Chapter 2 The warrior and the warning

The horns of war echoed through the peaks of Eldoria, a sound both chilling and rousing. The kingdom had been drawn into conflict with the Frostborn Clans-rogue magical tribes that had long lived in exile beyond the Northern Wastes. Now, united under a single warlord, they had returned to stake a bloody claim on Eldoria's lands.

If only they know of the new warrior in Eldoria they wouldn't dare nurture the thought of claiming the land.

King Aldric wasted no time. His generals debated strategies in smoky war rooms, but when the king's gaze landed on Kael, his voice rang clear above all others:

"You will lead the charge."

It was no longer a test. It was a declaration.

At twenty, Kael was younger than most commanders, but none questioned the decision. Not openly. He had trained for this. Born from prophecy, hardened by palace cruelty, and sharpened through relentless preparation-Kael was the blade Eldoria had forged for war.

The campaign began in the snows of Highwinter Ridge. Kael, clad in dark armor etched with golden runes, led the army of Eldoria through jagged mountain passes. His reputation had already begun to spread-whispers of a warrior who fought like a tempest, who moved like he was part shadow, part flame.

The Frostborn ambushed them on the fifth day. A brutal, blinding blizzard cloaked the battlefield, turning vision into chaos. But Kael, sensing the trap, had split the army into three segments before they climbed the ridge, they were ready for this. As enemy war drums thundered and arrows sliced through the snow, his flanks emerged from behind the cliffs and descended with fury.

Steel met steel. Magic cracked through the air like thunder. Kael fought at the front, his blade whirling in deadly arcs, his movements elegant and lethal, his speed unmatched. Fire bloomed from his fists as he channeled ancient spells few could control. He faced the Frostborn Warlord himself-twice his size, cloaked in cursed ice- but Kael was never intimidated, filled with rage and so much energy he felled the warlord in a single combat. Those who saw the incident in the middle of the war couldn't believe their eyes.

The victory was absolute.

By dawn, Eldoria's banners flew from the Frostborn citadel. The clans, broken and leaderless, fled into the wastes. Weak to their bones at how a 20 year old defeated their warlord.

And the name Kael became legend.

---

Back in the capital, the people poured into the streets in celebration. Songs were sung of the golden-eyed warrior who could not be slain. Children carved wooden swords and played at being Kael of the Stormblade. Nobles who once turned their noses up at him now praised him at banquets and balls.

But Kael did not celebrate.

He returned to the palace bloodied and silent. In his chambers, he scrubbed the scent of battle from his skin but could not remove the look in the eyes of the men he'd killed. Even as victory surrounded him, he felt a coldness beginning to root itself inside.

King Aldric was pleased. He called Kael to the throne room, raised a goblet in his honor, and named him Champion of Eldoria before the court.

But in the shadows, Lord Balthazar watched with unreadable eyes.

---

Across the sea, in the glittering court of the human kingdom of Virelia, Queen Seraphine sat in silence, a scroll of war reports open in her lap.

Her commanders stood uneasy before her, the tension in the room as thick as smoke.

"A single man?" she asked, voice like the edge of ice. "You're telling me the entire Frostborn campaign was turned by a single man?"

"He's no ordinary soldier," one general replied. "They say he commands magic, fights with the strength of ten. They're calling him the Stormblade. Kael of Eldoria."

Queen Seraphine narrowed her eyes. "I've heard the name."

"He's young," another added. "But dangerous. If Aldric means to extend his reach beyond Eldoria, Kael would lead the charge."

The queen rose, robes of crimson trailing behind her as she walked to the arched windows of her chamber. Beyond, the capital of Virelia glittered in the sun, its marble spires and golden domes untouched by war-for now.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the window frame.

"This... warrior," she said slowly, "he's not of noble birth?"

"No, Your Majesty. A commoner. Raised in the palace under strange circumstances. The details are hazy."

Seraphine's lips twisted into something between intrigue and disdain.

"Then he is not just a weapon. He is a symbol. A statement." She turned to face her generals. "And symbols inspire revolts, uprisings... even gods."

A long silence followed.

Finally, she spoke again.

"Send envoys. Discreetly. I want to know everything about Kael of Eldoria. Where he was born, who trained him, how he thinks. If he dreams."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And if he breathes," she added, her voice like steel, "he can be killed."

"Send me mother." the princess intruded. Everybody turned towards the direction the voice came from.

"Send me mother, I can get you all the information you want." she repeated as she steps closer to the middle of the hall.

"Darling, I know you're strong and smart, but I can't risk this, let's not underestimate this warrior, let them handle this" the queen replied as she stepped closer to her, tapping her on the shoulder to make her understand.

The princess never disobeys the mother, she follows every command and she promised to let the men handle it.

---

Back in Eldoria, Kael stood once again at the edge of the palace balcony, the wind brushing against his armor like an old friend. Below, the city glowed in celebration, unaware of the storm quietly gathering across the sea.

He no longer questioned his place in the palace, but the questions within him had only grown louder.

Why had he truly been born?

Why had the gods chosen him?

And what did they want him to become?

As he stood in the moonlight, he heard soft footsteps behind him.

"Celebrating alone?" came a voice.

He turned. It was a girl-no, a woman-wrapped in a traveling cloak, eyes like moonstone. She was not from Eldoria. Her accent was foreign, her gaze steady.

He studied her warily. "Do I know you?"

"No," she said with a slow smile. "But you will."

Before he could speak again, she turned and vanished into the palace halls, leaving only a faint trace of perfume and more questions than answers.