Beneath a Bloody Sky: Legends of Worswit – The Blood Rain Prophecy (unabridged)

Prologue:

The river ran backwards the day the queen vanished. The skies turned shades of black, and the air thickened in turbulence as our airship drifted high above the violent, reversed waters that had once sustained us. Our eyes strained through the darkness, searching for any sign of our lost queen. This was the beginning of a prophecy long foretold—a curse that would plunge the kingdom of Worswit into chaos and civil war.

With no queen and no heir, King Lianus faced a grim ultimatum. His half-brother claimed he was unfit to rule. He sent forth a clock spider to the kingdom’s border. This creature would weave a giant web that would take one ancient calendar year to complete. Once the web’s base was formed, Lianus would need to present a new queen, and by its completion, he must have an heir.

Should he fail at either task, he would be forced to surrender his throne—or face assassination or war.

Part 1 - The Bridge Thread

For a moment, the unlikely cast of heroes froze in awe and horror when they saw it. From a dark, thunderous airship hung a magnificent black creature, as massive as an ancient tank. It dropped a long, silky strand that swayed and flowed in the breeze like the branches of a willow tree. Its first glistening thread fell like sand through an hourglass, marking the start of a countdown and the prophecy alike.

As the strand drifted toward the border wall, drops of rusty-red rain began to fall. The air filled with a sickly metallic scent, unmistakably reminiscent of menstrual blood; it was as if the very atmosphere around them bled, almost tangible, hanging on their tongues.

“The prophecy is in full effect now,” shouted the high priestess in a grim, cryptic tone. “After the river runs backwards, the sky shall begin to bleed.”

“When dark skies devour the light and crimson rain falls, it has begun. In the darkest hour, when the queen is found, the truth unfolds. Blood will reveal the one.”

Her eyes rolled as she muttered lines of prophecy. Geoffrey shot her a concerned glare. “Great, the king’s most decorated knight, and here I am dealing with witches and bloody prophecies.” He muttered under his breath before dismissing her with a roll of his eyes.

“This whole thing seems like nonsense. The king knows the prophecy will lead us into war and darkness…” he muttered, sharpening his sword against the dark, bloody sky. “So why not choose another queen and get to fadoodling?” He wiped drops of falling blood from his blade. “Instead, he sends us on this fool’s errand and vows to wait for her. It’s hogwash!” Geoffrey flung his hand in frustration as he stared into the inky abyss.

The huntsman raised a brow at him. “I don’t agree. I think the king’s loyalty is something to admire. Loyalty to love, even in the darkest hours—that’s legendary and heroic. To vow to wait for Queen Gwendolyn’s return is the kind of loyalty I can get behind. After saving up my shekels to free my maiden from servitude, and knowing the love we share, I couldn’t imagine defiling that with another.”

His words rang with a stern confidence, softening only as he shared a smile with his maiden, who stood at the ship’s stern, filling flasks with water and ale.

Geoffrey snickered. “I don’t know. If it were his brother Ladrick, he’d have maidens lined up and an heir before that spider even spun a base for its damn web! There’s a reason North Worswit is more feared than the south. Love and loyalty are cute, but there’s no replacement for good old-fashioned fear and respect. I’ll take fear and respect over love any day. Look where love has landed us.” Geoffrey smashed his fist on the table for emphasis.

The huntsman shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand love until you find it—the kind of love you’d die for, the kind you breathe every breath for.”

The Elven thief grinned, drawing his bow. “Why not just shoot that ugly spider down? Timer reset, problem solved.” He mimicked a shot in the spider’s direction with a childlike smirk.

Geoffrey chuckled. “The point is to avoid war, and you’d start off by committing an act of war. Clearly, the king sent us the sharpest minds for this mission.”

“Silence,” murmured the high priestess, interrupting Geoffrey as she peered into a decanter filled with wine, blood, tea leaves, and some of the queen’s trinkets. “The queen looms near the border wall, but so does an unforeseen danger. I see a swarm of Brobdingnagian mosquitoes headed our way.”

The Elven archer’s eyes gleamed with eagerness. He drew three arrows from his quiver as the priestess finished speaking. “Ha! That’s no threat; that’s light work. Let me at them! Even if these new-age pests are fatal, I can pick them off from a distance. There’s a reason Lianus freed me from the royal prison—because when it comes to archers, I’m the best!”

The group shared a smile. “Go for it, Twig. Hope you’re as quick with the bow as you are with your tongue,” Geoffrey teased as the ship cut through the murky black skies and rusty, blood-filled clouds.

About twenty ancient clock-ship minutes later, the kingdom’s border wall was in sight. The menacing black spider hung from a thread, dancing and spinning—a swan song or an omen of impending dread. To the right, a dark cloud buzzed, approaching like an oncoming storm.

The Elven thief drew up his hood as the swarm neared, revealing his shimmering, onyx, raven-like eyes. The mutated insects swarmed forward as a dense, black mass, moving with unseen precision and ferocity. Each creature, larger than an average sword, flew at full speed, their proboscises erect, reaching out, ready to pierce their victims.

“You sure you got this, elf?” shouted the huntsman.

The elf stood steady, his gaze locked on the approaching swarm. “Of course I do,” he replied with a slight smile and nod.

Moments later, a hail of arrows flew from the Elven thief, rivaling the volley of a small battalion. One by one, his arrows pierced the insects’ heads, splattering green blood in all directions. It was a magnificent display, but as the last arrow struck, one giant mosquito swerved, speeding toward him like an ancient missile.

Its proboscis dripped saliva, anticipating its victim. It honed in on the elf’s rib cage, closing in fast. Blood splattered—not from the mosquito’s bite, but from the graze of the huntsman’s axe as it flew forward with deadly precision. The blade struck the mosquito’s proboscis, splitting the creature cleanly in two, just mere seconds before it could pierce the elf.

“You owe me one, elf! If not for me, that ’squito would have drained your corpse,” said the huntsman proudly.

The elf nodded, slightly humbled. “Well, I suppose all but one isn’t bad. Any closer, though, and that would’ve been my arse.” The group shared a nervous laugh.

Geoffrey raised his sword. “In war, it only takes one—one stray arrow, one unguarded blow—and your spirit will be off to the Starfields. Or, in your case, maybe the Dread Pits.”

The Elven archer rolled his eyes at Geoffrey, as the huntsman’s wife approached. She kissed the gruff axe-wielder proudly before refilling his mug.

The high priestess stepped back toward the stern. “Well, with that out of the way, we should drop down and look for signs of the queen. Everyone—except for the maiden and captain, of course. We head below and mount a scout frog to investigate the riverbed.”

The crew nodded in agreement. Geoffrey stepped forward before heading to the staircase. “And what of the captain of this airship? He’s a quiet one, isn’t he?”

The high priestess smiled, nodding as she gestured to a large metal door. “Yes, I’ve flown on Captain Grimble’s ship many times. He’s a legendary warrior and a fine captain, but there’s always been only one rule: don’t open the door. He’s very particular about that, but make no mistake—he’s a fine captain, and said to be a fearsome warrior. Legend tells of him fighting off armies with his axe, the Kegsplitter.”

Geoffrey shrugged and made his way downstairs, approaching one of the last unmounted giant frogs. The creature was about the size of a donkey and emitted an equally unpleasant scent. He struggled into the saddle, and the high priestess followed suit.

A loud whoosh filled the chamber as panels on the bottom of the ship opened, lowering the frogs and their riders on thick steel cables to a muddy, blood-stained riverbank. The elf’s face was pale, almost green.

“What’s the matter? First time on a scout frog, Elf?” asked the huntsman sternly.

The elf nodded slowly. “Yes… my race doesn’t ride such crude, bulbous creatures.”

The huntsman chuckled, spurring his frog forward in a giant leap that splattered mud all around. “Crude, perhaps. Smelly, too. But I’ll tell you, there’s no ride more nimble and versatile than a trusty scout frog.”

Geoffrey bounced forward beside him. “I don’t know, I may agree with you on this one, Elf. I’ve ridden every mount in the realm, but I’d still take a graceful steed or ground glider over these amphibians any day.”

The huntsman laughed at Geoffrey’s words, urging his frog forward through the mud at a rapid pace. “You say that now, but when we hit rocks, unsteady ground, or precarious water beds, you’ll be glad you have a scout frog.”

With that, the strange band of heroes sprung forward in uneasy silence, until the high priestess overtook them, raising her crystal staff and pointing ahead.

“Caravan tracks—and I’m picking up on the queen’s aura. Whatever took her started down this trail,” the high priestess announced.

Geoffrey surged forward. “Simple, then. We follow the trail, find the queen, and get her back to the king by sunrise, hopefully; she’s still alive.”

The high priestess kept pace behind him. “Yes, I hope it’s that simple. But something in my heart tells me that may not be the case.”

Geoffrey waved her off. “Nonsense, witch. I’ve seen trails like this before—probably bandits looking for a queen’s ransom. With my skills and this huntsman by my side, we’ll have their heads soon enough.”

The high priestess scoffed. “I’ll say no more, but I hope your hubris doesn’t come back to bite you. We’ve already almost lost one crew member today.”

Geoffrey interrupted her again. “I’m the greatest swordsman in both kingdoms, the huntsman’s a force with his axe, and as long as the elf lets those arrows fly, we’ll be fine. Quit your worrying, witch.”

With that, the four unlikely heroes bounced forward along the riverbank. The river was still running backwards, toward North Worswit now, blood swirling in waters that once brought food and supplies to the city. The caravan trail ended at the towering black granite walls that marked the border of North Worswit.

“So… what now? Do we sneak over?” the elf asked, looking queasy.

The huntsman and Geoffrey exchanged glances.

“No, we’ll send up a flare. Let King Ladrick know we’re here on royal business, searching for the queen,”

Geoffrey said, pulling a round ball from his pack. He set it on the ground, struck its fuse with a flint, and stepped back. Moments later, a huge green burst of light tore through the darkness, hanging in the air to signal the Northern King that they had arrived in peace, hoping to talk diplomacy or trade.

The group stood in tense silence for what felt like an eternity. Then, from behind the great wall, a massive platform began to rise, towering like a leviathan emerging from the ocean depths. Atop the platform stood the king and queen, mounted on a mighty war elephant. The beast’s trunk let out a deafening trumpet like sound, cutting through the night air, its shimmering tusks catching the moonlight. Beside King Ladrick, Queen Gwendolyn stood regally, her gaze cold and unmoved .

“I assume you’ve come regarding the queen,” Ladrick announced, his voice laced with a condescending flair. “As you can see, she’s here with me of her own accord. This is no Helen of Troy—she wasn’t taken by force or bound by spell.” Gwendolyn’s lips curled into a subtle smile as Ladrick spoke, her arm slipping around his in a show of solidarity.

The huntsman’s eyes narrowed in fury. “Lies! How could the queen betray her true king and her vows, only to become a concubine and pawn to his own half-brother? She must be under some dark sorcery.” His voice was thick with venom, his grip tightening around his axe handle until his knuckles ached.

Ladrick’s face hardened. “I’ll ask you not to insult my new queen if you value your lives. But I’ll let her speak for herself, so you know the truth.” He released Gwendolyn’s arm, guiding her forward with a hand on her back.

Queen Gwendolyn took a deep breath, her smile thin and sharp. “It’s true,” she said smoothly. “This wasn’t a decision made overnight. I’ve been meeting with King Ladrick in secret for some time. He’s everything Lianus isn’t—strong, virile. He’s given me what your king could not: an heir. And not just an heir, but a future ruler who will unite both kingdoms.”

The group’s jaws dropped, each of them recoiling in a mix of shock, fear, and disgust. The huntsman, Geoffrey, and the elf all turned to the high priestess, as if silently asking her to confirm what they could hardly believe.

The high priestess’s face fell, sorrow filling her eyes as a single tear traced her cheek. She looked into the queen’s cold eyes. “It’s true. I sense no spell or enchantment upon her. She’s here of her own free will.”

Ladrick’s expression darkened, his fist clenching. “That’s right. Now, leave, if you value your heads. And tell your king to focus on producing an heir for his own kingdom, for my demands are real and fair. I am firm but honorable, in memory of my father. Now begone! The queen and I have a wedding and a baby shower to prepare.”

The king sat triumphantly as the group turned their scout frogs away, retreating down the riverbed in defeat. Gwendolyn watched them go, her back to the king, as she extended her hand and blew a fine black powder—like ash and black petals—toward the group. In a voice barely louder than a whisper, soft and broken, she offered a prayer and oath to the Shadow Lord.

“Praise to you, Shadow Lord, for I keep my pact. I’ve betrayed my love and offer his heroes to the darkness. I shall grant your final offering soon, and thank you for fulfilling your promise and making fertile what was barren. Grant my heir protection so he may one day rule the united kingdoms of Worswit.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek as she finished, but she quickly brushed it away and turned back to sit beside the king, watching as the group of frog riders faded from sight.

As they hoisted the frogs back to the airship, Geoffrey was the first to break the silence. “See what loyalty to love brings? Betrayal, pain, and chaos.”

His words echoed through the vessel as he was lifted aboard. The huntsman followed, visibly shaken by the ordeal. He leapt off his frog and ran to his maiden, kissing her passionately. “No, loyalty to love wasn’t the error,” he murmured. “The error was the king’s choice. He was blinded by the queen’s beauty and charm. Love is deeper than what meets the eye or tempts the flesh. I fear the king was just lost to seduction, and now his half-brother is, too. Still, to claim your brother’s wife is wrong under any circumstances.”

The elf chimed in, trying his best to be his cheery, light-hearted self. “Well, it’s not all bad. We report our findings to the king, he finds a new queen, and makes an heir. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

The high priestess shook her head, interrupting him. “Nothing is ever that simple, especially matters of the heart. The prophecy is written. Even if the king finds another queen, I fear we’re only delaying the inevitable. Civil war is prophesied, to be led by an even darker force. And only a true hero, revealed through blood, can overthrow that darkness and restore balance.”

Geoffrey unsheathed his blade as they made their way to the ships upper deck. “So what now, witch? How will we know who this chosen hero is, and what are we supposed to do?”

The high priestess’s face grew serious. “There’s little we can do but report to the king and let events unfold. In a reflection of blood and steel, the true hero will be revealed. That’s what the prophecy says. It’s only a matter of time.”

Geoffrey grinned smugly, lifting his blade. “Blood and steel—that sounds like my kind of prophecy. I guess we already know who the chosen hero is.” He turned toward the cockpit. “Captain Grimble, back to South Worswit!” he shouted authoritatively.

The airship turned, beginning its journey up the river toward South Worswit. As they sailed, a rusty fog began to settle around them, thickening with every mile.

By the time they reached the forest edge, at the midpoint between the two kingdoms, the fog was so dense that visibility had fallen to nothing. Black clouds emerged, closing in around the airship like the breath of ancient demons or a horde of dark reapers poised to strike.

The huntsman, elf, and knight gathered at the ship’s center, exchanging uneasy glances. The huntsman ushered his wife into the cabin, then turned to the high priestess. “Priestess, what is this? What sorcery has befallen us?”

The high priestess glanced around, her face a mix of confusion and fear. “I don’t know… but I sense a dark, malevolent presence unlike anything I’ve ever felt.”

As the dark clouds converged on the airship, pairs of glowing, beady eyes appeared, accompanied by the ominous silhouettes of wings. Geoffrey drew his sword and lifted his large, mirror-like shield. “This isn’t sorcery—we’re under attack. But these aren’t humans. Our enemy is supernatural: the legendary Shadow Brigade.”

The elf’s face paled with fear as he nocked arrows in his silver bow, while the huntsman tightened his grip on his axes, preparing for what would be the most grueling battle of his life.

As the clouds closed in, the crew could make out a small brigade of orcs, skeletons, and goblins riding atop large vampire bats, their mouths open and dripping with anticipation.

In the depths of the furthest cloud loomed a massive, grotesque reptilian creature—a demonic monstrosity. Geoffrey pointed him out. “There, in the back—the largest one. That’s a demon captain. He commands this brigade. Take out the bats first from as far as you can. The huntsman and I will protect you. But in the end, it’ll come down to that demon captain. He’s infused with the dark power that binds this horde. Take him down, and the rest will fall or flee.”

The elf looked at Geoffrey in awe. “Knight, how do you know all this?”

Geoffrey lifted his blade, stepping forward with his familiar smug smile. “I paid attention in history class, Elf. From the technology of the old world and the great wars, to the Renaissance of Enlightenment, and the merging of technology and magic in the rebuilding of our new world—I’ve studied it all. I may not know spells or prophecies like our witch here, but I know enough. And enough tells me we’re in for one hell of a fight. Fortunately, my blade is thirsty.”

The high priestess stepped between them, withdrawing a small, shimmering blade. She murmured an incantation that caused the blade to glow a vibrant green. Raising her staff high, she called out, “By the grace of the Creator, protect our chosen heroes. We honor the laws of combat in this world and his divinity. May he shield us, and if we fall, may he guide our spirits to the Starfields beside him.”

A blue aura swept over the group, but her prayer was abruptly interrupted by the shriek of vampire bats. A chill swept over the crew as the bats drew close, their ravenous faces coming into view—wings jagged with razor-sharp claws, fangs snapping in anticipation.

The archer wasted no time, releasing arrows that struck jaws and pierced skulls, painting the night in shades of green and purple as the blood of bats, orcs, and goblins splattered across the dark canvas.

The huntsman followed suit, his throwing axes finding their mark in enemy skulls. Creatures plummeted from the sky like a hailstorm, but still, wave after wave advanced. As bodies fell, grappling hooks anchored into the airship, and the vile creatures leapt and clambered aboard with reckless abandon.

The high priestess did what she could, knocking the foul beings overboard with swift, unpolished yet fierce attacks. But Geoffrey stood out among them, moving with the grace of a dancer. He deflected attacks with his shield, slashing, severing, and skewering enemies as though his blade were an extension of his very being.

Creatures fell in mounds and heaps, but still they came, until finally the demon captain was upon them. As his vampire bat dove toward the airship like a homing missile, the demon captain leapt aboard with a heavy thud. The air grew putrid and rancid, and the group felt their skin crawl as they met his cold, lifeless eyes.

Lost in awe, the elf barely reacted as the bat descended upon him, its fangs ready to strike. Geoffrey moved fast, driving his sword through the bat’s head, stopping mere inches before it reached the elf’s throat. With swift precision, the knight withdrew his blade, and the elf scrambled up beside him, arrow drawn, his vision clouded with fear and shock.

“Thanks. I owe you one,” muttered the elf, slightly embarrassed.

Geoffrey lifted his blade. “Don’t mention it. Matter of fact, send an arrow through this creature’s eye and we’ll call it even.”

The elf nodded, sweat falling from his brow. With sheer determination, he let loose his signature shot of three silver arrows. The demon captain, with a casual swipe of one hand, batted away two arrows like flies and plucked the third from the air, snapping it in half as if breaking a child’s toy. His harsh laughter reverberated through Geoffrey and the elf’s core.

“Pathetic creatures. If this is the best King Lianus has, we’ll be feasting on both kingdoms by the time that spider finishes its web.” The demon captain’s thunderous laughter echoed, his thick, deformed, leather-like skin cracking under the pale moonlight.

The huntsman acted next. In one fluid motion, he sent his throwing axe hurtling toward the demon captain. The captain stretched out his hand, catching the axe’s blade in his palm. Purple blood trickled down, but the demon only chuckled, tilting his head as he wrenched the axe out and lifted his bloodied hand.

Without a word, he hurled the axe with terrifying speed, and it struck the elven archer square in the skull. The elf’s eyes widened in devastation, his final breath stuck frozen in his throat as blood poured from the wound, and he toppled backward like a fallen tree.

Geoffrey’s eyes welled with pain and rage. He hurled his shield aside, gripping his blade high as the priestess struggled to fend off the remaining waves of foes that threatened to interfere.

“Ah, that’s right, knight!” the demon captain sneered. “Let it out! Show me you’re not as pathetic as the rest of these slabs of flesh!”

Geoffrey stepped forward, glancing once more at the lifeless body of his fallen comrade. His eyes blazing, he let out a roar and swung with all his might. The demon captain parried with ease, his grin widening.

“Come on, knight,” he taunted. “Don’t let your pathetic feelings for that elf make this easier than it should be.”

Geoffrey spun around, striking at the demon’s leg, but was met with a punishing knee to the chest, sending him stumbling forward.

“Better,” the demon captain mocked, “but is this truly the best Worswit can muster after a thousand years?”

The huntsman charged forward, axe held high, only for the demon’s blade to sweep across him, slicing open his midsection.

The priestess, still battling the hordes of skeletons, orcs, and goblins, raised her staff and chanted an incantation, aiming a blast of magic at the demon captain as he closed in on Geoffrey.

The captain bellowed with laughter. “You think your puny magic can affect me? I’m protected by the dark lord’s finest acolytes. This is getting tiresome!”

He raised his blade to strike Geoffrey down, but metal met metal in a flash. The air rang with the clanging of fine steel, as blow met blow, and parry met parry. The two seemed evenly matched, locked in a deadly dance of skill and ferocity.

Geoffrey’s face glistened with sweat, his eyes ablaze with sheer determination. He spun once more, aiming his strike for the demon’s head.

With a roar, the demon charged, his own blade thrusting forward. Geoffrey’s sword fell from his hands as the demon captain’s weapon pierced through him, sending his body crashing to the ship’s floor beside the fallen elf.

The priestess’s face grew pale with concern. She gripped her dagger and glanced down at the stone on her necklace as it began to glow and buzz. She was no warrior, but she had no choice. Whispering a silent prayer, she charged forward, leaping onto the demon captain’s back and aiming to sink her dagger into his skull.

For a fleeting moment, she felt a surge of hope, thinking she’d caught him off guard. But just as she focused her strength on the strike, the demon captain’s hand shot up, seizing her with one powerful arm. He flung her forward, and she crashed face-first onto the ship’s deck.

Bloodied, she opened her eyes just in time to see the demon captain wrench his bloodied sword free from Geoffrey’s lifeless body. Dazed, she glanced around and saw her glowing dagger lying halfway between her and the fallen huntsman. She reached out, desperation fueling her movements, but all hope was crushed as the demon’s blade plunged into her sternum. She gasped, blood pouring from her lips, clinging to the last shreds of life.

Just as her vision began to blur, she saw the captain’s door fly open. A gruff, tattered dwarf emerged, holding a massive two-handed axe—nearly twice his height—in one hand and a bottle of ale in the other.

Captain Grimble stumbled forward, his steps off-balanced but determined. “Have no fear, Captain Grimble the Chosen is here.” Angrily and annoyed he tossed the bottle of ale aside, and gripped his massive axe high with both hands, mumbling some indistinguishable words and cusses.

“Ugh… every time I try to lay good old Kegsplitter down, another kingdom needs saving. Of course, I’d be the chosen one,” he grumbled.

The demon captain turned toward the dwarf, his bitter laugh echoing in the darkness.

Matted with dirt and reeking of alcohol, the dwarf rushed forward, bellowing an indistinguishable war cry. He raised the axe high, muscles rippling with tense, hard-won strength as he charged. The demon captain’s smile widened, and with a precise, powerful step forward, he intercepted Grimble’s swing, seizing the axe mid-swing and kicking the dwarf to the ground in one brutal motion.

Looming over the dwarf, his eyes glowed with a cold, hateful intensity. “You should have kept the door closed, dwarf. It was your only chance,” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. With a sickening finality, he drove the weapon down into Grimble’s head, splitting him in two.

Drowning in silent agony and fury, the maiden tore the axe from the demon’s spine, causing him to flinch. Fueled by desperation and rage, she buried the axe deep in his thick neck.

“Raaaa!” the demon shrieked. “How dare you, whore. I can smell your impurity from here. I’ll snap you in two.” His voice dripped with pain for the first time, as he dropped the huntsman’s broken, fading body and menacingly turned toward her.

The huntsman wasted no time. Gripping the glowing dagger, he lunged, plunging it into the demon captain’s leg with all his might. The demon bellowed, his cry reaching the dark depths from which he came, as he turned to rip the enchanted dagger from his leg.

The maiden became numb to thought and fear alike. Sucking up her sobs, she tore the axe from his neck and struck with every bit of power she had. Her eyes widened as she saw the demon’s head roll across the deck, his purple blood baptizing her in gruesome filth.

Her knees gave way, and she collapsed before her lover, gripping him frantically and kissing his bloody mouth with passion and despair. “It’s going to be alright; we’ll get help,” she whispered tenderly.

The huntsman smiled, gathering his final strength. “You’re right. You saved me from whatever dark void that demon was pulling me toward. I can see it now—the light of the starfield. I love you. I’ll wait…”

His words faded as he drew his final breath. The maiden’s cries echoed through the darkness as she held him close.

The priestess, clinging to her last moments, watched through reflections of blood and Geoffrey’s shield. It was as if the light of the starfields themselves had shone upon her, bringing clarity and revealing the chosen- it was the huntsman’s maiden; she was the chosen one.

“Maiden, I know it hurts, but it’s up to you now. Look down in his blood. What do you see?”

The maiden looked down, confused. “I don’t understand, witch. It’s just his blood and me…” The priestess nodded, then whispered with her last breath:

“When blood rains from sky

And the river turns backward,

Blood reveals the one.”

The maiden’s eyes opened wide, and her jaw dropped in disbelief. “No, this can’t be right. I’m just an odalisque turned wife. This cannot be.”

The priestess stared at her deeply. “It is you. You must believe and warn the king of the queen’s betrayal. Tell him of these darker forces, and convince those who judge you that you are the one. Take my necklace and dagger. I will guide you from the stars.”

With that, the priestess collapsed, her life slipping away.

The maiden stared at her reflection in the blood, then at Geoffrey’s shield. “I’m no hero. I was only a concubine until he saved me from that tainted life. I belonged next to him, loving and serving him. He was the brave one.” Her gaze shifted to the fallen bodies scattered around her, finally resting on the demon captain’s head.

Her heart raced, the bitter taste of tears and blood lingering on her tongue. A part of her resisted, still in disbelief. But the sight of her lover’s lifeless eyes, waiting, and his fallen comrades reminded her that she had no choice. She would not let their sacrifice be in vain.

The king and all of Southern Worswit needed a hero. Her husband was gone, but his spirit and legacy could live on through her. She would make him proud. Wiping away her tears, she forced herself up, heartbroken, yet with a newfound determination she tore the necklace from the priestess and placed the enchanted dagger between her breast. Lastly, she struggled with the huntsman’s limp corpse, strapping him to the largest scout frog, before setting forth through the bloody night, not to fulfill some prophecy or to find vengeance or glory, but to honor her huntsman’s legacy and make him proud. She would make sure that his name and sacrifice endured through the ages.

Author’s Note:

As someone who’s always been drawn to fantasy, I eagerly began crafting this dark tale the moment I saw the challenge. My imagination might have run a bit wild, and this world’s lore and history have only expanded in my mind since. So while my ambitions took the story past the word limit of the challenge, I’m thrilled to share the full, unabridged version with the Vocal community.

For the challenge, I’ll also be posting a shorter version, so feel free to compare, skip, or explore both to get a glimpse into the editing and creative process I went through. I’ve also got a simpler, standalone piece in the works that I hope to share by the deadline.

If you’ve made it this far, I’d love to hear any feedback or thoughts you have! I’ve poured a lot into crafting this world and story, including Easter eggs just for the Vocal community. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!