The great hall echoed with the heavy footsteps of armored knights as they gathered at Theron's call. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, coloring the stone floors in hues of gold and crimson. Theron stood at the head of the table, his arms behind his back, expression sharp.
Theron: "Knights of the realm. Dame Mavie. I have summoned thee all for a matter most grave."
The knights stood still, the room holding its breath. Mavie stepped forward from the line, folding her arms.
Mavie: "What trouble now, Your Majesty? More beasts from the woods?"
Theron: "Worse still. A thief walks among us. One who hath dared to steal the royal crown from within these very walls."
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
Theron: "This act was not one of mere mischief. It was bold. Planned. Hidden under the veil of night. And we have no name. No face. Only shadows."
Mavie narrowed her eyes. "You want us to hunt them?"
Theron: "Aye. I ask you and the knights to ride at once. Search the kingdom. Question the townsfolk. Look for signs—anything that speaks of treason or flight."
Knight Roland: "And if we find this villain, sire?"
Theron: "Bring them to me. Alive, if fate allows. Dead, if they resist. But bring back my crown."
Mavie exchanged glances with the knights and gave a small nod.
Mavie: "Then we ride with the wind, sire. Whoever took your crown won't get far."
Theron stepped down from the dais and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Theron: "I trust in thee, Mavie. May thy sword be swift, and thy eyes sharper still."
With that, the knights turned, their armor clinking as they marched out. Mavie paused only once, looking up at the shattered remains of a window overhead—then followed them into the rising light of morning.
The hunt had begun.
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The sun climbed slowly over the hills as Mavie and her fellow knights rode past the castle gates. The air was cool, but the tension rode heavier than their armor.
Mavie: "Keep thy eyes sharp, and tread not lightly. If our thief fled by foot, the ground shall tell his tale."
The party slowed as they reached the outer edge of the kingdom, where broken brush and disturbed earth whispered secrets.
Sir Alden: "Milady, here—upon the soil. Footprints."
He pointed to a set of hurried steps in the dirt, half-covered by leaves. Too small for a knight, yet too deliberate for a child.
Mavie: "These are fresh... less than a day past. See how the toe presses deeper than the heel? He ran."
Another knight called from farther off.
Knight Elric: "Over here! A scrap of fabric—torn upon a thorned branch."
Mavie took it between her fingers. It was black, soft linen — far finer than what most commoners could afford. Her eyes narrowed.
Mavie: "This thief is no beggar nor mere scoundrel. Nay… they come from wealth. Or wish to appear so."
They continued down the narrow path beyond the outer wall, where the kingdom's watch rarely roamed. The prints veered toward a copse of trees that bent in strange directions, like they too had been disturbed by something—or someone—in the night.
As they reached a moss-covered stone wall half-buried in earth, Mavie knelt.
Mavie: "Behold… a mark."
Carved into the rock, nearly hidden by ivy, was a strange emblem — a crescent and dagger intertwined.
Sir Alden: "That sign… 'tis from the old thieves' guild. I thought them long scattered."
Mavie: "So did we all."
She stood, eyes burning with certainty.
Mavie: "Ready thyselves. The game hath changed. We are not chasing a common thief… but a ghost from the old world."
And with that, they pressed onward — into the woods, and into mystery.
The forest loomed tall and unwelcoming, thick with fog and shadow. Leaves crunched beneath the knights' boots as Mavie led the way, her sword drawn and resting at her side.
Mavie: "Keep thy pace steady. The thief is not far ahead, I feel it in mine bones."
One of the younger knights, Gareth, squinted toward the ground.
Gareth: "Milady, there—prints."
Half-hidden beneath a patch of trampled ferns, muddy footprints curved along the roots, heading deeper into the woods. Oddly, the prints were light—far too nimble for an armored man.
Mavie: "Hmph. Whoever he be, he walks like a shadow... lightly and swift."
They followed the trail past gnarled trees and over a shallow stream. Bits of broken bark, a torn strip of dark linen, and a snapped twig all whispered that they were close.
Suddenly, Sir Rowen raised a hand.
Sir Rowen: "Look! That tree— 'tis marked."
On the side of an old oak, a symbol was carved: a crude spiral with a slash through its center. It looked fresh.
Mavie: "This sign… I know it not. 'Tis not of the thieves' guild nor the common folk. Perhaps sorcery?"
Sir Alden: "Or worse. Folk say the deeper parts of this forest be cursed, milady."
A branch snapped in the distance. The knights turned, blades drawn.
But nothing came.
Mavie: "Keep thy nerves at bay. If the thief dare stalk us from the dark, he shall find steel for his trouble."
The trail twisted uphill, where the trees grew thick as walls and sunlight barely touched the floor. They came to a clearing—and stopped.
In the center, nestled among roots, lay a leather pouch. Mavie knelt and opened it slowly.
Inside was a single jewel... the ruby centerpiece of Theron's crown.
Mavie (low voice): "He's near. Nay—he wanteth us to follow."
Sir Rowen: "A trap, no doubt."
Mavie: "Aye. But we've come this far. Ready thy blades, men. We go deeper still."
And with that, they vanished once more into the trees, the forest swallowing them like a secret yet to be told.
Mavie and the knights pressed deeper into the cursed wood, the path narrowing beneath twisted trees and the cries of unseen creatures. Each step brought them closer to a realm darker than before. The air thickened, the scent of rot lingering like breath upon their necks.
Sir Alden: "This place... it reeks of foul magick. Let us tread with care, milady."
With her sword drawn, Mavie parted the tall grass. Just ahead, the land shifted—moss-covered trees stretched over murky waters, and the ground turned to swamp. A chill ran down her spine.
Suddenly—crack! thud!
Three goblins fell from the branches above, landing in the muck with a squelching laugh.
Goblin 1: "Ho! Who walks the Swamp of Crows? Knights? Nay, treasures in plate and steel!"
Mavie: narrows her eyes, blade raised "Stand aside, beasts. I seek one who hath stolen from our king."
Goblin 2: "A lady knight! Sharp tongue and sharper sword. Aye, we like her."
Knight: "Back, fiends! Else I run thee through!"
As they spoke, Mavie glimpsed movement beyond the tree line—a dark figure slipping between the shadows.
Mavie: quietly "There... the thief, perhaps."
She took a step, but Goblin 3 slid before her, gnarled staff blocking her path.
Goblin 3: "Nay, not so fast, lovely knight. None pass the mire 'less tribute be given."
Mavie: "Tribute?" raises brow "And why should I grant coin to the likes of thee?"
Goblin 1: "Because the mire hath rules, and we are they who keep them."
Goblin 2: "A jewel, a brooch, even a shiny button shall do."
Sir Alden: hisses "Thieving little vermin…"
Mavie: says it coldly "We give thee nothing but steel."
The goblins chuckled, undeterred.
Goblin 3: "Ah, but listen, fair knight. Pay the toll, and we may tell thee of the one thou seekest…"
Mavie froze, eyes narrowing once more.
Mavie: "You know of the thief?"
Goblin 1: Grins "Aye, we do. He passed yonder path at dawn, boots soaked and heart thieving. But naught is free in these woods."
Mavie eyed the goblins, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword.
Mavie: "Speak true, or thy tongues shall meet the edge of my blade. If this thief passed here, tell me—where did he flee?"
Goblin 2: snickering "Northward, into the heart of the swamp, where the fog clings and no sun breaketh through."
Goblin 3: "But we told thee, did we not? No path is freely walked here. A toll must be paid."
Knight: "Blasted greed-warts... They dare to bargain with the crown's business!"
Mavie: sternly"Enough." She stepped closer to the goblins, her voice low and dangerous. "You want something shiny? Then have this—"
With a swift motion, she reached into the pouch at her side and tossed a silver coin into the mud before them.
Mavie: "Take thy trinket and be gone. And if thy tale proves false, I shall return—and ye shall not find mercy."
The goblins scrambled over one another for the coin, hissing and shrieking with glee.
Goblin 1: "A gift fit for kings! The lady knight honors us!"
Goblin 2: pointing "Follow the willow path, milady. But beware... the swamp remembers all who trespass."
Mavie: "We've not come to dance with shadows. We've come for justice."
She turned back to her knights, her voice clear.
Mavie: "Steel in hand. Eyes sharp. Let us move."
They pressed forward, into the deep fog, where the trees wept and whispers rode the wind. Somewhere ahead, the thief awaited—and the truth with him.
The swamp began to thin, the mist curling behind them like a vanishing breath. Before the knights stood a sudden burst of strange color — glowing fungi lit the trees, their bark now tinged with hues of violet and deep crimson. The air shimmered with warmth, carrying an unfamiliar scent of spice and sap.
Knight: wide-eyed "By the stars… what manner of place is this?"
Mavie: cautious "Stay vigilant. Beauty oft hides poison."
Strange flowers bloomed in impossible shapes. Vines moved as though they breathed, and the chirping of unseen creatures echoed through the leaves in haunting harmony. The very ground beneath their boots glimmered faintly.
Sir Elric: "I have heard whispers of this wood… 'tis the Cradle of Embergrove. No soul hath returned once they tread its core."
They pressed on, cautious but determined. In the center of the clearing stood an ancient stone — cracked and carved with ancient runes, glowing ever faintly. As Mavie stepped near, her armored boot pressed a hidden root.
CRACK.
A sound like splitting earth thundered beneath their feet.
Mavie: "What in—"
The stone trembled.
Then split.
From its heart erupted fire and wind. Ashes danced into the air like confetti. And from the smoldering pit, a small creature emerged — scaled in glinting sapphire and gold, eyes like molten amber.
A dragon. Young, but not harmless.
It screeched, smoke billowing from its nostrils, wings snapping open with a gust of heat.
Sir Alden: stumbling back "Gods preserve us! A wyrmling!"
Mavie: gritting her teeth "Stand your ground!"
The young dragon hovered, flapping its wings angrily, the earth below cracking from its magic. It let out a warning growl — confused, defensive, yet not entirely hostile.
Knight: "Milady, if we anger it further—"
Mavie: calm but firm "Hold thy blades. Let us not wake the full wrath of its kin."
The dragon sniffed, letting out a puff of embered breath. Then it blinked… curiously.
Mavie: mumbling to herself "Are you guarding something?"
(TO BE CONTINUED)