The resonant horn of House Taryn cut through the smoke and chaos of the village, its sound a sharp contrast to the fading chants of the Order of the Veil and the clatter of the imperial vanguard's retreat. Elias Vaeron crouched in a muddy alley, his frail six-year-old body trembling from pain and exhaustion, the crude musket clutched in his small, blood-streaked hands. His steel-gray eyes, flecked with amber, glinted with defiance as he scanned the green-armored riders approaching under a banner of a golden stag on a field of emerald. The Dominion Interface blazed in his vision: House Taryn: 15 cavalry, 10 infantry. Intent: Unknown. Threat Level: Moderate.
Elias's pale, gaunt face, framed by matted black hair streaked with ash, bore the marks of battle—his left cheek grazed by an arrow, his right arm seared by an arcane burn, the skin red and blistered beneath his tattered nightshirt. At barely four feet tall, his skeletal frame was dwarfed by the musket, yet his posture carried the weight of a seasoned commander. Beside him, Mira, the servant girl, gripped her bloodied dagger, her brown eyes fierce despite the pain in her bandaged arm. Her freckled face, smudged with soot, was framed by tangled auburn hair pulled into a messy braid, her wiry frame clad in a torn servant's tunic, standing no taller than Elias but radiating stubborn resolve.
Lady Seline Kaelar, her silver armor dented and streaked with blood, stood tall at five-foot-nine, her lean, muscular build unyielding despite the loss of her riders. Her sharp, angular face, framed by a short crop of blonde hair matted with sweat, held a fierce determination, her blue eyes locked on the approaching Taryn forces. Her remaining two riders—burly men in battered silver plate, one with a scarred jaw and close-cropped black hair, the other with a ruddy complexion and a patchy beard—held their spears ready, their loyalty to Seline absolute. The crimson-cloaked commander and the assassin were gone, lost to the well's abyss, but their absence left more questions than answers.
Garrick's betrayal still burned in Elias's mind, the interface's Betrayal Confirmed warning a bitter reminder. The retainer's gaunt, weathered face—pockmarked, with a crooked nose and thinning brown hair—had vanished into the chaos, his tall, lean frame last seen clutching a bloodied shoulder from Elias's shot. Toren's death, too, weighed heavy, the militia captain's scarred, broad face and graying beard now just a memory, his sacrifice fueling Elias's resolve.
The white-cloaked figure of the Veil stood at the village's edge, their gaunt, ageless face partially visible beneath their hood, their glowing green eyes fixed on Elias. Their slight, almost skeletal frame was shrouded in flowing white robes, their staff now cracked but still pulsing with arcane light. Their followers, black-cloaked and hooded, were down to ten, their staffs dim but dangerous.
Elias's heart pounded, the interface's revelation—Vaeron Relic: Arcane Amplifier—a riddle he couldn't yet solve. His blood, the key to this power, drew enemies like moths to a flame. In his old life, he'd turned hopeless battles into victories with strategy and grit, but this world's arcane threats tested every ounce of his cunning. The interface pinged: Tactics (Level 1): Assess House Taryn's intent through parley. Negotiation was a risk, but fighting on three fronts—Veil, empire, and Taryn—was certain death.
"Seline," Elias whispered, his voice raw but steady, "hold position. Be ready to fall back to the outskirts." Seline nodded, her spear glinting as she signaled her riders. "Mira, check the alley for cover—anywhere we can funnel them." Mira darted off, her braid bouncing as she vanished into the shadows.
Elias stepped forward, raising his voice over the distant clash of steel. "House Taryn! I'm Elias Vaeron, heir of this house. State your purpose!"
The lead rider, a broad-shouldered man in green plate armor, dismounted, his helm revealing a weathered face with a neatly trimmed beard and piercing hazel eyes. His gray-streaked brown hair was tied back, and his six-foot frame moved with a warrior's grace. The interface tagged him: Lord Edric Taryn. Status: Neutral (Tentative). "Elias Vaeron," Edric said, his voice deep and measured, "you've stirred a hornet's nest. We seek the Veil's quarry, not your house. Stand aside, or share their fate."
Elias's mind raced, drawing on his past life's diplomacy—misdirect, probe, exploit. "The Veil wants my blood," he said, his tone defiant. "The empire wants my land. What do you want, Taryn?"
Edric's eyes narrowed, studying Elias's small, battered form. "A child who speaks like a general," he said, almost to himself. "The Veil's relic is a threat to all houses. Hand it over, and we'll protect what's left of Vaeron."
The interface flashed: Diplomacy (Level 1): Leverage Taryn's neutrality to gain allies. Elias's smirk was grim, a shadow of his old self. "You want the relic? Fight the Veil with me. They're weakened, but they won't stop."
The white-cloaked figure's staff flared, their voice cutting through. "Taryn, you meddle in matters beyond you. The Amplifier is ours." Their followers advanced, their chants resuming, the ground trembling faintly.
Elias saw his chance—chaos was his weapon. The interface pinged: Tactics (Level 1): Incite conflict between Taryn and Veil to reduce threats. He raised the musket, its crude barrel glinting, and fired into the air. The roar echoed, startling both Taryn's riders and the Veil's followers. "Choose, Taryn!" Elias shouted. "Fight with us, or die with them!"
Edric's face hardened, but he raised a hand, signaling his cavalry. "Taryn! On the Veil!" His riders charged, their lances crashing into the black-cloaked figures. Staffs flared, green bolts meeting steel, the village erupting in chaos.
Elias seized the moment. "Seline, to the outskirts! Mira, lead the way!" Mira returned, pointing to a narrow path between burned huts. The interface mapped: Escape Route: Outskirts. Defensive Potential: Moderate. They ran, Seline's riders covering their retreat, dragging the remaining militia—four now, their faces gaunt and bloodied.
The village's edge was a wasteland of charred wood and frozen mud, offering sparse cover. Elias directed his group behind a collapsed granary, its stone walls sturdy enough to hold. The interface tagged: Resources: 1 iron shard, 1 broken barrel. Not enough for the Arcane Pulse Grenade blueprint, but he could improvise.
"Seline," Elias said, "watch Taryn's flank. If they turn on us, we hit hard." Seline nodded, her blonde hair plastered to her face, her blue eyes fierce. "Mira, rig the barrel with the shard—make a spike trap."
Mira's freckled face tightened, but she obeyed, jamming the iron shard into the barrel's remains, creating a crude barrier. The interface estimated: Trap Success Probability: 50%. Elias gripped the musket, its last shot spent, but its weight a symbol of what he could do.
The battle raged behind them, Taryn's green-armored cavalry clashing with the Veil's arcane might. The white-cloaked leader stood apart, their staff pulsing, their eyes fixed on Elias. The interface warned: Arcane Surge: Imminent. Elias dove, pulling Mira down as a green bolt scorched the granary, cracking stone.
"Seline, now!" Elias shouted. Her riders charged, their spears aimed at the Veil's followers, felling two. The interface updated: Enemy Losses: 2 infantry. Veil Morale: Wavering.
But the imperial vanguard wasn't done. Valthar's gold-trimmed armor glinted as he rallied his remaining cavalry, their lances aimed at Taryn's rear. The interface flashed: Vanguard Reinforcements: 10 cavalry. Morale: Stabilizing. Elias's heart sank—three factions, all converging, and he was the prize.
He turned to the granary's debris, spotting a rusted axe head. The interface pinged: Legacy Protocol: Unlocked. Blueprint Available—Musket Bayonet Attachment. A simple blade, attachable to his musket, turning it into a spear. He grabbed the axe head, lashing it to the barrel with strips of cloth from his nightshirt. His hands shook, blood seeping from his burned arm, but his soldier's instincts drove him.
The white-cloaked leader advanced, their staff flaring. "Your blood, Vaeron," they hissed. "It ends tonight."
Elias raised the musket, its new bayonet gleaming. "Try it," he said, his voice a blade. Seline's riders formed a line, their spears ready. Mira's trap was set, the barrel poised to roll into the Veil's path.
But a new sound broke through—a low, guttural roar from the manor's ruins. The interface screamed: Unknown Entity: Non-Human. Threat Level: Extreme. A massive shape lumbered into view, its hide scaled and glinting, its eyes glowing red in the firelight.