As summer began to retreat from the northern lands, it left behind a cold and sharp farewell. Only a few kilometers from Wynterdale, the Cold Wild Forest had become a sanctuary for the Great Elks the massive heralds of the coming frost. These gargantuan creatures were the most vital source of sustenance for the people before the suffocating darkness of winter set in. Yet, they were called "Great" for a reason; standing up to six meters tall, these titans were either a hunter's greatest prize or his most magnificent grave.
Tristan Vael moved through the thickets like a shadow, holding his breath. The fifteen-year-old heir, despite the dark brown hair falling over his ears and the light stubble just beginning to grace his chin, looked more like a warrior than a boy, his grey eyes burning with a sharp intensity. Behind him followed seven-year-old Dudley. Normally, it was madness for a child of his age to be here, but Dudley had been brave enough to convince his brother and stubborn enough to promise absolute silence.
The two brothers were tracking a colossal print in the snow. By Tristan's estimate, the beast they were hunting had already surpassed four meters in height. Tristan gripped his bow tightly. His father, Joseph Vael, Lord of Wynterdale, was a leader loved by his people but never questioned in his authority. The House of Vael had ruled these lands with justice for centuries. Tristan knew that when he one day sat upon that heavy throne, he wanted to be more than just a "successor" in the eyes of his people, he wanted to be a leader who had proven his worth. Hunting this elk was the first step toward that proof.
Dudley suddenly stopped and pointed to the ground. The hoofprint in the snow was as wide as a man's torso. Following the tracks behind a dense thicket, they froze, their breath hitching at the sight before them.
There stood a Great Elk, at least five meters tall. Instead of grazing from the ground, the creature used its massive stature to feast directly on the upper branches of the trees. Atop its meter-long antlers were shimmering blue spots, looking as if stars had been trapped within the bone. These lights pulsed with a rhythmic, chemical glow, giving the elk an aura that was both hypnotic and terrifying. Its golden eyes were fixed solely on its meal.
Tristan steadied his trembling fingers and notched an arrow. As he drew the bowstring, he felt the world fall silent. At that exact moment, a dry twig snapped under Dudley's foot with an ear-splitting crack.
The Great Elk snapped its head toward them. Those golden eyes locked onto the two brothers behind the brush. A heavy, huffing sound echoed through the valley the prey had officially become the predator. As Dudley recoiled in fear, the elk began to rake the snow with its forehoof.
"RUN!" Tristan screamed.
He shoved his brother to the right while he lunged to the left, aiming to draw the elk's fury toward himself. He drew his bow mid-run and loosed an arrow. Whether by luck or innate talent, the shaft buried itself in the elk's thick throat. However, for a creature of this size, it was little more than a needle prick. Enraged, the elk charged at Tristan.
Dudley, obeying his brother's command, had begun sprinting toward Wynterdale to call for help. Seeing his brother escape into safety, Tristan suppressed his fear, though his situation was dire. The massive antlers splintered trees like paper as the beast thundered behind him. Tristan dove behind a thick trunk with a lithe maneuver. As the elk scanned the area for its lost prey, Tristan prepared a second arrow.
When he peeked from behind the tree to take aim, the elk was gone. "Where did it go?" he whispered, a bead of sweat freezing on his forehead. The moment he turned around, he saw the massive shadow looming over him. The elk stood directly in front of him, hot steam billowing from its nostrils.
The elk lowered its antlers like spears and lunged. A twenty-five-meter distance was a matter of seconds for such a creature. Tristan panicked and loosed his arrow; it struck the neck again, but the elk didn't slow. The young heir rolled away at the last second, narrowly escaping the impact. The elk slammed into the tree with its own momentum, dazed. From the ground, Tristan fired a third arrow.
He was now face-to-face with the beast. Despite its wounds, the elk remained standing. It raised a massive hoof to crush the boy beneath it. Realizing his foolish display of courage was about to reach a brutal end, Tristan closed his eyes, a sob catching in his throat.
Thwack!
An arrow buried itself in the elk's neck. Then another, and another. The giant creature shuddered under the sudden barrage and collapsed onto the snow with a thunderous thud.
Six riders swept through the trees like a storm. At the front was his father, Joseph Vael, and beside him was Dudley, his eyes red from crying. And, of course, there was Norm.
Norm was Tristan's sister, but her hair was cut even shorter than his. In contrast to her delicate facial features, she carried herself with the rigid, disciplined posture of a knight. While many young men in Wynterdale dreamed of her hand, Norm's only dream was to one day serve as a Holy Knight under her brother's lordship. Tristan knew this passion well and had secretly promised himself to grant her that right one day.
Lord Joseph dismounted and knelt beside his son. He grabbed Tristan by the shoulders, his voice fluctuating between fury and relief. "Do you have any idea what you've done, Tristan?"
Tristan bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Father. It won't happen again."
Joseph took a deep breath, looking at his son. "I didn't say it wouldn't happen again. But you will never go alone again."
Tristan looked at his father in surprise. Expecting punishment, he instead saw a hidden spark of pride in his father's eyes. "We're returning to Wynterdale," Joseph commanded.
Norm walked up to her brother and gave him a sharp nudge on the shoulder. "If you try something like this without me again, I'll finish what that elk started! You even took Dudley!"
Tristan smiled at his sister's cranky but affectionate scolding. He stood up and looked at the massive prize lying on the ground. "What about the elk?"
"We're taking it with us," Joseph said, mounting his horse. "I never imagined we'd have a Great Elk at our table tonight, hunted by my own son."
A scout named Oscar handed Tristan a spare horse. "I am glad you are unharmed, young Lord."
Tristan mounted the horse, casting one last look at the massive prey and the forest that had spared his life. As the lights of Wynterdale appeared in the distance, Tristan was no longer returning home as just an heir, but as a hunter.
Upon their arrival at the base of Wynterdale, they were met by a contingent of infantry. The city was perched atop a precipitous mountain slope, a fortress built like an eagle's nest defying the very clouds. There was no road to the summit; the only entry was via a massive lifting platform operated by heavy chains and groaning gears. The infantry below were mere sentries; the true strength that moved the mechanism lay behind the city walls above.
A blaring horn echoed from below, sending a coded signal to the heights. Soon, the colossal platform large enough to carry six riders and their massive Great Elk creaked as it descended. The ascent took roughly eight minutes, depending on the weight. Wynterdale had been established on these cliffs in ancient times for protection against monsters; today, it remained an impenetrable bastion against any external threat.
When the platform reached the top, a host of knights awaited them. Sir Bjarne, carrying his helm under his arm, stepped forward and bowed deeply before Joseph.
"Lord Vael, I am glad to see you returned safely," Bjarne said.
Joseph signaled for him to rise. "There is no need for such formality, Sir Bjarne. You are an honorable knight of this house; I am merely a lord doing his duty."
Bjarne offered a small smile. "Your words honor me, my Lord. Lady Vael awaits you in the Main Hall. I sense the matter is quite urgent."
Joseph nodded in gratitude, placing a hand on Bjarne's shoulder. Before leaving, he commanded the infantry, "Everyone, help haul this elk! We feast tonight."
The Main Hall was the heart of Wynterdale. Its vast ground floor housed a grand dining hall where the poor were provided with hot meals every day. While House Vael could not end poverty entirely, they were renowned for a brand of justice that never allowed a soul to go to bed hungry.
The architecture of the building was a legend in itself. The entire structure was crafted from the mythical Aeth Wood. The wood of this tree was fireproof and nearly impossible to cut with an ordinary blade. It was said that the founder, Roger Vael, finding an ancient Aeth tree dying during the Great Wars, had used its sacred timber to build this palace. The spirit of the red-leafed tree seemed to live on in the crimson-veined wood of the corridors.
The heavy wooden doors were pulled open by two knights. Lady Grace Vael, sitting at one of the long tables, stood immediately upon seeing her husband. Grace's features were sharp and defined, as if carved from marble by a harsh wind. Her high cheekbones and amber eyes bore silent witness to years of both grief and triumph. Her hair was like the first winter snow settling upon a pile of dying embers; the streaks of white among the chestnut-red were not signs of age, but silver marks of wisdom.
Grace approached Joseph and kissed him deeply, but her voice trembled. "Joseph, dear... a raven arrived from the Capital."
Grace's memories of the Capital were dark. Joseph took his wife's hand, trying to steady her. "What does it say, Grace?"
"King Edovar Nesterin..." Grace paused, "He passed away in his sleep. The royal physicians say it was a natural death."
Joseph recoiled. Edovar was not just a king; he was Joseph's childhood friend. The years Joseph had spent with the Nesterin family had forged an unbreakable bond. The promise they had made to meet again one day now echoed hollowly against the cold stones of the Capital.
"There will be a grand funeral," Grace continued. "Leaders from all regions are being summoned. But Joseph... they are asking for you specifically. There is an insistence in the letter I do not understand."
Joseph sighed deeply. "It is only right that we go as a family."
"No!" Grace said, her voice sharp with fear. "You know I can never go back there."
Joseph pulled his wife to his chest, kissing her brow. "Very well, Grace. I will not force you. But I cannot leave Wynterdale without a Lord."
Grace took her husband's face in her hands. "I heard today that Tristan hunted a Great Elk. Perhaps the time has finally come, Joseph. You can entrust the city to him."
Joseph swallowed hard. "He is but a boy, Grace... he nearly died in those woods today. He has much to learn before he is a true Lord."
Grace smiled faintly. "He takes after you. One of the reasons I fell in love with you was that very same blind courage."
Joseph looked into his wife's eyes for a moment before finally conceding. "Very well. Tell Norm, Rossie, and Dudley to prepare. We set out for the Capital tomorrow. The journey will take at least a week."
Grace nodded and turned toward the stairs.