Inside the high walls, Marcus was amusing himself with his wine, swaying slightly on his feet from intoxication, while his fingers moved around the cup as if they knew the way by themselves. His laughter mingled with the noise of the feast before one of the guards approached him, bent slightly, and whispered short words in his ear with his terrifying hoarse voice.
In an instant, Marcus straightened up. Half his smile disappeared. He turned toward the guard, then poured what remained of his wine onto the stone floor and said with calm features hiding something far colder:
"Good job. Well served."
Then he left the party quickly.
Outside the wall, King Meriel stood with angry eyes, with his brother Gerald, who was clearly worried. Fear and anger were wrestling upon his heavy features. His trembling hands could barely steady themselves, and his eyes were fixed on the forest… that forest which had swallowed thousands of lives within mere minutes, returning nothing but silence.
He remained silent for a moment. Then he said in a loud voice, as if the decision escaped before thought:
"Gather all the guards. We're going in."
The captain of the guards hesitated, as if words were stuck in his throat. But before he could speak, King Robert intervened, standing with his usual calm, his head tilted slightly downward as if listening to something no one else could hear. He said in a steady voice:
"What do you think you're doing, Meriel?"
Meriel turned toward him quickly, his voice trembling with both anger and fear:
"What do you think? I'm going to find my son, and no one can stand in my way. No one."
Robert replied, his blind eyes directed toward the ground:
"Who said I would stop you? You are free to go. But not a single guard will leave this wall. They are the wall's guard, not your precious son's guard."
Marcus, who had just arrived, interrupted him, placing his hands behind his back:
"Even if the entire kingdom went after your son, they wouldn't find him, because he will be dead while we are talking here. But perhaps if you go alone, you can at least find his corpse."
In an instant, Meriel grabbed his hammer. He raised it until it stopped directly in front of Marcus's face. His breaths were heavy. His veins were bulging. He said in a low but terrifying voice:
"Say one more word, and I will crush your skull until it becomes grains of salt. I think that would make you even prouder of what you've become."
Gerald intervened quickly. He placed his hand firmly on his brother's shoulder, trying to steady him before the situation exploded. He said in a calm yet firm tone:
"He is rude, brother, but he is right. The Normens would never leave him alive."
Meriel removed his brother's hand violently. Then he turned toward him, anger consuming his voice:
"What exactly do you want me to do? Go back inside the walls and weep like a widow?"
Then he moved. Without hesitation. He headed directly toward the forest. But something pulled him from below. He looked. It was Ned, clinging to his father's foot with both hands. His hair was disheveled, his features terrified, his breath broken.
Meriel looked at him and said:
"What are you doing?"
Ned raised his head slowly, his eyes full of guilt:
"It's my fault."
In a moment of anger, Meriel kicked him. Ned fell to the ground. But Meriel did not look back. He continued on his way. Until— A strong blow landed on the back of his head. He fell directly to the ground, unconscious. The guards exchanged glances in heavy silence.
Afterward, they carried him inside. The rest of the kings followed.
But one person remained outside the wall. King Sam. He stood near the forest, his guards behind him. Looking at the trees as if they were calling to him. Then he said to one of the guards, his eyes gleaming with dangerous curiosity:
"I've always wondered about their forms. Are they truly strong, or is it just a lie that isolates us from something great?"
The guard answered quickly and innocently, trying to match his tone:
"You are right, my lord. I ask myself the same questions."
Sam turned to him with a serious face. Then he smiled. A smile that made the guard step back one small step without realizing it. He said:
"Really? You do that too? That's good. Enter, then."
The guard froze.
"What?"
Sam turned slowly:
"You have questions, don't you? The only way to answer them is to enter."
The guard hesitated.
"But… but…"
Sam approached. He placed his hand on his shoulder. And his voice became softer… and more terrifying:
"By doing so, you could find the king's son. This would change a lot in our relationship with the kingdom of Izzadar, and you would become my right hand and change the fate of the kingdom."
The guard stepped toward the forest. Against his will. As if his feet were moving on their own. He entered.
As for Sam, he remained watching. Only minutes passed.
Then—A scream. A scream that made even the wind seem to stop.
Sam stepped closer. Then another step. And he glimpsed something running. The guard. He was fleeing. Terror wearing him down. Sam began to retreat slowly. The guard drew near. Very near—
Then a spear pierced his body with force. It shot out of the forest for dozens of miles. Until it stopped directly at Sam's feet. The king froze. Then he began to clap, and laugh as he was enjoying himself. A short, disturbed, uncertain laugh.
Before he and his guards retreated quickly toward the wall.
As for the guard… He was still alive. Resisting. The spear embedded in his body. His breath breaking. His hands trembling. Trying to cling to life.
Then— The spear was pulled from his body, and he let out a faint scream.
The Normen guard stood there in his spotless white uniform, not a drop of the man's blood on it, as they claim that human blood is on their own hands. He looked at the body, then turned it over with his feet and gazed at the man's face, then returned with the same silence.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.And with that… The man breathed his last.
On the night that was the loudest night the Wall had seen in a long time, sounds rose from the camps. Laughter. Faint singing. Clashing cups. A distant fire. The wind carried it all, then scattered it.
One of the guards was not interested in anything.
He was on top of the Wall, walking to his post. Drunk. Swaying. Sweat on his brow. In his hand, a nearly empty flask. His steps were unsteady. He nearly fell more than once. He laughed to himself. Muttered.
And as he made his way to his usual spot, he caught sight of something.
There was a figure standing on the Wall, looking over the parapet with focus. Strangely, she was not a guard. She was a woman. Beautiful.
The guard approached, swaying. He stopped two steps away. "What is a beautiful woman doing here? Do you want to keep me company on my watch?"
He laughed. "I advise you not to. Because nothing happens in this cursed place. Unless one of us moves. Nothing happens. Nothing. Do you understand?"
It was Elia. She stood there.
She did not turn to him. She kept looking down, beyond the Wall, into the darkness.
"Do you intend to protect humanity? You?."
"What? Are you insulting me?" the guard shouted. He tried to straighten up. "I will throw you off this wall. Do you think I cannot?"
Elia said calmly, "Down there. Look. The kings are making a ruckus. They think this will change something in their positions. Nothing will change. Humans will remain afraid. Hiding. Like rats."
She passed by the guard and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Tell me," she said. "How will you defeat humanity's greatest enemy when you cannot even handle yourself?"
The guard shouted. He grabbed Elia's hand and tried to twist it. His grip trembled from the drink. "I will show you what I can do, you whore!"
Elia did not feel pain.
She gripped the guard's hand. She pressed down.
His face began to change. The pain rose. He felt something in his wrist—something moving, something breaking. His voice came out mangled, half scream and half whimper. The bone tore through the skin with a wet, grinding sound. It protruded, its whiteness gleaming under the torchlight.
He remained standing, looking at his hand, at the bone, at the woman walking away down the passage.
And Elia returned inside the Wall.
In the eastern castle of the wall, where Meriel resided… He woke up on his bed. His hand on his neck. And in front of him stood Gerald, with a frowning face.
He said:
"Sorry. I had to do that, or I would be looking at your corpse by now."
Meriel rose slowly. He sat down, placing his hands on his knees. Then he said in a tired voice, as if speaking to an old memory:
"Why are your ways always so violent? Even when we were children, you used to make me suffer, but you never abandoned me for a moment. You always stood behind me, even when I was wrong."
Gerald looked at his brother. But he said nothing. He only listened.
Meriel said, staring at the ground, his voice cracking like glass thrown onto stone:
"They said... They said my sons were cursed. From the very moment of their birth. And that their mother died... giving them life."
He stops, swallows hard:
"You know? Maria... She was in perfect health. Truly. When she gave birth to Edd, my firstborn, she was like the full moon."
He breathes with difficulty:
"But... When she began to deliver Ned. I felt it. No... I felt her. I felt something dark, cold—like a hand over her mouth. It was pulling her away from me, beat by beat. And by the time Ned cried out his first breath... by taking her last. She was gone. My soul peeled away with hers."
A long silence, he looks at his hands:
"Yet even then... Even after all of that, I never once blamed my son. I held him in my arms. He was dripping with blood... blood that was all I had left. And I told myself: perhaps her time had simply come. Perhaps she was weary, perhaps she longed for eternal rest."
He presses his hand to his chest:
"But ten years later... Ten full years. Ned comes back to me now... covered in blood again. While his brother Edd—not a single drop on him. No trace of blood at all."
He slowly lifts his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper:
"Do you know what I thought in that moment? In that very moment?"
He pauses, as if the words are choking him:
"I said to myself, deep down... Perhaps... they were right. Perhaps this child... is cursed. Yes. Perhaps fate made a mistake when it gave him life. Perhaps... He should never have been born at all."
Gerald said quickly, his features hardening:
"What are you saying, brother? The child had no hand in any of this. It is our reality. We are the ones who allowed ourselves to hide, even though we knew danger was watching us."
Behind the door… Ned was standing. His hand on the handle. His ear pressed to the crack. He heard everything. Every word. Every doubt. Every pain. He froze in place. Until a servant bumped into him. He flinched. Then he ran.
Ran without knowing where, just like he did in the forbidden forest. Just fleeing. As he had done before.
Until he spotted one of the carts preparing to leave the wall, heading toward the kingdom of Thornholl. Ned did not think twice. He ran lightly, then snuck into the cart without anyone noticing. A merchant was driving it.
The cart left the walls safely. The wind was cold. And the sound of the wheels on the stone road was steady… until it suddenly stopped miles later.
Ned froze in place. He heard a man's voice from outside. Claiming that the road had been cut off for him. After that—Silence fell. A heavy silence. Brief.
Then the cart moved again. But something felt wrong. Curiosity stirred Ned. He approached a little. Tried to sneak a look from between the covers. And then—He saw the merchant's body lying in the back. His neck drenched in blood. And his eyes open, as if they hadn't understood what had happened.
Ned trembled. Held his breath.
While the new driver sang in a low voice, as if nothing had happened. It was an old song. One of the historical invasion songs. They called it: The Marching Song. The song that was said to grant a man immunity from fear. The song the invaders used to chant as they entered battles.
Ned tried to use the noise to his advantage. He moved slowly. Then—He jumped from the cart. Tumbled hard over the ground. He felt pain. But he rose quickly. And thought for a moment that the man hadn't noticed anything.
But suddenly— The cart stopped. And the singing ceased. The driver turned around. He didn't find anyone.
On the other side, Ned was hiding in the thick grass, curled up around himself, pressing his hand over his mouth to make no sound.
The man got down from the cart. And as he walked, he continued singing in his hoarse, terrifying voice:
"Steel met steel, and none would bow in shame,They marched through blood and fire, calling out their name.The brave stood fast while kingdoms burned in flame,And those who fled the field would carry only shame."
Then—A faint sound came from the grass. The man stopped. He approached slowly. Began searching the place. Until he found him. Ned. Curled up like a small animal trying to hide from the world.
The man said, in a voice that seemed strangely calm:
"Child, what are you doing here? Don't you know there are wild animals in this place?"
But Ned did not answer. He only looked at the ground. His breath disturbed.
The man said as he turned away:
"Whatever."
Then he stopped suddenly. He looked again. His eyes narrowed slightly. He said:
"Wait, I think I see something familiar. Where did you get that belt, child? Is it a fake? Let me see your face."
Ned did not answer. And in a moment—He ran. With everything he had left.
The man's expression changed instantly. And he sprinted after him.
But… He was not the only one chasing. From afar, the sound of horse hooves echoed. Five riders. They surrounded him quickly. The man stopped.
While Ned continued running without stopping. The man began to study them. Until his eyes fell on the symbol on their bags. A white seed inside a blue circle. He smiled a short smile. And said:
"You are men of Marcus Salter. I should have known he wouldn't leave me alive after what he told me to do. But it's not me you like to follow. Look over there in that direction—King Meriel's child. He is running. You must catch him now. I think Salter will honor whoever gets him first."
One of the riders dismounted. Approached him quietly. Then—Cut off his head. With a single strike.
The rider said as he wiped his blade:
"You talk too much. It's no surprise Salter wants your head with your tongue still inside."
Then the men set off after Ned.
As for Ned… He was running mindlessly. Until the road ended. He stopped suddenly. In front of him, a steep cliff. And below—A violent river. Its waters striking the rocks as if trying to shatter them.
He turned around. The riders surrounded him. One of them said in a falsely calm voice:
"Easy, young one. Let us return you to your father."
But Ned's eyes fell on something inside one of the bags. The merchant's head. Blood still dripping from it.
In that moment—He did not hesitate. He jumped.
The riders quickly approached the edge. They looked down. But—Nothing. Only the deadly current.
One of them said, swallowing hard:
"Oh God. I think King Meriel must grieve twice."
Then they left the place.
Early in the morning… Marcus was having breakfast, preparing to leave the wall. The table was full. But his appetite seemed heavier than usual.
His old assistant approached him. Bowed slightly. And said in a low voice:
"His head has been cut off, my lord. He won't be able to talk again."
Marcus said without raising his head:
"Good. Give the men some silver."
The assistant hesitated for a moment. Then he said:
"There is other news, my lord. Our men saw the second child of the king in the forest, but he jumped into the big river of Mazz, and it is impossible for him to remain alive."
Marcus suddenly stopped eating. Slowly… He raised his head. His eyes narrowed. And he said seriously:
"Search for the child everywhere. He is alive."
The assistant hesitated. "How do you seem so confident?"
Marcus set his utensils aside. Then he looked directly at him. And said:
"Have you ever seen anyone come out of the Forbidden Wood before?"
The assistant swallowed. And said slowly:
"No, my lord."
Marcus said seriously:
"Exactly."