THE SWORD OF DESTINY

The Invasion The sun was just emerging from the Eastern Horizon, coyly hiding behind the morning clouds, revealing only a demure half of its radiant face. It cast beautiful golden beams on the torpid village of the Western Edge of the Iron Kingdom. The women were just beginning their day-to-day chores with the children running around tumultuously, whilst chasing chicken and young cattle. The men, generally too old or fresh in their juvenile years, prepared their mining tools before a long day of burrowing in the nearby mines. Adeptly, all of them went on assorting their implements without a single complain, the culture and daily morning routine deeply etched in their minds. Ambling about were not more than a dozen Iron born soldiers – clearly just emerged from a local tavern, apparent from the way they seemed to have a hard time stabilizing their centers of gravities. Similar to countless days, weeks and decades before, the day started uneventfully. It was as if the town was stuck on an endless spinning wheel, always recapping analogous events on a daily basis. Excessive peace had driven the residents into an early grave of dullness and laxity – with nothing really exciting going on in their lives, or miles around them for that matter. It was safe to say that the sense of adventure had disappeared altogether with the memories of thrill ever existing. Suddenly and abruptly, like an unprecedented seismic activity, the ground began rumbling and trembling, bringing everything to a swift pause. The sky was clear with no indications of a stormy climate, and as such, it was highly absurd to mistake it for a misdirected thunder. The strange phenomena went on for a few minutes then a precipitous cemetery-like silence ensued. Presumably, the residents dismissed it for a random quake – quite normal due to the century-old mining culture in the whole wide kingdom. in spite of this, the few horses in the village, easily spooked in nature, sensed the abnormality in the morning air. They neighed and wildly tramped in their stables, their eyes glued towards the empty Western Horizon. Then suddenly, without warning, an audible war cry shredded the thin crusts of the tacit atmosphere. It was accompanied by the strong thumps of a great beast- a silver-white stallion. The steed was exceptionally muscular from limbs to trunk, its snowy mane majestically draping over its brawny neck. Its overall physical appearance dwarfed every other horse in the close vicinity, ones that now in comparison looked underfed and sickly. Standing like the alpha order of its species, the stallion, visibly aware of its otherworldly beauty, glared straight ahead with pride, its red eyes casually scanning the living objects in front of him. It lightly neighed, bringing forth two sets of thick fog from its nostrils, its shiny brown hooves plodding to a graceful trot. Every eye, be it animal or human, were drawn to the grand imposing mount, like steel to magnet. Its rider, a comely chap, young in age attributable to his scrubby puberty beard and a babe face, smirked with apparent smugness. His black raven hair, fairly complementing his supple brown skin, was tied in small knots behind his head, long enough to graze the apex of his waist. His protrusive eyes, a deep shade of brown - almost black hue, held the same aura as his mount’s, one filled with pomp. His frame, though typical according to the standards of the men in the era, was powerfully built and ripped, his muscles pronounced on every edge like a sculptured young god. The rider was shirtless with brown fleece pants to screen his lower half, conceitedly making no effort of hiding his figurine body. Both appeared imposingly impressive with the rider’s left hand holding to the reigns to his mount, and the left wielding a long glinting double-edged sword. One would say that they perfectly complemented each other. For quite a while, the audience gawked with awe, their feet rooted to the same spots. Clearly, they had never held witness to something like this before, not even in their wildest dreams. Compared to their usual daily spectacles, this new and fresh display of grandeur marveled them beyond limits, far more than what their brains could handle. The hang-over soldiers even seemed to have been sobered up in an instant. The rider grinned roguishly, and with a light nudge on his horse, shot towards the iron born soldiers like an arrow released from a bow. Before they even realized what was upon them, the rider swung his sword, and with a sickening s***h, a head flew up in the air. The young rider had just casually beheaded a soldier, like he was cutting grass, making it seem so effortless and easy. With blood still dripping from his sword, he rode off to the next with not so much as a glance at the headless man. In seamless sync with its rider, the stallion stood on its hind feet then clumped on its rider’s prey. Its sheer weight crushed the man’s lungs, killing him in the process. It neighed in triumph, as if celebrating the fact that it got to him before its rider did. By the moment the other soldiers realized that this was probably not a friendly visit, it was already too late for them. Countless war cries sounded from outside the village, after which other riders flocked the small settlement from all directions. Like a fiery blade slicing through butter, the horde of august riders cut up through the village, killing and slaying everything that had breath in their path. Frightened screams, wails and shouts served to incense the attackers who took joy in wasting lives. The sight of blood and the stench of it invigorating them beyond inhuman confines. In a poetic kind of way, the chaos and slaughter that ensued kind of breathed life into the dull village at the edge of the Iron Kingdom. However, with no one courageous or strong enough to put up a fight against the attackers, the village fell in less than half an hour.