The scent of damp earth and pine needles filled Randey’s nostrils as he sprinted through the deepening twilight of the forest. The last sliver of sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the western sky in hues of deep orange and bruised purple. He knew he was late. His mother would be cross, her stern expression a familiar mask he’d seen many times before. But a thrill still hummed beneath his skin, a lingering echo of the day’s adventure.

He’d spent hours perched high on the cliffs overlooking Haedral Valley, watching his father and the other Black Knights, tiny figures far below, engaged in their rigorous battle drills. The sight of their disciplined movements, the glint of their Khortaals, had stirred something deep within him—a fierce longing to join their ranks, to one day wear the Dragon-crested helmet himself. He’d lost track of time, caught in the silent drama unfolding beneath him.

Now, the forest floor, usually a familiar path, seemed to conspire against him, its shadows deepening into an inky blackness. He hastened his steps, muttering to himself, “Just a little further…”