The midday sun loomed above the rugged path leading south to Prenia, casting a shimmering golden glare over the landscape. Dust rose in lazy clouds with each creaking wheel turn, clinging to clothes, eyebrows, and the sweat-streaked brows of the travelers. The caravan stretched long and winding, like a tired serpent crawling across a dry plain.
The merchants, a motley collection of seasoned traders, nervous apprentices, and quiet guards, moved with a steady rhythm born of long journeys and endless deals. Carts clattered and swayed, their wooden frames loaded with colorful bolts of cloth from the Eastern provinces, aromatic spices in sealed clay pots, finely forged tools wrapped in burlap, and curiosities salvaged from coastal wrecks.
The horses pulling the front carts snorted restlessly, hooves striking rocks that jutted from the path like jagged teeth. An occasional cry from a child riding in the back of a wagon pierced the air, joined by the rhythmic creak of wheels and the chatter of men recounting deals, bartering plans, or telling stories of bandits and border legends.
One merchant, portly and perspiring, fanned himself with a broad hat while muttering complaints about the heat. Another, young and wiry, polished a dagger at his side, scanning the cliffs warily. The caravan master, a man known as Old Brihan, walked ahead with his crooked stick, his sharp eyes always flicking to shadows in the rocks. He had made this journey a dozen times before—but today, something in his bones told him danger lurked just beyond the next turn.
The clatter of wooden wheels echoed off the nearby cliffs, and the voices of merchants haggling and gossiping filled the air. Horses neighed, and the caravan master, an aging man with a white beard and a crooked walking stick, walked ahead, muttering to himself.
Suddenly, with the rustle of brush and a sharp whistle, armed Ashkins leapt from the rocky hillsides, landing in front of and around the caravan. Their ragged armor gleamed faintly, each adorned with tribal scars and red sashes that marked them as members of the Gudan Knights.
"Well, what do we have here?" one Ashkin said, twirling his dagger.
"Travelers thinking they can pass through Gudan territory for free?" another sneered.
The caravan halted abruptly. Horses reared. Merchants clutched their wares and chattered nervously.
"This is a toll road now," declared a tall Ashkin with a jagged scar across his mouth. "Pay your dues or lose your goods."
"We already paid the toll to the guards at Drury borders!" one merchant cried out.
"Those are Nasyonalistas," the scarred man snapped. "We're not them. We don't wear gold and pretend we're saviors. We're Ashkins. Pay up, or this road becomes your grave."
A young merchant, barely in his twenties, stepped forward defiantly, brandishing a rusted sword. "We won't be bullied by thugs!"
The reply was swift and merciless. One Ashkin lunged forward and ran the boy through. He collapsed, groaning in agony, clutching his stomach.
"Anyone else feeling heroic?" the attacker grinned, wiping his blade on the merchant's tunic.
A sudden shout rang out from the back of the caravan. An Ashkin had wandered to the last cart and noticed an unusually large crate.
"Hey! What's this? Looks heavy. Let's have a peek."
The merchant beside the crate turned pale. "Th-that's not ours sir. Must have been loaded by mistake."
Another merchant elbowed him hard and hissed, "Shut up. Just let them take it."
The curious Ashkin raised an eyebrow. "Don't sir me," he snapped. "We're not your Nasyonalista dogs."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Yeah, you better be sorry," the Ashkin growled, cracking his knuckles.
From the front, the booming voice of the Gudan Knights' leader, Juda, echoed across the path. "HAUL EVERYTHING! WE MOVE NOW!"
The Ashkins shouted in unison, preparing to strip the caravan clean.
But just as one of them reached for the heavy crate—it exploded.
Wood splinters flew. Dust clouded the air.
Out stepped a young man, stretching with a yawn.
"OH! That was a good sleep," the young man said, rubbing his eyes. Then he blinked at his surroundings. "Wait... where am I?"
Everyone froze.
"Who are you, kid?" one Ashkin asked, bewildered.
The young man grinned. "I am Toby Klaus—and I'm going to be the next King of the Ashkins!"
The Ashkins burst into laughter.
"A kid? King of the Ashkins? You serious?!"
The merchants seized the moment. With the Ashkins distracted, they urged their horses forward and bolted, abandoning crates and injured companions alike.
Juda, a towering brute, marched forward, his eyes narrowing at Toby. "I am Juda, leader of the Gudan Knights. This is our domain."
Before he could continue, an Ashkin ran up breathless. "Chief! The merchants fled!"
Juda growled and turned on Toby. "Because of you, brat, we lost our haul."
Toby blinked innocently. "Sorry, my bad. But I really have to go now. Bye!"
In a flash, Juda lunged. His massive arm swung toward Toby, hand open to seize him. But as his fingers closed, they grasped nothing but smoke.
Toby had vanished.
He reappeared under Juda and delivered a sharp uppercut. The blow connected, rocking the giant's jaw.
Juda stumbled, more stunned than hurt.
"So... a Heartstone bearer," he muttered, rubbing his jaw.
Toby raised a fist, shadow energy swirling around it. "Yup. It grants me the power of shadows."
"You've got tricks, but no firepower."
Toby smirked. "You're right. So I guess I need more training."
Juda roared and charged. He threw a series of wild punches, each backed by massive force. But Toby flickered left, then right, vanishing in smoky bursts before each blow landed. Juda's strikes shattered rocks and churned dirt, but Toby remained untouched, dancing just out of reach.
"Stop dodging and fight me!" Juda bellowed.
But then Toby's eyes shifted. He pointed. "Wait! Who's that?"
"You dare give me orders?!" Juda shouted.
Toby flickered toward the figure he had seen. Slumped on the ground, hands tied behind his back, was a bloodied man.
Toby bent down. "Hey? What's your name?"
The prisoner groaned. "Reu... Reu Jacinth."
"Do you want to join my group?" Toby asked.
Reu raised an eyebrow. "Why would I?"
"Because," Toby said with a grin, "you're going to help me become the King of the Ashkins."
Reu chuckled weakly. "You're a weird kid... but I've got nothing better to do. I'll come—but I'm not your underling."
"Good enough for me!"
"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?!" Juda screamed.
Reu slowly stood, his wrists still bound. Then, with a twist, he snapped the ropes like thread.
"How did he do that?" an Ashkin gasped.
Reu rolled his shoulders. "Could've done it anytime. Just got bored being with you clowns."
Juda's face twisted in rage. "WHY YOU—"
He dashed and launched a punch. Toby flickered aside.
"Okay, Reu. Show me what you've got!"
Reu sighed. "I've got nothing to prove."
He caught Juda's punch mid-air and countered with a fist to the jaw. Juda crashed to the ground.
Reu turned to the Ashkins. "Which one of you has my sword?"
A trembling Ashkin stepped forward and handed him a rusty blade.
"This is crooked and dull. What did you do—use it as a shovel?"
The Ashkin fled.
Juda rose, blood dripping from his nose. He unsheathed a greatsword. "I'll kill you, Reu of Gresia!"
He leapt and swung. The blade struck the earth with thunder, cracking the ground and sending dust and ashkins flying.
Reu had already leapt back. As the dust cleared, he assumed a stance.
"Focus Slash!"
He dashed forward. The attack was swift—too swift. Juda cried out as the blade tore across his chest. He dropped his sword and collapsed.
Toby's jaw dropped. "WOW! You're amazing! You're going to be my right hand!"
Reu smirked. "I'll follow you. But not as your servant."
The rest of the Gudan Knights scattered in terror.
Toby called after them. "Don't ever leave your chief! And you Reu, you won't leave me, right?"
"Stop talking. Seriously."
"Where's your members, anyway?" Reu asked.
Toby pointed. "You. You're the first."
"WHAT?!"
Toby laughed heartily, nearly doubling over with amusement. "You're funny, Reu! You didn't realize it's just you? Hahaha!"
He wiped a tear from his eye and clapped Reu on the back. "But hey, think of the possibilities. We'll build our group from the ground up. You and me—two warriors against a world of tyrants, corrupt paladins, and bandit lords. Sounds fun, right?"
Reu sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sounds insane."
Toby grinned, throwing an arm around his reluctant companion as they began to walk toward the dusty road to Prenia. "Exactly. That's the point! You're going to love it. First, we head to Prenia. We'll need allies, a banner, a name for our crew—oh! And uniforms. Dark cloaks. Definitely dark cloaks."
"You talk too much," Reu muttered.
"And you frown too much," Toby countered. "Balance! That's what makes a good team."
The two wandered down the road as the sun dipped slightly westward, casting long shadows behind them. The scent of earth and pine filled the air, and the wind whispered promises of danger, discovery, and destiny.
Reu looked sideways at Toby, shaking his head with a smirk. "What did I just get myself into..."
Behind them, the faint rustle of movement suggested their encounter with the Gudan Knights had not gone unnoticed. Eyes were watching. Whispers were beginning.
And thus, with a heart full of dreams and a companion full of skepticism, the journey of Toby Klaus—the self-proclaimed future King of the Ashkins—had truly begun.