The Kingsroad of Neros was soaked in the scent of blood and fire.
Smoke curled up from the wreckage of the shattered carriage. A dozen bandits in piecemeal armor surrounded it, laughing like jackals, their swords already wet from the blood of the guards who had died trying to protect it. A noblewoman's scream rang out from within the wreckage, sharp and furious—but it did not halt the bandits.
The road was far from the capital, and farther still from the reach of the royal guard. No one was coming to save her.
No one… except them.
From the ridge above the carnage, five shadows watched in silence. The sun was setting behind them, casting long, ominous silhouettes onto the earth. They did not speak. They did not warn. They descended like death itself.
Leo Nerona was the first to move. His cloak flared in the wind, black trimmed with silver, the twin hilts of his swords rising over his shoulders like the wings of some fallen angel. One blade was black as night, wrapped in red cord. The other—sheathed in ivory—gleamed in the dying sunlight, untouched. Unused. Some said it had never tasted blood. Those who knew better understood that was not a sign of mercy, but something far more terrifying.
He landed silently among the bandits like a ghost. Before the nearest one could speak, Leo's black sword sliced through his neck with such speed the body remained standing a heartbeat longer before crumpling.
"Leo Nerona!" one of the bandits shouted in disbelief. "It's him! The Black Fang!"
"Gods help us," whispered another, backing away. The gods however, weren't listening today.
With a thunderous war cry, Kenan charged next. A whirlwind of green cloth and fury, his saber flashing in wide, relentless arcs. There was grace in his savagery, a dancer's rhythm married to a butcher's efficiency. His weapon—curved, long, deadly—was modeled after the great warriors of the East, and in Kenan's hand, it was poetry in motion. He swept through three men in seconds, a snarl fixed on his face.
"You picked the wrong road, scumbags." he growled, cracking his neck.
From the trees came the whisper of death. Liv. Her arrows sang like wind through leaves, each one finding a heart or a throat with impossible precision. She knelt in the boughs, dark braid coiled around one shoulder, her bow already nocking another shaft. No wasted movement, no mercy. She was a ghost with eagle eyes, and to glimpse her meant your life was already forfeited.
Zeno was next. Half-elf, all predator. He moved like a shadow across the battlefield, blades flashing from his sleeves—small, curved daggers honed to a razor's kiss. Where Leo was storm and Kenan was fire, Zeno was the quiet between breaths. His daggers carved silence into men's last gasps. One bandit tried to run; Zeno appeared behind him in a blink, slitting his throat with casual indifference.
"Too slow," he muttered, flicking blood from his blade.
Then came Lex. Like a mountain learning to walk, Lex thundered into the fray with his massive spiked club, laughing like a god of war. One swing shattered a man's shield and skull both. A second turned another into red mist. His muscles rippled like forged steel under his bare arms, scars etched into his skin like runes. They said he once fought a troll with his bare hands. They were wrong. The troll never got a chance to fight back.
In minutes, it was over. The bandits lay scattered like broken toys, the road quiet save for the crackle of fire and the whimper of horses.
Leo approached the carriage, now leaning on one broken axle. The door was cracked open slightly, and through it, he saw her: a woman cloaked in red, with hair like spilled ink and eyes that glowed faintly, unnaturally. Her gaze met his, calm and unflinching. Not afraid. Curious.
"You're not the guards," she said coolly.
"No," Leo replied. "We're better."
She stepped out of the carriage with grace and poise, unbothered by the carnage around her. The wind stirred her cloak, revealing the fine embroidery of arcane runes along its hem. Her fingers bore rings of silver and obsidian, and at her hip hung a leather satchel marked with sigils older than the kingdom itself.
"A witch," Kenan muttered, sheathing his saber. "Of course."
"A noble witch," she corrected. "Dorothy of the Witchwood. And I owe you my thanks."
Zeno narrowed his eyes. "You don't look the helpless type."
"I'm not," she replied, a smirk tugging at her lips. "But it's always nice to be rescued by legends."
Leo gave a slight nod. "You know of us?"
"Who doesn't?" Dorothy said. "The Ashen Blades. Mercenaries from nowhere. Whispers say your village doesn't exist. That you're shadows in human skin."
Lex chuckled. "We exist. Just not for everyone."
Dorothy looked at each of them in turn, studying their eyes like a scholar examining relics. Then she fixed her gaze on Leo.
"I could use men like you."
"We're not cheap," Leo said.
"I have coin," she said, tossing a pouch onto the ground. It landed with a clink of gold. "But I also have something else."
Liv descended from the trees, dusting leaves from her shoulders. "Go on, witch. Make your pitch."
Dorothy drew closer. "I'm on a quest," she said. "To find a man. A very specific man."
"We're not bounty hunters," Kenan growled.
"No. But you are hunters of truth. This man… is destined to change the world."
"Destiny," Zeno scoffed. "That old lie."
"I don't deal in lies," Dorothy said. "Only prophecies."
Leo's expression didn't change, but something in his stance shifted—barely perceptible to anyone who didn't know him. "Prophecies?"
Dorothy nodded. "The world is changing. Shadows are rising. The kings play their games, but something darker stirs beneath their feet. I've seen it in the flames. And this man… he is the stormbreaker. The one who can shatter the coming darkness."
"Big claim," Lex rumbled.
"It's not a claim. It's a truth. One I intend to find—and protect. But I can't do it alone."
Leo looked around at the carnage. "You need a warband."
"I need you."
The five mercenaries stood silent. The wind rustled the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.
Leo's black blade slid back into its sheath with a soft click. "We'll escort you to the next city. After that, we'll decide."
Dorothy smiled. "That's all I ask."
As the Ashen Blades moved to secure the area, Leo glanced at his white sword, still untouched, still sheathed.
He hadn't drawn it. Not yet.
But something about the witch's eyes told him he would. And soon.
Not for coin. Not for glory.
But for the world itself.