Chapter 2: THE WILLOW AND THE IRON
1045 Words
The Jade River was a cold, indifferent witness to the death of legends. On its southern bank, Prince Gildas remained motionless, his knees sunk deep into the freezing mire. The spray of the water had dampened his crimson cloak, making it heavy and dark, like a shroud.
Behind him, his knights stood in a silent, uncomfortable semi-circle. They were men of war, used to the sight of blood, but the silence of the Prince was more unsettling than a battlefield scream. Gildas watched the spot where Helios had disappeared, his mind looping the image of the harpoon tearing through his brother’s flesh.
"Your Highness," Marek whispered, stepping forward. The captain’s armor clattered softly, a jarring sound in the quiet morning. "The Valerian scouts are still patrolling the northern ridge. If we stay here, we risk a diplomatic incident that the King cannot undo. We must return to the capital."
Gildas didn't move. "I let him fall, Marek."
"You saved a kingdom," Marek countered, though his voice lacked conviction. "If you had crossed that bridge, Solis would be a graveyard by next week. Helios knew that. He chose to die so you could lead."
"He chose to be a hero," Gildas snapped, finally standing. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face a mask of cold fury and self-loathing. "I chose to be a coward in a gold crown. There is a difference."
Across the river, hidden by the thick, weeping branches of the willow trees, Yuna held her breath. She was pressed so tightly against the damp earth that she could taste the minerals in the soil. The Valerian scout was barely ten paces away. She could hear the rhythmic clank of his greaves and the heavy, wet thud of his boots in the mud.
"I saw something," the scout muttered to himself, his voice a low growl. "A ripple. A shadow."
Yuna gripped the blood-stained hawk feather so hard the quill pricked her palm. Just beyond the reeds, partially submerged in the silt, lay the man who had fallen from the sky. Helios was barely conscious, his breathing a shallow, wet rattle. The water around him was stained a dark, plum-purple. If he coughed, if he groaned, they were both dead.
The scout’s sword parted the willow branches. The steel reflected the dull, gray light of the morning, a sliver of death pointing toward Yuna’s heart.
"Found you," the scout hissed, his lips curling into a jagged smile.
He didn't see a rebel leader. He saw a girl from a backwater tribe, a witness to be eliminated. He raised his blade for a downward thrust, but before the steel could fall, a blur of motion erupted from the water behind him.
Helios, fueled by a final, impossible surge of adrenaline, lunged upward. His good hand clamped around the scout’s ankle and jerked. The soldier let out a startled cry as he lost his footing, his heavy armor pulling him face-first into the treacherous mud.
Yuna didn't wait. She scrambled forward, grabbing a heavy river stone. With a cry of desperation, she brought it down on the back of the scout’s helmet. The metal rang with a dull thud, and the soldier went limp.
Helios collapsed back into the shallows, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. The effort had reopened the jagged wounds in his shoulder, and the river began to drink from him again.
"No, no, no," Yuna whispered, crawling toward him. She ignored the dead man in the mud and focused on the hero. She grabbed Helios under his arms, her muscles screaming as she tried to drag his armored weight toward the Hidden Grotto—a cave behind the falls known only to the Willow Clan. "You cannot die. Not after this. Not today."
The Shadow of the Crown
Three days later, the capital of Solis—the Golden City of Oakhaven—was in a state of frantic celebration that felt like a funeral.
Inside the Great Hall, King Gildas’s father sat upon a throne carved from a single ancient redwood. His face was a map of deep lines and political calculations. He watched as the Valerian Envoy, a man named Lord Varos, paced the floor with the arrogance of a landlord checking on a tenant.
"The Empire is pleased that the rebel Helios has been dealt with," Varos said, his voice smooth as oil. "However, the Emperor is concerned that some of the Aethel-Guard escaped into your territory. He expects Solis to... purify its borders."
Gildas, standing at his father’s right hand, felt a surge of bile in his throat. "Purify? You mean hunt down the starving families who managed to crawl across the river?"
"I mean eliminate the threat of future rebellion, Prince," Varos replied, turning his cold, pale eyes toward Gildas. "Unless, of course, Solis wishes to be viewed as a sanctuary for terrorists."
The King cleared his throat, a dry, rattling sound. "My son speaks from a place of exhaustion, Lord Varos. Solis remains a loyal tributary. We will conduct the search. My own son will lead the knights to the border villages to ensure no rebels remain."
Gildas looked at his father in horror. He was being ordered to hunt the very people his best friend had died to save.
"Father, you cannot ask this of me," Gildas whispered as the Envoy was ushered out.
"I am not asking as your father," the King replied, his voice breaking with a sudden, hidden grief. "I am telling you as your King. If you do not go, the Empire will send their own 'Steel-Breakers.' They won't just look for rebels; they will burn every farm, every orchard, and every child from here to the Jade River. You will go. You will find nothing. And you will return."
"And if I find him?" Gildas asked, his voice trembling. "If by some miracle Helios survived?"
The King looked away, his eyes fixed on the distant, smog-covered mountains of the Empire. "Then you must do what is necessary for the survival of Solis. You must ensure he is never found by the Empire. Do you understand me, Gildas?"
The implication hung in the air like a poisoned fog. To save the Kingdom, the friend would have to become the executioner.
- Writer
