Lovers End

Chapter Three: Part Four

The serene atmosphere of the snow-covered landscape shattered when the whiz of two arrows cut through the air. These arrows found their mark with chilling precision. The first struck Jorah's arm, eliciting a pained yell, instantly diverting Franklin's attention. However, he couldn't move fast enough to prevent the second arrow from piercing Jorah's neck. It bypassed his armor, sending him crashing into the snow from his horse, with crimson staining the once pristine white surroundings.

Jorahs eyes were wide in shock not fully registering the extent of his injuries as he coughed up blood, this couldn't be happening. There was so much more he had to teach his son, so much he hadn't said.Jorah's wide eyes registered shock as he coughed up blood, grappling with the disbelief of this unexpected turn of events. He attempted to summon a ball of fire for defense, but his fading strength betrayed him. Jorah's horse, startled, bolted back through the woods, leaving the wounded king at the mercy of the hidden assailants.

Emeric found himself at the castle's stables, hastily packing his skates for a long-awaited day alone with Aurora. The weight of knowing she was waiting for him pressed on him as he realized he was already running late. However, the rhythmic, urgent beat of hooves interrupted his thoughts. He turned toward the sound and squinted, spotting his father's horse approaching. A few villagers attempted to chase after the panicked horse, their expressions mirroring the sense of unease that gripped Emeric. Even from his vantage point high on the hill, Emeric could discern something was dreadfully wrong.

His sharp eyes caught glimpses of blood stains against the horse's white coat. A guard, equally taken aback, approached him. The realization hit Emeric like a sudden storm, stealing his breath. With a racing mind, he snapped back to the present, knowing immediate action was required. "Sound the horns! Gather your best men and head towards the woods. Find my father and his men. NOW!" Emeric's urgent command echoed through the stable grounds. He contemplated riding out on his horse, but the urgency demanded swifter transportation.

Instead, he summoned one of the dragons, Atlas, with a sharp whistle that cut through the cold air. Atlas, his father's dragon, the oldest and most formidable of them all, responded to the call. The majestic creature appeared from high above the clouds, swooping down with a powerful presence. As it landed, the gust of wind it generated disturbed the snow around it. Emeric's hands moved along Atlas's scales as he swiftly climbed aboard. Without hesitation, Atlas took off from the ground, soaring into the sky, carrying Emeric toward the looming unknown with unparalleled speed.

Emerging from the trees were Centaurs, their lower bodies muscular and equine, while their upper halves were draped in dark hues of green and brown – the colors of Asatus. They charged with ferocity, their hooves thundering on the snowy terrain. Franklin, fueled by fury, drew his sword, positioning himself in front of the fallen king with unwavering determination to shield him from further harm. The Centaurs, displaying advanced skills in both archery and melee combat, shouted war cries as they descended upon the vulnerable pair.

Alerted by the cries, other knights rushed to their aid, engaging in a chaotic clash where sword clashed against sword and spears and arrows flew. Franklin fought valiantly, blocking a few slashes from sword and spear his sword splitting them in half and striking back with determination. However, one Centaur turned to three and overwhelmed by them. One swift Centaur maneuvered past his defenses, deeply piercing Franklin's side with a spear, causing him to lose balance and tumble off his horse his head colliding with a rock. As Franklin lay in the snow, the sounds of battle faded, replaced by Auroras voice singing like she would in the morning, she had no idea what was coming her way and there was nothing he could do to warn her, he had failed.

The knights quickly rallied, forming a protective barrier around King Jorah and Sir Franklin. The once pristine snow beneath them now bore a crimson hue as the battle intensified. The relentless assault of the Centaurs pressed forward, testing the knights' defenses. Uncertainty hung heavy, and the kingdom's protectors faced the stark reality that, for the first time in years, they might be unable to safeguard their kingdom. In the midst of the escalating chaos, just as the Centaurs seemed to gain the upper hand, a distant echo of hoofbeats resonated through the air.