Winter's Rebellion

Chapter 6: The Kingdom of Aerlion

Tristian's POV:

The heavy snow crunches beneath my boots as I trudge toward the looming gates of Aerlion, Elara's limp form cradled in my arms. Each breath I take escapes in visible clouds, mingling with the falling snow that obscures my vision. My arms ache from the weight of her, but I refuse to let anyone else carry her. The strain in my back is nothing compared to the pounding in my chest.

Flashes of the attack—of Elara's transformation, her towering dragon form tearing through the Malorian knights—flicker through my mind. It was terrifying, yet there was something about her that captivated me. The way she moved, the raw power that emanated from her. But now, seeing her so fragile in my arms, I'm reminded of the weight she must carry, the burden of what she's become.

The snow falls harder now, each flake a tiny dagger against my skin, making it nearly impossible to navigate. But we press on, the gates of Aerlion growing larger before us. The kingdom, once vibrant and bustling with life, now looms under a cloud of dread. The towering walls, symbols of strength and security, are now lined with soldiers, their eyes scanning the horizon with an intensity that speaks of fear more than vigilance.

The gates, usually wide open to welcome travelers, are shut tight. Only a small contingent of guards stands outside, their breath visible in the cold air, their eyes narrowing as we approach. Beyond them, I see a line of people—merchants, farmers, and common folk—waiting anxiously for entry. The fear is palpable, etched into every face, as if the very walls of Aerlion could no longer guarantee safety.

Above, the royal banners flutter weakly in the cold breeze, their colors muted under the gray sky. Thin plumes of smoke rise from within the city, the forges working overtime. The faint clanging of metal against metal reaches my ears.

As we near the gates, the scene within the city becomes clearer. People move hurriedly, stocking up on supplies, ushering their children indoors, and speaking in hushed tones filled with anxiety. The knights at my side exchange worried glances, understanding the gravity of what we're about to face. The entire kingdom is on edge, the air thick with tension.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the knights leaving his post and running towards us. His armor clinks as he approaches, his expression a mix of urgency and recognition.

"Sir Tristian! You're alive!" The knight yelled, his voice ringing out over the tense silence that hung in the air.

Relief washed over the knight as he ran up to me, a smile breaking through the worry etched on his face. I felt a smile break out across my own as I recognized him—it was Sir Roland. We had trained together growing up, and he was like a brother to me. The sight of a familiar face was a rare comfort these days.

"Sir Roland, it's a pleasure to see you, my old friend," I replied, my voice heavy with both exhaustion and urgency. "We need to get to the palace to see the King and Queen immediately. Are you able to assist us?"

Sir Roland nodded, his expression quickly shifting to one of determination. "Of course, Sir Tristian. Follow me. I'll ensure you reach the palace safely."

With a quick wave of his hand, he signaled to the other guards to clear the way, and we moved swiftly through the gates, the weight of the situation pressing down on us with each step.

We travel through the kingdom observing the panic spreading across the people. Rumors heard all throughout—whispers of dragons, tales of the royal family's demise, and the ominous hints of kingdoms teetering on the brink of war. These stories have spread like wildfire, and I can feel their weight pressing down on us as we approach the palace. What once was a journey for aid now feels like a march into the heart of a kingdom on the verge of collapse.