In the vast and shadowed lands of Celestria, a storm of demons, gore, blood, and magic rages, threatening to engulf the world in darkness. At the heart of this tempest stands Raledan, whose life is thrown into chaos after a fateful encounter that costs him his right hand and thrusts him into the epicenter of a conflict spanning the nation.
Once a soldier of the Imperial Legion who turned to the simple life of a miner, Raledan’s journey from humble beginnings is marked by resilience, redemption, and a struggle against an internal darkness that seeks to overpower him. His path becomes a perilous trek through a land rife with conflict and deception, where he must navigate the treacherous terrain of allegiances, battling not just the enemies that threaten Celestria but also the demons within.
EMERGING FROM THE DEPTHS of the excavation site, Raledan left the rhythmic chorus of pickaxes chipping away at stubborn rock behind. As he stepped into the open, the crisp, fresh air of the mountains greeted him— a stark contrast to the dusty confines he had just left. Pausing, he allowed himself a moment to bask in the tranquility surrounding him.
The sun, hanging low in the sky, bathed Raledan in its warm, comforting glow, a welcome change from the dimly lit tunnels of the mine where only flickering lanterns cast elongated shadows against the rocky walls. The black streaks on his brow, left by sweat mixed with mine dust, testified to his hard labor.
For Raledan, this brief interlude was more than just a physical break from the backbreaking work of mining. It offered a precious moment of solitude, a chance to reconnect with the world outside the dark tunnels. He savored the sun on his face and the gentle breeze carrying the scent of pine from the surrounding forests, reminders of a world beyond the mine’s confines.
Feeling the weight of the day’s fatigue, Raledan approached the nearest bucket filled with cool, refreshing water. First, he plunged his hands in, seeking relief for his calloused skin, roughened by unyielding rock and the constant grip of the pickaxe. Then he splashed water onto his face, washing away the black streaks of grime, and finally ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to rid it of the dust clinging to every strand.
Each movement was deliberate and practiced, honed through months of laborious work. The daily grind had established a rhythm in his life, a series of small rituals that provided a semblance of order amid the chaos of physical exertion.
The mines demanded not only valuable minerals but also the utmost effort from those who worked within. The yield was impressive: gold and copper filled three horse-drawn carts by the end of their expedition. This remarkable output testified to the hard work and resilience of the miners. The task was formidable, pushing each man to his physical limits, challenging their stamina and endurance day after day.
Yet, for Raledan, there was a certain satisfaction to be found in this rigorous work. The simplicity and straightforwardness of mining, with its clear goals and tangible results, offered him a sense of accomplishment, a stark contrast to the complexities and nuances of city life back in Oris.
The mines represented far more to Raledan than just arduous work and the pursuit of precious minerals. They were a sanctuary, a place where he could distance himself from a past that haunted him. The rhythmic sound of pickaxes and the solitude deep within the earth provided a kind of solace he struggled to find elsewhere.
A little over a year ago, Raledan had deliberately chosen to move to Oris, seeking a fresh start. Oris, with its relative proximity to Alexandria yet still nestled within the borders of Celestria, presented an ideal refuge. It was far enough from the capital to offer anonymity and a break from the life he once knew, yet close enough to remain connected to the larger world.
In Oris, Raledan found a semblance of normalcy, or at least what he hoped would pass for it. He forged temporary bonds, typical in transient mining towns. These relationships, often cultivated in the dimly lit corners of taverns over rounds of drinks, were where stories were exchanged, and camaraderie was as fleeting as the flicker of candlelight. He spent modestly on accommodations and social gatherings, all part of an unspoken effort to blend in, to be just another face in the crowd, unburdened by the weight of his history.
But the mines offered something the taverns and transient friendships could not—a chance to lose himself in physical labor, to let the repetitive motions and focus on the task at hand drown out the memories of his past. In the depths of the earth, where the only concern was the vein of ore in front of him, Raledan found a temporary reprieve from the thoughts that often plagued him.
As Raledan finished shaking the last vestiges of the mine’s dust from his hair, he leaned against the wooden bucket, its sides coated in suet to repel water. His eyes wandered across the sprawling valley before him. The mining camp, tucked into a valley adjacent to the imposing Homa Mountains, offered a dramatic backdrop to the rugged landscape. Oris, a sprawling city north of the mining camp that had become his refuge, was known as one of the last safe bastions in a land increasingly plagued by demonic entities. Its reputation for safety had spread far and wide, drawing settlers and refugees alike. People from all corners of the empire, their lives upended by the terror of the demons, sought solace within the city’s walls. The tales of Oris’s safety were a beacon of hope in a world darkened by fear and destruction.
Raledan inspected his hands. The calluses marking his palms told of his toil in the mines. His gloves, worn and inadequate, had given out weeks ago, leaving his hands exposed to the unyielding rock.
Despite his efforts to clean up, traces of the mine still clung to him. Dirt stubbornly nestled in his brown hair, a small annoyance but one that Raledan had come to accept as part of his new life. Each particle of dust, each streak of dirt, was a badge of his hard work and a symbol of the simpler life he had chosen.
Raledan was jolted back to the present by Felix, whose energy and lighthearted demeanor contrasted starkly with Raledan’s more contemplative mood. His playful interruption, almost causing the water bucket to topple over, was typical. Raledan had grown to appreciate Felix’s company. Their friendship, forged in the depths of the mines, provided a welcome respite from the otherwise grueling and solitary nature of their work. Felix’s ability to find humor and lightness even in the most arduous circumstances had a way of making the days more bearable.
Brushing back his blond hair in a characteristic gesture, Felix tried to distract Raledan from the near spill. “This trip has felt particularly long, don’t you think, Raledan?” he asked, emphasizing “particularly” in a way that suggested his statement had more depth than a mere comment on time.
Raledan, ever the realist, shook his head in a mix of frustration and acceptance. “Usually, something happens to break the monotony, but not this time,” he observed. The mines, for all their predictability, often presented unforeseen challenges; yet this expedition had been unusually uneventful.
Felix chuckled, nudging Raledan’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Remember last time, when that band of looters tried to raid the camp? Nearly killed half the guards,” he said.
As the two men walked, the rugged path of the mining camp gradually gave way to a more serene landscape. Tall pine trees, their branches swaying gently in the mountain breeze, lined the path, replacing the harsh, rocky terrain of the mine. A river, fed by numerous mountain streams, flowed gracefully through the valley, carving its way toward Oris. The sound of the water, coupled with the rustle of the pine trees, created a soothing backdrop to their conversation.
In this peaceful setting, they shared stories and memories—a life oscillating between the mundanity of extracting ore and unexpected moments of excitement and danger. For Raledan, these moments with Felix were a reminder that, even in the depths of the earth, human connections could flourish, bringing light to the darkest of places.
The two miners eventually fell into a comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts. Then Felix, always one to find the lighter side of things, broke the silence with a question. “What made you choose this life, Raledan? I mean, the mines aren’t exactly everyone’s idea of a fresh start.” His tone was gentle, showing a level of understanding and respect for Raledan’s privacy, yet inviting him to share more about his journey.
Raledan glanced at Felix, the setting sun casting long shadows across their path. “It wasn’t just about starting fresh,” he began, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. “Back in Alexandria, life was... complicated. Too many expectations, too many memories. Here, in the mines, it’s different. You work hard, you see the results of your labor, and that’s it. There’s a simplicity to it that I find... comforting.”
Felix nodded. “There’s something about breaking rock and hauling ore that clears the mind. It’s tough, but it’s honest work.”
Raledan smiled faintly. “Exactly. In the city, I was constantly reminded of my past, the paths I didn’t take, the mistakes I made. Here, I’m just Raledan the miner, not Raledan with a history.”
The mining expedition, a diverse group of individuals drawn together by the promise of resources and opportunity, had formed a unique community in the harsh landscape of the Homa Mountains. The crew was a mix of local militia, opportunistic miners, and individuals with specialized skills crucial for the survival and success of the expedition. The local militia, though often lacking in training and experience, provided a sense of security, while the miners, numbering twenty, were the backbone of the operation, diligently processing the valuable minerals they unearthed.
Among the crew were also chefs, doctors, and the head of operations, each playing a vital role in the smooth functioning of the camp. The importance of a robust militia presence had been underscored by past expeditions, but budgetary constraints continued to limit the number of guards they could afford.
Erwin Valmont, the group’s manager, was a charismatic leader who managed to rally the crew with ease. His ability to motivate and organize had been evident since the beginning of the expedition, and the crew began dismantling the camp. There was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air, the end of the month meant a return to their families and the comforts of home.
For Raledan, however, the conclusion of the expedition held a different meaning. With no family waiting for his return, his nights in town were often spent in the quiet solitude of the local tavern, lingering until the early hours. His enigmatic demeanor and the shadows of his past made him a figure of intrigue, remaining distant from others. Felix was the exception to this, his persistent companionship either a sign of disregard for Raledan’s aura of solitude or a failure to recognize it.
As the crew gathered around the campfire for their final supper, the atmosphere was one of jovial camaraderie. The cooks, who had been careful with rations throughout the month, now allowed for a night of indulgence. The fire, usually kept discreet to avoid attracting unwanted attention, blazed more brightly, fueled by the relaxed mood and alcohol.
Confidence ran high in the camp. The Rift, a constant threat in the southwest, seemed a distant concern. Only a few stray demons had ever ventured this far east, and the crew felt secure in their temporary home. The laughter and conversations around the fire provided a rare moment of respite in a land often fraught with danger.
While Raledan had no qualms about eating in silence, Felix persistently sought to draw him into conversation. “What are the chances Erwin will give us an extra day in town?” Felix asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
Raledan, with food still in his mouth, replied, “Take the coin you made from this trip and buy him a companion; he might lose track of the schedule.”
Felix pondered this idea. Meanwhile, across the camp, Erwin stood up, ordering the fire to be extinguished and everyone to rest. “We depart before sunrise.”
As the night deepened in the mining camp, the regular rotation of the militiamen on watch became less stringent. Their discipline waned, with several men succumbing to brief moments of sleep before jerking awake. Armed with only rudimentary weapons like spears and rusted swords, coupled with their lack of vigilance, often prompted Raledan to stay awake late into the night, alert for any signs of danger.
Among the militia, there was one-man Raledan trusted enough to let his guard down: Maxwell Griffin. As fellow former members of the Imperial Legion, Maxwell and Raledan had formed a bond on their journey to the mine. They had shared stories about their past and their decision to leave it behind. Maxwell’s discipline and experience made him a reliable and competent guard, allowing Raledan some respite.
Raledan often reflected on the broader situation in Celestria, especially the Empire’s control over the southern part of the continent. This area was marked by a vast, ominous scar, a lasting reminder of the initial demon invasion fifty-three years ago. The region had since become a stronghold for the demonic forces, with their territory gradually expanding.
As a child, Raledan had heard tales of Valthorn, a city that once thrived but was now an occupied territory. It was renowned for its vibrant culture and the pride of its inhabitants. However, the city had fallen during the demonic incursion, transforming it into a desolate land inhabited by demonic entities of varying forms and powers.
Raledan’s tenure in the Imperial Legion, particularly his time stationed at Stormhold Keep, had left an indelible mark and made him wary. Those years were filled with experiences that surpassed the ordinary duties of a legionnaire. It was here that he witnessed demons being stealthily brought into Alexandria, through hidden caves and tunnels, hinting at a disturbing collusion between elements within the city and the demonic forces.
However, the memory that haunted Raledan the most stemmed from the cataclysmic fall of Stormhold Keep, forever changing his perspective on the war against the demons. At the heart of the chaos, he saw a monstrous creature being manipulated by a human mage.
The mage was surrounded by an enclave of fifteen hooded figures engaged in a chilling ritual. Each time the creature hesitated or stopped its advance, one of the hooded acolytes stepped forward, plunging a dagger into their own heart. This chilling sacrifice would release a red mist invigorating the creature, sending it back into a frenzied assault. The sight was both horrifying and bewildering; a demonic entity was being used against its own kind under the control of humans. Only this monster, coerced through sacrifice, turned the tide of the battle, sparing Raledan and his fellow knights’ lives.
These harrowing memories lingered in Raledan’s mind as he tried to find rest in the camp. The distant, subdued sounds of his fellow miners and militiamen provided a stark contrast to the vivid scenes of battle that replayed in his head. The demonic threat, though currently localized to the southwest, was a grim reminder of the tenuous nature of their safety. The events at Stormhold Keep underscored the complex and unpredictable nature of this war, blurring the lines between friend and foe, right and wrong.
It was another long night for Raledan; he stood up and walked over to the nearest tree to relieve himself. The men had dug a latrine hole on the opposite side of the camp upon their arrival, but it had been filled in earlier in the day. Since it was their last night, Raledan broke habit and found the closest solution, the tree line. The grass around the camp, flattened from constant foot traffic, hinted at how easily something could skulk around the camp unnoticed. Mid-piss, the thought of something lurking crossed Raledan’s mind, but he didn’t dwell on it, instead turning to head back to his cot. Suddenly he heard what sounded like a large animal hitting the ground and chains rattling. Raledan froze, straining to hear anything further.
The initial sound seemed distant, easily mistaken for a falling tree branch. Not wanting to risk endangering the entire camp, Raledan made his way to Erwin, notifying the sentries along the way.
“Erwin, hey, wake up,” Raledan whispered, kicking Erwin’s foot.
“What? What!” Erwin mumbled, startled.
“Keep your voice down. We might have movement to the northeast,” Raledan whispered.
Erwin stood up, concern evident on his face. “What did you hear?” “A loud thud, followed by what sounded like chains rattling,” Raledan replied.
“Did anyone else hear it?” Erwin asked.
“I don’t think so. It came from the direction of the mine.”
“Shit. Get everyone up. We’re moving out.”
With the sentries’ help, waking all the militiamen and miners proceeded relatively smoothly. They aimed to avoid startling the group while ensuring no one made too much noise. Once everyone was on their feet, the horses were swiftly hitched to the carts. In the hushed darkness of night, even the slightest sound carried for hundreds of paces. The noises from the excavation site had seemingly ceased. Raledan hoped what he had heard was nothing more than leftover gear from the mines falling in the wind. The majority of the men appeared unconcerned, still fatigued and moving about in a daze.
As the horses took their first steps out of the camp, Raledan momentarily froze at the cacophony created by the carts. Wood ground against metal, and the wheels cracked on every rock they encountered. Silently, he willed the carts to move faster. Erwin, not a fighter, had attended business school, leaving the organization to the militiamen.
Without a clear leader, Maxwell assumed the role. Being the oldest and most experienced, he now led the group at a brisk pace, the horses straining under the added weight of the carts. They headed north, with most of the trip through the valley downhill. As they continued, the trees grew closer together, limiting their visibility. The hired guards were strategically positioned a few paces apart on either side of the carts, while the miners clustered around the middle cart with the additional staff.
Raledan kept his pickaxe stored in his backpack instead of tying it to the cart like the other miners. He wasn’t willing to risk being unarmed after what he had heard. Among the group was a healer in training, Violet Clark, with dirty blond hair always kept in a bun or ponytail. Having experienced combat in the past, Violet possessed enough knowledge of the healing arts to save several men’s lives who might have otherwise perished.
Violet found herself in the midst of the caravan, with Erwin standing beside her, seemingly offering protection. They were engaged in a hushed conversation, too faint for Raledan to overhear. He had never taken the opportunity to speak with Violet, as she was always busy attending to men needing treatment. Her work in the caves meant her hands were constantly busy. Felix, in particular, seemed to enjoy making frequent visits to her tent, often under the pretense of injuries that were, more often than not, nonexistent. This behavior escalated to the point where Erwin had to assign a guard with some healing knowledge, someone capable of wrapping wounds and preparing herbal remedies, to assist Violet and, more specifically, to tend to Felix. Remarkably, Felix’s mysterious injuries ceased soon after this arrangement.
Further into the journey, the atmosphere began to relax, and Raledan let out a sigh of relief, convincing himself that what he had heard earlier was likely nothing significant. He wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable jokes that would come later in the day. The river ran parallel to the trail, its murmuring waters providing a constant backdrop, accompanied by the chirping of birds heralding the approach of sunrise. There was a prevalent rumor among the group that demons shunned direct sunlight. While Raledan had attempted to debunk this myth, the prospect of morning still brought a palpable sense of relief to everyone.
The horses had three days of travel ahead to reach Oris. Providing breaks for them was crucial, and while Erwin could spare one or two horses, any more could jeopardize his business. Erwin forced the caravan to slow down, aiming to break at mid-day. As Raledan moved down the road, Felix chatted with another miner a few steps ahead, discussing their plans for spending the gold. Maxwell led the caravan at the front, ensuring the guards remained vigilant, scanning the wood lines for any signs of movement. Raledan’s thoughts drifted toward the city of Oris, his daydreaming consuming his focus. Suddenly, a slight noise behind the caravan jolted him from his thoughts, freezing him mid-step.
His stomach sank as he turned around, straining his ears. A couple of men looked at him in confusion. After a few heartbeats, he began to hear it again—a constant thud followed by the rattling of chains. Similar to the sound back at the camp, but this time it didn’t stop and was growing louder by the moment. By now, the entire back half of the caravan had heard it as well, and panic started to set in.
Roughly fifteen of the miners sprinted north, away from the mysterious noise. The horses, now spooked by the men running past them, picked up the pace again, turning the carts into a massive hazard for anyone in front. Most of the guards stayed, preparing for a fight. Maxwell attempted to restore a semblance of order, barking orders to the men still unsure whether to run or fight. Raledan removed his pickaxe from his backpack and joined the others to form a crescent around Erwin, Violet, and some of the remaining miners.
Raledan’s experience in countless battles with the Imperial Legion had taught him that demons neither tire nor feel pity or remorse. Should this creature indeed be a demon, it would relentlessly hunt every member of the crew until none remained. Their best chance of survival lay in sticking together and holding their ground.
One of the carts had veered off the road, crashing into some trees a little way down. The horses attempted to free themselves but were caught in some rope. The noise from the beast was now clearly audible, and a faint outline could be seen in the darkness.
Raledan could discern the rhythmic beat of four legs pounding the ground, accompanied by heavy breathing and the unmistakable drag of multiple chains in the dirt. A few more moments, and the beast would be fully visible. Behind him, Raledan could hear Erwin and some other men whimpering. From what he could gather, there was only one demon, and roughly a dozen of the expedition’s crew remained. The odds, it seemed, were on their side.
Maxwell positioned the few men with wooden shields at the middle of the crescent-shaped formation. Raledan had never seen Maxwell’s sword before; Maxwell never had a reason to draw it until this point. From several paces away, he could see the silver blade with jewels adorning the hilt; it was a fine piece of steel. Raledan scanned the small band and thought to himself that, based on their stance and the way they held their shields, they had very little fighting experience. This was going to be a messy situation.
The beast was now fully visible, revealing its immense size. It stood as tall as a full-grown adult man and was wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder. The fangs in its mouth were as long as daggers, and greenish[1]purple ichor oozed from its mouth as it moved. An iron collar adorned the beast’s neck, completely worn away its glossy red skin. The collar had chains attached to it, bouncing lazily in the dirt. Its eyes were narrow slits that glowed an orange hue in the darkness.
Raledan could discern that the beast had a single goal in its life—to feast. Its dinner was neatly packed for it in the middle of the road. While Raledan had encountered similar beasts in the past, none were as colossal as the one sprinting toward him now. The possibility of failure loomed real, and it did not sit well with him.
After witnessing the full size of the beast, the men in the front broke ranks, dropping all their gear and fleeing. Well, if we weren’t messed up before, we are now, Raledan thought. Maxwell picked up one of the shields and attempted to fill the spot while cursing the gods for the lack of courage in men.
The beast crashed against the men in the front rank, knocking one of them to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, another guard charged the beast’s flank while it was preoccupied with the fallen comrade. The beast snapped at the men on the ground, scoring a bite to a man’s thigh and ripping it completely off, leaving the shield-man screaming in pain before losing consciousness.
Meanwhile, the first guard successfully managed to land a hit on the beast’s ribs, but his strength was insufficient to cause more than a light cut. The beast pivoted lightning-fast, catching the guard’s right shoulder in its mouth and slamming shut, blood spraying in all directions.
The rest of the men were horrified at the gruesome scene unfolding before them; their entire world was being turned upside down. Maxwell stepped off to the side and stood next to Raledan. “We have to do something quick!” Maxwell screamed.
Raledan turned his head and shouted, “Felix, run to the cart and get some explosives!” Felix, with his hands over his head and crying uncontrollably, seemed paralyzed by fear. “Hey! Felix, do you hear me?” Raledan called out again. After receiving a shaky nod from Felix, he quickly redirected his attention back to the beast. It was a timely decision; the creature had noticed Felix’s movement and had no intention of letting any prey escape.
Raledan saw the creature’s body tense, readying itself to leap. Reacting swiftly, he dashed in front of the beast as it charged through the bloody remnants of the guards. As the creature lunged at him, its mouth widening unnaturally to reveal rows of jagged teeth, Raledan acted decisively. He thrust his pickaxe into the beast’s gaping maw. The force of the creature’s forward momentum, however, knocked Raledan off to the side.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the beast bit down. The sharp side of the pickaxe stabbed through the roof of its mouth, exposing the metal portion of the pick on top of its snout and spraying the men with acidic blood. The pointy end of the pick now resembled a new horn that had appeared on top of its head.
The beast, now furious, was slashing with its claws at anyone within its reach. The few unfortunate men caught off guard by the beast’s flails suffered wounds down to their organs, and their screams could be heard across the valley. The beast swung his head wildly in an attempt to dislodge the pickaxe from its mouth but with no luck. Maxwell took the chance and went for the beast’s rear legs, attempting to hinder its movement. He dropped his shield and grabbed his pristine sword with both hands. With all his might he swung low, making contact with the meaty portion of the beast’s calf muscle.
Maxwell went to pull away from the beast, but he misjudged the effort it would take to remove his sword. The beast capitalized on the momentary hesitation and swung its massive tail of spikes down on Maxwell’s head. Brain matter splattered several paces down the road. The death shocked Raledan; this beast would surely be the death of him too.
A hand grabbed Raledan’s shoulder, and he turned around to find Felix holding the explosive stick. “Take it quick!”
Felix’s tears had never stopped. Raledan faced the surviving guards. “Keep the beast busy while I light the fuse!”
He bent down and retrieved some flint from his backpack, frantically working to light the fuse. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as he focused on the task. In the background, the men screamed for their lives, most having suffered lethal wounds.
Finally, a spark caught the fuse. Raledan tried to block any fears from overwhelming him as he sprinted toward the beast. The creature reared as it saw Raledan charging at it. He waited until it landed and then tossed the explosive at the beast’s face. Raledan had cut the fuse, ensuring it would detonate within a few heartbeats.
Just as he tossed the explosive, the beast met it head[1]on. The explosive detonated in front of the monster’s colossal snout. Raledan’s left arm covered his face, but his right arm was still extended when the explosive went off.
Raledan’s arm from the elbow down was completely gone. Blood was pumping out of his nub from the spots that hadn’t been cauterized. Simultaneously, the beast’s 22 head was blown off, the body lifelessly slumping to the ground. Violet, running past Raledan, stabbed a dark blue crystal into the heart of the beast. The crystal filled with light, threatening to blind anyone who tried to look at it directly. When the light finally faded, the beast had turned into a rotted mess of smoking meat.