The Masked Legacy

Thorne activated his gaze to the bustling sight of the archway hub. The murmur of voices, the clinking of armor, and the distant sound of horses filled the air. His senses flooded with information as the guards of Ironhold gathered towards him, surprise on their face, this archway was only tuned to that of the garden of the gods hub, which could only mean one thing, a maskless survived the garden of the gods.

Which maskless could just be arriving?

 For a moment Thorne stood still, letting the familiar scent of Ironhold—iron, damp earth, and woodsmoke—wash over him.

He could feel the shift in the wind as it passed through the outpost, carrying with it the crisp bite of home.

"Scion Thorne," a voice of recognition broke through the noise, laced with surprise.

"You made it!"

Thorne turned his head toward the voice, his spiritual senses rolling over the crowd like an invisible wave. He marveled at the change—his awareness had expanded exponentially since his time in the Garden of the Gods.

What had once been a small, limited range of perception had grown tenfold, allowing him to feel the life around him in vivid detail. The guards' movements, the sway of nearby trees, even the subtle shifts in the ground beneath his feet—they all appeared as impressions in his mind, painting a clear picture of his surroundings.

The guards bowed as Thorne regained his composure. He noticed their movements now, sensed their hesitation and the weight of their astonishment.

He could almost hear their thoughts—the blind boy made it?.

"Scion Thorne... you made it!" one of the guards repeated, his voice carrying a mixture of disbelief and awe.

Thorne could feel the weight of the unspoken expectations pressing down on him. He knew what they thought—everyone did. The only blind son of Chief Darius had ventured into the Garden of the Gods, a place meant only for the strong, and somehow, he had returned.

To most, blindness equated to weakness, and his journey had been nothing short of a fool's errand. Yet here he stood, whole and unharmed.

He stepped forward, his hand trailing over the hilt of the blade at his waist. Each step felt deliberate, each moment charged with a new sense of purpose. Thorne no longer felt the weight of their judgment. He had faced far greater dangers than the opinions of these men.

The commander of the outpost, a stocky man with a scar running from his temple to his jawline, approached. His presence was solid, like an immovable wall, yet Thorne sensed the subtle deference in his movements.

"Commander,"

Thorne greeted, his voice steady but commanding, a tone that had been absent in the boy who had left Ironhold.

The commander hesitated for only a moment, his brow furrowing as he gave Thorne a long, measuring look.

"Scion, it is an honor to welcome you back. We... did not expect to see.. Perhaps we should escort you to the palace"

Thorne let the statement hang in the air. He could sense the ripple of tension among the guards, the unspoken doubts and whispers of his supposed weakness. They had all expected him to fail, if not for his blindness, then for the sheer danger of the Garden itself.

"I've returned, as you can see and a ride to the palace is most welcome" Thorne replied calmly, though his mind buzzed with thoughts of the orb, the spiritual energy that now hummed in his veins, and the mask he had yet to craft. He was no longer the same boy who had left, and every fiber of his being felt it.

The commander bowed his head slightly, not in submission but in respect.

"We will escort you back to Ironhold at once, Scion. Your father will be eager to see you."

Thorne felt a flicker of warmth at the mention of his father, but it was quickly overshadowed by the myriad of questions swirling in his mind. What would his father think when he returned? What had the Garden changed in him?

As the guards formed around him, leading him away from the archway hub, Thorne allowed himself a brief moment of reflection. He had defied the odds, not just in surviving the Garden but in finding a strength no one had expected.

His spiritual senses pulsed with life, sharper and stronger than ever before. He was more than just the blind son of a chief now—he was something else entirely.

The wind carried the faint sound of the forest behind them, a distant echo of where his journey had truly begun. He knew that whatever awaited him in Ironhold, it was only the beginning.