Imagine A Happy Ending

I had only just begun to feel the faint warmth of safety under Torvin's roof when it came crashing down. The rumors reached the forge on a bitter morning, carried by a trader passing through. His words struck like a hammer to the chest.

"The mercenaries... they've taken a woman. A villager from the north. She's alive, but not free."

My stomach twisted. It had to be her—my mother.

I kept working, my hands trembling as I held the tongs. I tried to focus on the hiss of metal in water, the crackle of the forge fire. But my mind spiraled. The image of her, bound and broken, haunted me.

When the trader left, I turned to Torvin.

"I have to go," I said.

He didn't look surprised. He wiped his hands on his apron, his gray eyes heavy with unspoken words. "You don't even know where they are, Kael."

"I'll find them." My voice wavered, but my resolve was solid. "I have to."

Leaving the village wasn't easy. The people had grown colder toward me, whispers trailing wherever I walked. Even Torvin, though kind, had begun to watch me with a quiet wariness. But none of it mattered.

The trader had mentioned a mercenary camp a day's journey south. That was my destination. I left with nothing but the clothes on my back and the dagger Torvin had given me.

The road was barren, the kind of desolation that felt alive, as if the earth itself watched and judged. The trees leaned in close, their gnarled branches clawing at the gray sky. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig set my nerves alight.

It was on this road that I saw the first sign: a crude wooden pole stabbed into the ground, adorned with skulls. Human and animal alike, their empty sockets staring accusingly. Beneath the pole, carved into the dirt, was a symbol—a circle bisected by jagged lines.

I froze. It was the same symbol that had begun appearing in my dreams.

When I reached the camp, night had fallen. The air was heavy with the smell of smoke and sweat, the sound of drunken laughter echoing beyond the wooden walls. The camp loomed before me, a crude fortress of sharpened logs.

I crept closer, keeping to the shadows. Through a gap in the wall, I could see the layout. In the center stood a column adorned with trophies: chains, bits of cloth, and bones—evidence of their conquests. Around the camp, tents sprawled in disarray, lit by flickering torches.

Then I saw her.

She was chained to the column, her head bowed. Her hair, once vibrant, was now matted with dirt and blood. My heart raced, my body trembling with a mixture of relief and terror.

"Mother..." I whispered.

The realization hit me like a blow. I couldn't just walk in and free her. I was a boy with a dagger, facing men who killed for sport. The despair threatened to consume me, but then I heard a voice—a faint whisper, not from outside, but from within.

"She is bound, as you are bound. The blood calls."

I shook my head, trying to banish the voice. But it lingered, an echo in the recesses of my mind.

I spent the night hidden in the woods, watching the camp. I studied the mercenaries, their movements, their habits. One of them stood out—a towering man with a scar running down his face. He wore a pendant with the same symbol I'd seen on the road.

When the camp quieted, I crept closer, my footsteps careful, my breath shallow. I wanted to see her, to let her know I was there.

"Kael," she whispered when our eyes met.

Her voice was weak, but it cut through me. Tears blurred my vision as I reached out, my fingers just inches from hers before I pulled back.

"I'll save you," I promised, my voice shaking.

"No," she said, her eyes wide with fear. "Leave. They'll kill you."

"I can't leave you," I replied, choking on the words.

Her gaze softened, tears streaming down her face. "You're stronger than you know. But you must live. Promise me, Kael."

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

As I retreated, my mind swirled with questions. The voice, the symbol, the strange connection I felt to all of this—it couldn't be coincidence.

The dreams returned that night, more vivid than ever. I saw a man, cloaked in shadow, standing before the same symbol. He spoke words I didn't understand, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder.

When I woke, the symbol was etched into the dirt beside me, as if carved by unseen hands.

The next day, I returned to Torvin's dagger. I spent hours practicing, thrusting and slashing at the air. My muscles ached, but I didn't stop.

When the sun dipped below the horizon, I made my way back to the camp.

The shadows were my allies, and the night was my cover. I would save her, no matter the cost.

But as I crept closer, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone—that something, or someone, was watching me. The weight of the curse pressed heavy on my soul, and for the first time, I questioned whether I was truly fighting for freedom—or merely stepping into the trap fate had laid for me.