Chapter 15: Ride to Aurellian

Caelan’s voice was calm but firm. “Ready yourself. We depart in an hour.”

The moment the soldier delivered the warning, the gravity of the situation left no room for hesitation. Raye nodded silently and followed Caelan as they left the training grounds without another word. A storm of urgency brewed between them—not of panic, but of purpose.

They returned swiftly to arm themselves. Raye changed into lightweight, reinforced armor suited for rapid movement and combat, strapping his sword to his back. Caelan donned the dark steel of Aeldenmarch’s royal armor—wrought with silver engravings and the crest of the Eirwyn line upon his shoulder. They crossed paths again in the war room not long after, where Caelan had already summoned Theron and the scout.

Edrin, the scout who had delivered the message, stood ready—his boots caked with dried mud, urgency still burning in his eyes.

“Edrin,” Caelan said, securing the last piece of his armor, “was Vaerond with them?”

Edrin shook his head. “No, my lord. I saw no signs of him or any other commanding figures. It looked like a strike squad—small, mobile. I believe their intent is to erase what’s left of the town. Quick, quiet.”

Caelan absorbed the report with a tight nod. “Then we move with equal speed. Theron, summon and prepare fifty soldiers. Raye and I will ride with them.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Theron replied. Then, after a beat: “Let me come with you, my lord.”

Caelan turned to him. “No. I need you here. If this is a diversion, Aeldenmarch must not be caught unguarded.”

Theron’s lips pressed into a hard line. “Understood.”

Caelan looked back to Edrin. “Any updates on Raye’s men?”

“They’re still in the region, helping civilians and tending to the injured. They’ve stayed behind to keep order.”

“Good,” Caelan muttered. “That gives us a foothold.”

An hour later, the battalion was assembled at the eastern gate—fifty soldiers of Aeldenmarch, armored and mounted. Raye rode near the front, expression unreadable, gaze fixed straight ahead. Caelan joined him moments later, his horse steady beneath him, his presence anchoring the tense anticipation in the air.

Without delay, Caelan raised his voice to the company.

“We ride for Aurellian. For those who still stand—and for those who cannot.”

The gates of Aeldenmarch swung open. The thunder of hooves rose behind them like a storm.

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Aurellian lay a few kilometers to the southwest of Aeldenmarch—nestled in the lowlands, its borders touched by sparse forests and wide plains. Once a peaceful settlement under the Ember Kingdom’s watch, it had now become a refuge—slightly damaged and half-standing—housing the remnants of soldiers and civilians alike.

Aurellian stood resilient under grey skies, its stone walls still intact and homes bustling quietly with recovering life. Though signs of a recent skirmish lingered—shattered carts, patched-up barricades, and the scent of scorched timber—it was clear the town had weathered the attack well. A tribal faction under Vaerond's influence had attempted to breach the defenses days ago but was repelled by the Ember Knights and allied forces holding the area.

Inside the central barracks, Kael moved between rooms filled with injured soldiers and civilians. Some lay with bandaged wounds, others sat on benches, sharing water and quiet stories. The air smelled of herbs and faint smoke. Despite the tension, a certain calm had settled—one born of survival and stubbornness.

Kael, dressed in his Ember armor and red-lined cloak, was speaking with one of the field medics when a soldier rushed in.

“Sir, there’s a rider at the south entrance—Aeldenmarch insignia.”

Kael looked up, immediately alert. “Bring him to me.”

Moments later, the scout entered the barracks, boots muddy and chest rising with each breath.

“Commander Kael,” he saluted quickly. “I bring urgent news from Aeldenmarch.”

Kael nodded. “Speak.”

“A strike force under Vaerond’s banner is advancing this way. Light in number, likely a precision squad aiming to wipe out the town before reinforcements can arrive.”

Kael’s jaw tensed. “Any known high-ranking officers?”

“None seen, sir. According to scouts, it appears to be a fast, coordinated sweep—likely relying on speed, not strength.”

Kael gave a short nod. “Then we’ll hold them off again.”

He turned to his men. “Form ranks at the perimeter, check the barricades, reinforce weak spots. Civilians stay inside the chapel until this is over.”

His voice was firm, eyes unwavering. The soldiers moved quickly, their boots echoing across the stone as they prepared once more to defend what they still had.

Kael exhaled, glancing to the northern road.

“I hope they’re close.”

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The thunder of hooves beat against the earth as Caelan, Raye, and fifty soldiers from Aeldenmarch advanced across the open plains. An hour had passed since they departed, and the town of Aurellian was finally in sight—its walls still standing strong, banners of the Ember Kingdom fluttering in the wind.

As the squad neared, Caelan raised his hand, signaling a slow.

He turned to Raye as the others fanned into a tactical line.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Caelan began, voice calm and sharp. “We’re dividing into three groups. Group One flanks from the north to intercept the strike force. Group Two will circle from the west to cut off escape. I’ll lead Group Three through the front gate to reinforce Kael’s defense.”

He looked directly at Raye.

“You’ll take the northern flank. With your current state—even unstable—you can create chaos in their formation. Don’t try to overpower them. Disrupt and divide.”

Raye nodded. “Understood.”

Caelan gave a faint smile. “I don’t expect perfection. I expect fire. That you’ve already proven you have.”

As they crested a low hill, the edge of the town came into full view—and so did the dust trails in the distance.

Vaerond’s strike force was closing in.

Caelan drew his sword. “Let’s end this before it begins.”