Fables of the Gods: The Knight of Misrule

Chapter •1• ~ A Knight and A Legacy

Knave rushed through the narrow, cobbled streets of the kingdom, his arms laden with bundles of supplies Loreshka had asked him to fetch. His heart raced—not just from the exertion, but from the excitement that buzzed within him like a storm on the horizon. The child was coming soon, their firstborn. His thoughts wavered between joy and fear, anxiety threading through every step he took. The weight of fatherhood was beginning to settle on his shoulders, as if the skies themselves carried his burden.

His comrade, a fellow knight, caught up beside him, wiping sweat from his brow. "The gods must be battling up there today," the man said, glancing at the troubled sky. Black clouds had begun to roll in from the north, and the distant rumble of thunder echoed like drums of war.

Knave looked up, his face etched with concern but also a touch of playful defiance. "Hopefully, the heavens don’t fall before the night ends," he quipped, sharing a brief laugh with his comrade.

Their laughter was soon drowned out by the deafening crash of thunder. The sky split open, releasing bolts of lightning that cracked against the heavens like a divine whip. All across the kingdom, people stopped in their tracks, looking up at the sky. Stars seemed to tumble from the heavens, burning in a shower of light that bathed the world in a strange, ethereal glow.

Knave’s comrade gripped his shoulder. "Go home to your family, General. Be with them."

With a nod of gratitude and one last glance at the skies, Knave ran. He sped through the outskirts of the kingdom, his boots pounding the dirt roads as he rushed back to his home. His heart thudded louder than the storm above, but just as he neared the edge of the forest, he stopped short. There, leaning against a tree, was a figure draped in white and gold robes, the fabric darkened by blood. The figure was barely standing, clinging to the trunk as if it were the only thing keeping them from collapsing.

Without hesitation, Knave darted toward the person. "Stay with me," he muttered as he knelt beside them, his hands immediately moving to support their frail form. The person was bleeding heavily, their face pale as death itself.

"You’re injured," Knave said, though it was obvious. "I’ll take you to my home. My wife… she’s a healer."

The figure’s lips trembled, but they nodded weakly, unable to speak. Knave hoisted them over his shoulder, carrying them with ease despite their weight. His steps quickened, and soon he arrived at the small, wooden house he shared with Loreshka.

"Knave! What’s happening?" Loreshka’s voice rang out the moment he crossed the threshold. She had risen from the chair she’d been seated in, her hand resting on her swollen belly. The doctor, who had been attending to her, stood nearby, his brow furrowed in concern.

"I found her in the woods, gravely injured," Knave explained as he laid the woman down gently on the floor. "Doctor, we need you."

The doctor moved quickly, inspecting the wounds with a practiced eye, but Loreshka was already by the woman’s side, gathering medicines from their stash.

Suddenly, the injured woman’s hand shot out, grasping Loreshka’s wrist with surprising strength. "I don’t have long," the woman gasped, her voice barely a whisper. "Please… you must listen."

Loreshka, her healer’s instincts overriding any fear, knelt down beside her. "I’m here. What do you need?"

The woman’s eyes, though clouded with pain, gleamed with an unnatural light. Slowly, she reached into the folds of her robe and withdrew a glowing crystal—a piece of insight, imbued with magic. "I’m sorry for what I must ask," the woman said, her voice trembling. "But know this is not a curse. It is a gift. For your son. I have chosen him."