The Immortal and The Undying

Preparation and Capture

The morning sun broke through the tall windows of Thalion's chambers, casting long shadows across the stone floor. His eyes scanned the gear laid out before him—a simple but well-kept set of armour, a pair of finely crafted blades, and a leather-bound map of the region near the eastern border. Everything was in its place, meticulously prepared for the journey ahead.

Thalion had been up since dawn, unable to sleep as the weight of yet another mission settled on his shoulders. Each one, no matter how trivial or significant, felt like another step in an endless march. There was no excitement, no anticipation, just the cold efficiency that came with centuries of fighting battles. His hands moved on instinct, strapping on the pieces of his armour. The steel plates felt heavier each time he donned them, though not in weight but in the burden they represented.

Once his preparations were complete, Thalion left his quarters and made his way to the armoury to check on the other guards in his squad. The sun had fully risen by now, warming the castle walls and the courtyard below. As he entered the large, cavernous room, the sound of men gearing up and sharpening weapons echoed around him.

The squad he had been assigned was small—six men in total, including himself. They were skilled soldiers, experienced in the field, but none held the grim reputation Thalion did. Most had served under him in previous skirmishes, and while they respected his combat prowess, they knew little of the man behind the title of "The Immortal Sentinel."

Thalion's second-in-command, Gorin, a stout human soldier with a gruff demeanour, approached him as soon as he saw him enter. "Sergeant," he greeted with a short nod, his expression stoic but respectful. "The men are ready."

Thalion nodded in response, his gaze sweeping over the squad. They were all capable fighters, each one handpicked for their skill and loyalty. But despite their confidence, he knew the dangers that lay ahead. Edris was no longer content with small-scale raids and border skirmishes—their ambitions had grown, and this mission could easily spiral into something far more dangerous.

"We'll travel light and fast," Thalion said, his voice steady. "Our goal is reconnaissance, not engagement. If we spot anything unusual, we report back immediately. Understood?"

The men nodded, but Gorin frowned slightly. "And if we're spotted first?"

Thalion met his gaze, unflinching. "If we're spotted, we survive."

He didn't need to elaborate. His reputation preceded him—survival was something Thalion was known for. But the rest of the squad couldn't afford to rely on the same cursed fortune that had kept him alive for centuries.

With a final check of their weapons and gear, the squad set out from the palace. They made their way through Eldenor's bustling streets, the morning crowd parting for the armoured guards as they passed. Thalion remained at the front, his steps silent and steady, even as his mind wandered.

Each mission, each battle, felt the same to him now. The faces of his comrades blurred together after so many years, and the thought of losing more soldiers weighed on him. He barely knew these men, and yet he had seen countless others like them fall before. He had no choice but to keep going, to continue fighting, because no matter how hard he wished for death, it never came for him.

The group's mood lightened as they left the capital and made their way through the countryside. The tension of their mission had not fully set in yet, and the guards engaged in light conversation, laughing and joking as they travelled. The villages they passed through were peaceful, the signs of war and strife distant to the common folk who tended their fields and lived their quiet lives.

For Thalion, the contrast was striking. While the kingdom had its share of political tensions, most of Astoria lived in relative peace. It was easy to forget that just beyond the mountains lay a kingdom constantly plotting, waiting for the right moment to strike. Thalion couldn't remember the last time he had seen the capital in true peril, and part of him wondered if this mission would be the first sign of that change.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, they neared the eastern border. The once vibrant villages gave way to barren fields, and the air seemed to grow colder. The landscape became harsher, more unforgiving, a reminder that they were entering dangerous territory.

"Feels different out here, doesn't it?" one of the guards, Merric, muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the horizon nervously.

Gorin nodded, adjusting the strap on his armour. "Always does. Closer to Edris, you can almost feel the tension in the air."

Thalion said nothing, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He had felt it too—the sense of being watched, the oppressive weight of something lurking just beyond their sight. He signalled for the squad to stop, his instincts flaring. Something wasn't right.

"We're close to the border," Thalion said quietly. "Stay sharp."

The men tightened their grips on their weapons, and the light-hearted chatter from earlier vanished. The wind picked up, rustling the dry grass around them, and the fading sunlight cast long, eerie shadows across the landscape.

They continued on in silence, but the tension was palpable. Thalion's eyes darted around the path ahead, scanning for any sign of movement. The reports they had received mentioned suspicious activity near this area—raiding parties, troop movements—but so far, they had seen nothing.

Too quiet.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the air. Thalion's heart clenched as his instincts screamed danger, but before he could react, an arrow thudded into the ground inches from his feet.

"Ambush!" Gorin shouted, drawing his sword as chaos erupted around them.

From the shadows, Edrisian soldiers emerged, clad in dark armour and moving with terrifying precision. They had been waiting, hidden in the rocky outcroppings along the path. Thalion's squad scrambled to form a defensive line, but it was too late—the enemy had them surrounded.

Swords clashed as the guards fought back, but they were outnumbered and caught off-guard. Thalion moved with practiced ease, his blades flashing as he cut down the first two soldiers that came at him. His movements were swift, efficient, but even as he fought, he knew they were overwhelmed. The sheer number of enemies was staggering.

"Fall back!" Thalion commanded, but the retreat was chaotic. The squad was split, fighting desperately to hold their ground.

One by one, the men fell. Merric was the first to be cut down, a sword slicing through his side as he screamed in agony. Gorin was next, his shield knocked aside before he was run through by an Edrisian spear. The remaining guards fought valiantly, but the outcome was inevitable. They were being picked off like prey.

Thalion fought like a man possessed, his blades a blur as he struck down foe after foe. His body moved without thought, his mind numb to the violence around him. This was just another battle. Another chance for death. Yet, as always, death eluded him.

The Edrisian soldiers converged on him, their numbers overwhelming. Thalion fought back fiercely, but even he could not hold them off forever. A sword sliced across his arm, another slammed into his side, but he did not falter. He couldn't. His body refused to give in, even as exhaustion and pain clawed at him.

He barely registered the blow that knocked him to his knees. His vision blurred as a boot slammed into his chest, forcing him to the ground. The sounds of battle faded around him, replaced by the pounding of blood in his ears.

Through the haze of pain, Thalion looked up to see the remaining Edrisian soldiers towering over him, their weapons raised.

For a fleeting moment, he thought this might finally be it—the end he had been waiting for. But as his vision darkened and the world began to slip away, he knew better.

He would live. He always did.

A final blow struck his temple, and Thalion's world went black.

He had been captured.