Kingdom of Verdwryn

Four years had passed since the goblin raid, and Michael Lockwood had transformed in ways even his mother could hardly recognize. At twelve years old, he stood tall at 165 cm, his physique a product of relentless training—muscles honed to precision, sinewy and firm, rippling beneath his skin as he moved with calculated grace. His jawline was sharp, his blue eyes striking against the deep tan of his skin. What had once been the innocent gaze of a curious child had long since hardened into the unyielding eyes of a soldier—cold, piercing, and always alert, as though they had seen too much of life's darker truths.

Dawnfield, under his quiet guidance, had flourished. But even as the village prospered, Michael knew that peace was fleeting. Whispers of war had reached even their small corner of the world, and the distant drums of conflict echoed louder each day. The neighboring kingdom of Zeranthia had crossed the border. And now, the king had called for every able-bodied man to join the army.

The day the soldiers arrived, Michael's heart was heavy with the knowledge that his life was about to change once again. The village square, usually filled with the hum of daily life, was thick with tension. Farmers and families stood silently, their faces pale, as the soldiers, led by the grizzled Captain Aldric Thorne, read the king's decree aloud. Every able-bodied man was to join the army.

Marla, clutching Elara tightly against her chest, looked at her husband with quiet desperation. Gareth's face was grim as he kissed his wife and daughter goodbye, his hands shaking as he pulled away from Marla's desperate grasp.

"No," Marla whispered, her voice breaking. "Not Gareth. Please, not him."

Michael felt a knot form in his stomach as he watched the soldiers force his father into the line. But there was no time to dwell on the pain. Something cold and calculated began to stir within him. His mind, honed by years of survival and vigilance, worked quickly, formulating a plan.

Without thinking, Michael stepped forward, his voice steady and loud enough to slice through the murmurs of the crowd.

"I'll go in his place," he said, his words unwavering.

The villagers turned to look at him in shock. Gareth's eyes widened, and Marla's expression crumpled as if the world itself had shattered before her.

"You're just a child," Captain Aldric scoffed, stepping closer to Michael. The captain was a towering figure, his gaze hard, his voice mocking. "We need men, not children."

Michael stood tall, unfazed by the captain's derision. His icy blue eyes locked with Aldric's, unwavering. "If I win a duel against one of your men, my father stays. I'll take his place."

The soldiers laughed, their voices harsh and dismissive. Aldric shook his head, his smirk widening as he sized up the boy before him. "You think you can take on a trained soldier, boy?" He looked Michael up and down, assessing him with disdain. "What's your name?"

"Michael."

"Well, Michael," Aldric said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Fine. You beat one of my men, and your father stays. But when you lose, don't come crying to me."

Aldric turned to his men, but before the fight could begin, he held up a hand, silencing the soldiers. "Listen up," he commanded, his voice ringing with authority. "No internal energy. None of you are to use it against this boy. This is a test of skill, not magical prowess. Understand?"

The soldiers muttered their displeasure, but Aldric's glare silenced them. 

The air crackled with tension as the crowd parted, forming a wide circle around the two combatants. The soldier, a burly, heavily muscled man, stepped forward, drawing his gleaming sword. He grinned at Michael, clearly amused by the challenge.

Marla, clutching Elara tightly, whispered frantically, "No, Michael, please don't"

Michael glanced back at her, his expression softening for a fleeting moment before hardening again. "It's okay, Ma," he said in a voice that was calm, even soothing. "I'll be fine."

Gareth grabbed his shoulder, his voice low and urgent. "Michael, you don't have to do this. Let me go. I'll fight if it means keeping you safe."

Michael shook his head. "We both know I'm born for this, Pa. The village needs someone who can lead. You stay here, with Ma and Elara. I'll take care of this."

The soldier lunged at him with a roar, but Michael was faster. His years of training had sharpened his instincts, and he moved with an ease that belied his size. The fight was brutal but swift. Michael used his smaller frame and speed to his advantage, striking with precision and avoiding the soldier's heavy blows. The crowd gasped as Michael disarmed the man, his wooden staff pressed coldly against the soldier's throat.

Aldric stepped forward, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, to Michael's surprise, the captain threw his head back and laughed a deep, genuine sound that resonated through the square.

"Well, I'll be damned," Aldric said, shaking his head in disbelief. "The boy's got fire."

As the soldiers prepared to leave, Marla rushed to Michael, her face crumpling as she clutched him tightly. "You're just a child," she whispered, her tears soaking his tunic. "I can't lose you, Michael. I can't."

Michael held her tightly, his own eyes burning with unshed emotion. "You won't lose me, Ma. I'll come back. I promise."

He kissed Elara's forehead, her tiny hand reaching up to grasp his finger. "Take care of her for me."

With that, Michael climbed into the wagon, his heart heavy, but his resolve unwavering. The village faded into the distance as the wheels creaked forward. For the second time in his life, Michael Lockwood was going to war.