—"
"That's enough!" Adira barked, stepping between them. But it was too late. Lydus moved forward again.
"Say one more word, Everett." He growled.
"Truth hurts, doesn't it?"
Before Lydus could react, Emmelia was there, her hand gripping his arm tightly. "Lydus. Stop."
Her voice was calm, but firm—enough to pull his attention away from Everett. He turned to her, his jaw still tight. "He—"
"I know," she said, cutting him off. "But this isn't the time."
Lydus hesitated with an uneven breath, then finally stepped back, shaking his head. "You're not worth it," he muttered, glaring at Everett one last time before turning away.
Emmelia tugged his arm, leading him away from the square. Adira stood frozen for a moment, then turned back to Everett. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"
Everett shrugged, though his shoulders sagged slightly. "I just said what everyone's thinking."
"No," Adira replied. "You said what you're thinking. And now you've probably made things worse."
As Lydus and Emmelia walked, their voices gradually faded into the background. The soft rush of wind brushing past and the hum of village life took over. Villagers went about their tasks, pushing carts, carrying water, and murmuring in low tones.
Emmelia let go of his hand with a quiet sigh.
"You shouldn't have pushed him," she said, tilting her head as they passed a modest market stand. She found it ironic how often Lydus and Everett fought. The two were so alike, but maybe that was the problem—their egos left no room for compromise.
Lydus came to an abrupt stop, his boots sliding against the dirt path with a faint crunch. "He shouldn't have talked about my father."
"Yeah..." Emmelia mused; her tone soft as her gaze flicked to the ground. "But Lydus... they lost their parents to the sickness too."
"And... and that gives him the right?" he stammered as his voice rose.
She stopped beside him, pausing thoughtfully. "Well... no," she admitted and bit her lip. "But..." Her voice trailed off before she shifted gears, forcing a small smile. "Why don't we focus on something else?" Emmelia sighed inwardly. It always seemed to fall on her to pick up the pieces after their arguments.
Lydus's shoulders slumped as they walked. "He's right, though," he admitted quietly. "We can't keep waiting for things to fix themselves."
Emmelia glanced at him; her green eyes expressive as always. "Maybe. But you're not going to fix anything by fighting with him..." She replied, "But that doesn't matter right now. Let's go see Alex."
They turned a corner, stepping into a quieter part of the ridge where makeshift homes leaned against the rock walls. Lydus stopped in front of a narrow doorway, pausing briefly before pushing the curtain aside.
Inside, the small room was dimly lit by a single oil lamp. The scent of damp wood wafted in the air. Alex sat cross-legged on a threadbare blanket; a well-worn book clutched in his hands. He looked up as they entered and gave a weak smile, "Hey."
"Hey, yourself." Lydus sat beside him and glanced at the open pages. "Still on that one?"
Alex shrugged. "It's not bad." He glanced past Lydus to where Emmelia lingered in the doorway. "Hi, Emmelia."
She smiled faintly. "Hey, kid." Her gaze flickered between the brothers for a moment before she stepped back toward the doorway. "I'll leave you two to it."
"You don't have to—" Lydus began, but Emmelia waved him off.
"I should check in with Adira anyway," she said lightly. "Goodnight, Lydus. Night, Alex."
Lydus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "So, what's the book about this time?"
Alex hesitated, his fingers brushing over the corner of the page. "It's about... a city. There's a war, and everyone's fighting for different reasons, but the hero—he doesn't want to fight at all. He just wants to keep his family safe."
Lydus's expression softened, and he leaned back in his chair. "Sounds familiar."
Alex looked up sharply, searching his brother's face for a hint of sarcasm, but found none. Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah... I guess it does."
"Does he win?" Lydus asked, tilting his head toward the book.
Alex traced the edge of the paper with his thumb. "I don't know yet. I'm still in the middle."
"Good," Lydus said, rising from the chair. "You'd better. Otherwise, I'll start reading it myself and spoil the ending."
Alex smiled faintly, then quickly returned to reading as Lydus moved toward the small adjoining room that served as his own.
Inside, Lydus's room was just as sparse as the rest of the house—a narrow cot pushed against the wall, a small wooden chest at its foot, and a cracked window that let in the faint frigidness of the mountain air. He sat on the edge of the cot, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together.
To him, this place had always felt safe—untouchable, unbreakable. But with each passing day, that feeling slipped further away, like sand through his fingers. What was once a haven for conjoining idealists now seemed filled with the hollow shells of dead men walking.
Adira's father, Everett's mother, and his own father had once stood together as unified leaders. They fought against the kingdom not because they truly believed they could win, but because they hoped to ignite something greater—a force that might rise up and break the monarchy. It had been a cause filled with so much promise, a glimmer of hope for something better. But that hope was snuffed out far too quickly, leaving only the bitter ideals of what could have been.
He hated these kinds of thoughts, tried to push them away. But on days like this, when nothing seemed to go right, they crept in regardless.
And it was those thoughts that remained as he drifted off to sleep.
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