The Keeper

A group of merchants and their escort departed from Southall, heading towards Castlecrest, a renowned hub of commerce. Their caravan was laden with weapons, farming, mining tools, and other goods.

After assessing the surroundings, the head of the escort announced, "This is a perfect spot to camp for the night."

They had arrived at a clearing nestled between a mountainside, a forest, and a river—a well-known landmark for its safety. This location, preferred by travelers, provided a secure resting place with ample natural resources, including fresh water from the river and wood from the forest, making it an ideal overnight stop on their journey to Castlecrest.

They started erecting tents crafted from leather or colored fabrics, while others collected wood for the fire. Once the flames were kindled, they gathered in a circle, sharing bread and dried meat. A chilling wind descended from the mountain, hunting like a predator. The merchants and their guards braced for the night.

"A ghost must haunt this place," one guard remarked, attuned to the strange wind.

"Perhaps it's a demon," another speculated.

"There have been no demon sightings in this region," the captain of the guards interjected, surveying the encircling stones.

A figure cloaked in a tattered hood emerged from the adjacent woods.

"Identify yourself!" the guards demanded, their voices tense.

The hooded figure stopped. "I am only a traveler seeking refuge," he said calmly. "My name is of no significance, and my true name will bring you confusion."

"Please be more clear," a tall man asked, anxiously holding a small dagger and shield.

"I thought I had already been clear enough for you."

The head of the guards eyed him with suspicion. "We have no food for strangers, but you may share our fire," a merchant offered.

The stranger nodded and sat down beside the fire. The merchants continued to chat noisily among themselves while the newcomer remained silent, staring absently at the dwindling flames.

"Where do you come from?" the young guard asked.

"An irrelevant place."

"Why have you traveled so far?"

"Because of the times."

"Can we trust you?"

"You must."

"Can you show us proof?"

"Why is proof necessary? Truth does not need verification. Lies are confirmed by who speaks them. Is the voice alone to decide what truth is and what is false?"

"Your voice seems trustworthy to me. I like the things you say."

The hooded figure smirked. "There is only one law, and that law is just. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth."

As night fell, they settled down to sleep. "Stay alert; he could be dangerous," the escort leader warned.

"Yes, captain!" the guards responded in unison.

The unknown man gave the signal—a short whistle followed by a long one—from the middle of the camp. A group of masked and well-armed bandits appeared.

"Whoever surrenders will remain alive," said a robber.

The captain and his men watched in bewilderment, weapons in hand, ready to defend the camp.

The merchants saw the difference in forces, and most preferred to surrender.

The first volley of arrows hit a guard in the neck. The man fell dead to the ground.

The escort commander tried to fight, pulling out a short sword and rushing towards the nearest robbers. They fired, and the warrior fell to the ground, bleeding from a deep wound in his shoulder.

The attackers killed several guards and brought the others to their knees. They tied the wrists of all the surviving members of the group with ropes. Then, by the light of the fire, they gathered all the goods they wanted. They placed the escort leader aside and tied him tightly.

"Make room!" came a female voice. There was silence, and in front stepped Syberta, their leader.

Syberta had short, cropped hair that was held back from her face by a leather headband. Her armor was made of sturdy, dark leather and was adorned with tribal markings. She carried a bow on her back and had two sharp knives strapped to her sides. She stood tall and commanded attention with her proud posture and fierce gaze. Her skin was tanned from hours spent outside, and she bore scars from battles won. Despite being a woman warrior, there was a grace and elegance to her movements.

She approached the prisoner's face. "Are you the bastard who walks around with a bunch of bare elbows, bragging he's going to kill me?"

The head of the escort wanted to say something, but he didn't have time. With a surprising move, Syberta knocked him out of breath.

She was walking around the makeshift camp when she heard a noise from a tent; she readied the knives, went to the back of the tent, cut the felt, and crept cautiously. She came out of the tent with a small child in her arms.

"From now on, this is my baby."

She looked up at the sky, saw the strange color of the moon, and continued, "He will be called Kaer, which in the ancient language of our tribe means "The Keeper."