Luminous

Prologue

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Before we begin,
for those unfamiliar, "FTR" stands for "First Time Reading".
Please feel free to register your FTRs with the friendly dragon above.
She isn't a guardian of treasure for nothing!

Enjoy reading. I will see you in Chapter 8.

--- Coris Hadrian

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The sun slunk behind the castle's hill, and so began the night Crosset prayed would end the famine.

Darkness swallowed the men in the rear as the company swung around leafless trees, batted aside low-hanging branches, sloshed through muddied, half-melted snow. Crossbows and pitchforks jostled on their backs, falling loose from fraying ropes they had looped underarm as makeshift harnesses.

Bailiff Johnsy's plan was straightforward—get the boy, and they would get food.

He didn't give any directions for everything in between.

The men had pooled the last dregs of their oil to feed the lamp held by Draken Armorheim, their leader. Draken had burned most of it leading them in circles. Perhaps he should pour what little was left onto kindling and wait out the night—but how many more of their children, women, and elders would succumb to hunger during that night?

No, it all ends tonight.

The lamplight illuminated a fallen tree on their path. Even sideways, its girth reached Draken's midriff. The corpse of a young branch sprung from its side, ending in a swirl like a pig's tail. Draken sighed in relief at the familiar sight. He set his lamp on the log, preparing for the climb. He'd swung one leg over when a commotion broke out behind—

"Move it, pig! Or I'll snap your neckbone in half!"

The hulking bald man snarled as he gave the leash a vicious tug. The fat little boy at the other end lurched to the pull. His muddied face contorted in pain as the noose cinched against his windpipe. Having regained balance and breath, he surfaced with a sneer,

"Spare me your empty threats. You need me alive to bargain with my father."

His eyes gleamed silver with bravado, but tremors bled into his voice. Smirking, the man hunkered down before his hostage,

"Your body does mighty fine. Skinned, quartered, butchered, diced. Fried in lard scraped from the wall of your belly. First meal in weeks for me boys—"

"—First and last, Krulstaff!"

Draken marched over as the boy blanched in terror. Krulstaff rounded on him. Draken chastised himself to stand firm as he locked eyes with the giant,

"Chione ain't even half done with us. We keep the boy safe in Crosset, his father keeps us fed through winter. That's the plan!" He explained to his troublesome neighbor for the umpteenth time. Krulstaff rolled his eyes at the Heights.

"Why don't you give me that, Armorheim?" He spat, his spade-like hand swiping for the lamp. "Unlike your son-of-a-whore in Meriton, me sons are dying while we muck around in this blithering forest!"

Blood drained from Draken's wind-battered cheeks. He snatched Krulstaff by the collar,

"Don't you dare—!"

The other men hauled Draken off Krulstaff before he retaliated.

"He's got a point, Draken," huffed Brodel the Butcher. His free arm hooked firmly around Draken's, he indicated the sniffling boy with his pig-butchering knife, "Dun need him awake. We'll move faster with this manure sack on our backs than oozing down here."