Thorns of Blood

Chapter 1: Defied Fate

The first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the wooden shutters, bathing the modest room in a muted glow. Yeon Thornn sat at the edge of his bed, fingers gripping the worn fabric of his tunic. His heart was restless; today was his 18th birthday.

His white hair, striking against his sun-kissed skin, fell in disheveled waves around his face, framing crimson eyes that stared absently at the floor.

A heavy knock cut through the silence, reverberating through the small home and snapping Yeon from his reverie.

His father stood in the doorway, a towering presence of muscle and battle-worn strength, his white hair a mirror of Yeon's. The man's face, usually carved with the hard lines of a warrior, softened in that moment, eyes shadowed with unspoken words.

"You turn 18 today, Yeon." His father's voice, deep as the earth and as steady as a mountain, filled the space. "You become a man, and with that comes the weight of this kingdom's demands. In Atarria, every man must serve in the army. It is called our duty, our path to glory."

He paused, the silence pressing down as heavy as iron. His eyes darkened, memories haunting the depths. "But I have seen what that life does, son. I have fought, bled, and lost too much to let it swallow you too."

Yeon's gaze shot up, confusion and a surge of raw emotion tangling in his chest. His father stepped closer, placing a calloused hand on Yeon's shoulder. It was a touch that carried the weight of a thousand unsaid things, a rare gesture from a man who spoke more with deeds than words.

"I know this is sudden," his father continued, the granite edge of his voice softening to something almost breakable. "I know you might not understand. But trust me, this is the only way. You deserve more than a life spent chasing battles that aren't yours. You deserve freedom, something I could never grasp."

A tremor ran through Yeon as his father moved to the table and retrieved a worn leather satchel, the scent of smoke and iron rising from it. With hands that never trembled in war, the man pressed it into Yeon's chest. "Take this, son. Inside, there's food, coin, a map. Everything you need to get as far as you can."

The next words broke, splintering like the thin ice of early winter. "I wish it could be different."

A pounding at the front door shook the walls, and the fragile moment shattered. The tenderness in his father's eyes hardened to steel as he turned his head sharply toward the sound. The door groaned as it opened, revealing two men in blood-red uniforms, the insignias of Atarria's royal army stark against the fabric.

"We are here from the army," one soldier announced, his voice clipped, eyes like a wolf's searching for prey. "We come for Yeon Thornn."

"He is gone," Yeon's father said, the lie slipping from his lips as naturally as truth, his massive frame filling the doorway, shielding what lay behind.

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with unspoken threats. The soldiers' eyes narrowed, suspicion coiling like a snake ready to strike.

Yeon's breath came in ragged gasps as he clutched the satchel, the edge of it digging into his palms. Tears stung the corners of his eyes as he turned to the back door, the last image of his father—a man once made for battle, now fighting for his son—burning in his mind.

A sudden cry of pain cut through the chaos, freezing Yeon in his tracks. It was his father's voice vibrating with agony. Against his better instincts, Yeon turned his head just in time to see the scene unfurl through the slats of trees and shadows.

The two soldiers had unleashed crimson chains from the tips of their weapons, arcs of red gleaming like blood in the early light. The chains coiled around his father's massive arms, binding muscle and flesh with a metallic hiss. His father's face, a mask of defiance, contorted as pain lanced through him, veins straining against the unyielding grip.