THE GRAND OLD

PART 14: KNIGHTS AND ASH

THE GRAND OLD

PRESENTED BY DEFLUX STUDIOS

The collapse of the Valerian Empire has led to a fractured land, where each successor state is governed by ambition, ideology, and force. The once united empire now stands divided, with each region clinging to the fragments of its glorious past. Amid this turmoil, knightly orders, once bound by a singular imperial cause, now serve the rulers of these divided lands, shaping the fates of the realms they protect.

Aric Thalor stood at the edge of his camp, staring into the growing dusk. The once-proud land of Valeria was crumbling under the weight of power-hungry rulers and fractured alliances. Behind him, the sounds of soldiers preparing for battle echoed across the valley—his ragtag army, a coalition of rebels and disillusioned warriors, were preparing for a final assault on the city of Leopardsburg. Erik's forces were weakening, and the time for Aric's rebellion was at hand.

Gaius, his second-in-command, approached from the shadows. "Lord Thalor, the Frostborne Knights have been sighted near the western hills. They're moving toward Erik's forces," Gaius reported.

Aric's brow furrowed. "Farengar's knights? What do they want with Erik?"

"The Frostborne are brutal, my lord," Gaius continued, shaking his head. "They don’t fight for peace, they fight to crush any resistance. If they arrive before we do, Leopardsburg will burn."

Aric sighed, knowing that if the Frostborne Knights entered the fray, the outcome would be devastating. The Order of the Frostborne—the ruthless enforcers of the Western Valerian Imperium—were known for their loyalty to Farengar and their thirst for blood. Clad in dark armor and riding frost-bred direwolves, they had become symbols of fear across the western lands. Erik might be their current target, but Aric knew that if Leopardsburg fell, the people would suffer most.

"They won't stop until the city is ash," Aric muttered.

Inside the fortified walls of Leopardsburg, Erik paced restlessly. His once-loyal legions were dwindling, and supplies were running low. Yet, his madness and determination still burned bright. He believed himself the only true heir to the old Valerian glory. After years of battling the Senate and witnessing the betrayal of his family, Erik had retreated to this stronghold, determined to rebuild his empire by force.

The horns of the Emberguard rang out from the south, signaling their approach. Erik sneered as he recognized the sigil. "Theodorus’ knights," he growled. The Emberguard, with their crimson banners, represented the Southern Valerian Kingdom. While the Emberguard were pragmatic, their arrival spelled trouble for Erik. They were skilled in both combat and diplomacy, and Erik feared they might try to negotiate with his crumbling forces, swaying them to defect.

Erik’s gaze moved toward the northern horizon, where the telltale black smoke of the Frostborne Knights could already be seen. Farengar’s brutal soldiers would arrive soon, and they would not spare anyone—not Erik, nor his people.

"We'll hold them off," Erik vowed, gripping his sword. But deep down, he knew that his once-proud legions, now hollow shells of their former selves, would falter under the combined might of the Frostborne and Emberguard.

TO BE CONTINUED