What does it feel like to be strong?

I’ve asked myself that question more times than I can count.

Is it the weight of a sword in my hands? The raw power of my muscles pushing past their limit? The knowledge that I can stand my ground while others fall?

Or is it something deeper?

I didn’t have time to find an answer.

The air was thick with the scent of blood and damp earth. My arms burned, muscles screaming for rest, but there was no time.

The creatures kept coming.

Low growls rumbled across the battlefield, a storm rolling in from the sea.

They were fast—faster than a man, faster than a horse. Thick, sinewy legs coiled beneath scaled bodies, propelling them forward with terrifying speed. Their hides shimmered with an almost metallic sheen, blending into the mud and rock of Valkthara’s war-torn plains.

Their elongated skulls, filled with rows of jagged teeth, snapped hungrily as they circled us.

Schädelwyrms.

Skull Serpents.

They moved in packs, swarming like locusts, slashing with razor-sharp claws, tearing through armor like wet parchment.

I swung my blade in a desperate arc, cutting deep into the neck of one lunging at me. Its screech split the air as it collapsed, thick, blackened blood spraying across my face.

Another Schädelwyrm screeched and lunged.

We moved together, just like we always did.

We weren’t knights. We weren’t heroes.

Just soldiers.

Front feeders.

The ones who died first so the ones behind us could keep fighting.

It had been a year since the Last Demon War. Since the final demon of this realm had fallen.

The Heroes of the Realm had saved us. Legends who would be remembered forever. They had defeated the Harbinger of Wrath, vanquished the greatest threat this world had ever known.

My Kingdom, Valkenheim had overworked their soldiers to clean up the rest of Astoroth’s soldiers that were trying to conquer us. But thankfully, our greatest soldier had comes back and finish them all by himself.

And yet—peace was still a hard price to pay.

The land of Valkthara was still overrun with beasts. The war had ended, but the battles never did.

Every fight blurred into the next.

We fought because we had to. Because no one else would.

Rikard covered my blind spots. I watched his back.

That was how we survived.

By the time the last Schädelwyrm fell, my hands were numb from the constant clash of steel against flesh. My breath came in ragged gulps.

Rikard leaned on his sword, grinning through the exhaustion.

“Still alive?”

I wiped the sweat from my brow.

“Unfortunately.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. Then, after a pause, he looked at me—really looked at me. The grin faded.

“You holding up?”

The question caught me off guard, and I hated that it did. Rikard never asked shit like that. He never needed to. He just assumed I was fine, the same way I assumed he was.

I forced a smirk. “I’m not dead yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

His voice was quieter now, lacking its usual teasing edge. I pretended not to notice. Instead, I sheathed my sword and rolled my shoulders, stretching out the stiffness. “Come on, let’s move before more of these things show up.”

Rikard watched me for a second longer before sighing. “Yeah, alright.”

I could tell he didn’t believe me. But he didn’t push.

Good.

Because the truth was, I wasn’t okay.

None of us were.

Rikard and I had been fighting side by side for years. From the first day of conscription, we had each other’s backs. We had laughed together, bled together. Survived together.

And I would do anything to make sure he kept surviving.

Even if I knew—deep down—that we were both just cannon fodder.

Front feeders. Designed to die first.

We weren’t even appointed by the King himself. Hell, I doubted the bastard even knew we existed.

No, we were sent here by some lower-ranking officer, probably some commander of a commander—one of the countless men who sat behind thick stone walls and pushed pieces across a war map like they were playing a game. I didn’t even remember his name. Just another voice barking orders, sending us to fight, expecting us to die.

Rikard thought it was worth it.

“We’re protecting the Kingdom. If we don’t hold the line, people die.”

That was what he believed. That this was for the good of Valkenheim—our great and noble kingdom, if you believed the songs. The last stronghold in Valkthara, a place clawing to stay above the tide of monsters that had come spilling across its lands.

And I?

I wasn’t so different. I had that same sense of duty, that same instinct to protect. It was why I joined the army in the first place. It was why I still swung my sword every day, despite knowing I was just a nameless soldier, easily replaced.

But months had passed.

We had been killing these things for what felt like forever. We were supposed to be clearing our way to their lair—finding their breeding grounds, their nests, whatever abyss these creatures crawled from, and putting an end to them for good.

But it never happened.

Every time we thought we were getting close, more of them came. The tide never ended. We kept hacking, kept bleeding, kept dying—until it felt like the only thing left to do was die.

Maybe that was the point.

Maybe we were never meant to win.

“Look!”

Rikard’s voice rang out over the battlefield, sharp with urgency. He pointed ahead, toward a gaping cave carved into the jagged cliffs. Dark. Uninviting. The kind of place you stepped into and never came back from.

Behind us, five other soldiers staggered in the mud. Same rank as us. Same exhaustion weighing them down. Their armor was dented, their swords dulled from overuse. None of them looked in any condition to keep fighting. But we had no choice.

Rikard didn’t hesitate. He moved forward, leading the way, his grip steady on his sword.

And like always, I followed.

I hate to admit it, but Rikard—my best friend, my brother in all but blood—is stronger than me.

He’s saved my ass more times than I can count. Too many to repay. Too many to even think of evening the score. I owe him my life.

But as I watch his back, cutting through the mist, fearless as always—I feel envy.

I want to be strong too.

I want to be the one protecting him, the one standing between Valkenheim and the things that would tear it apart. I want to be something more than just another soldier waiting to die.

But who am I kidding?

I trained harder than anyone in the barracks. I pushed myself until my body screamed for rest, until my hands blistered and my lungs burned. And yet, I’m still weak.

Every fight leaves me gasping for air, my arms heavy, my sword dragging. My body can’t keep up, no matter how much I push it.

Maybe this is just who I am.

Maybe I was never meant to be strong.

Maybe I was just destined to be weak.

The cave swallowed us whole. Cold. Damp. The kind of darkness that clung to your skin like a second layer.

“Give us some light,” Rikard muttered.

One of the soldiers—Lukas, I think his name was—lifted his hand. Fire bloomed from his palm, wrapping around his fingers like a living thing. It flickered and danced, casting jagged shadows across the stone walls. Yet he didn’t flinch. Didn’t burn.

He pushed forward, becoming our guiding light.

I clenched my jaw, watching the flames. Another thing I’d never have.

Magic was something you were either born with or without. No training, no amount of willpower could change that. If you weren’t gifted with it at birth, that was it. You’d never feel the hum of mana in your veins, never command fire, ice, or lightning. Never be anything more than a man with a sword.

They must be chosen.

It wasn’t even inherited, either. Rikard’s parents were both powerful mages, legends in their own right. Yet Rikard? He couldn’t conjure a flicker of flame. Not even the most basic spell.

Good thing the gods made up for it by giving him a warrior’s body. If he had magic on top of his swordsmanship, he’d be damn near unstoppable.

“Stay sharp,” Rikard warned, his voice a low whisper.

No need to remind us.

We all knew something was here.

The deeper we went, the colder it became. The walls closed in, pressing around us, the weight of the earth itself bearing down. Lukas’ fire barely pushed the darkness back—it felt like the cave wanted to swallow the light whole.

And then came the sounds.

Click. Click. Click.

Faint at first. Just beyond the edge of the light.

Then another. And another. Echoing from deep within.

The sound of claws tapping against stone.

Waiting. Watching.

Hunting.

“That must be it,” Rikard murmured, eyes locked on the darkness ahead.

“The Mother?” Lukas asked, his voice hushed but tense.

That was why we were here. Why we had fought, bled, and watched our brothers die.

The Mother.

We believed—hoped—that this creature, whatever it was, was the source. The one breeding the Schädelwyrms. Some twisted, grotesque equivalent of a queen bee, endlessly birthing more of these monsters, spreading them like a plague across Valkthara.

And if we killed it?

The King himself had made a promise. Any soldier who slew the Mother could ask for whatever they desired.

Imagine that.

Some men dreamed of gold. Others of titles, land, a noble’s life.

Me?

Power.

Not just strength. Not just skill with a blade. True power. Enough to carve out something of my own. Maybe even leave Valkenheim behind one day, cross the sea, and build a kingdom of my own.

Wouldn’t that be something?

But that dream would never happen if we died here.

The clicking sound grew louder. Closer. A constant, rhythmic tap against the stone floor, like sharpened bones dragging across the rock.

Then—something else.

A flicker. A faint, pulsing glow deep in the cavern.

A bonfire.

My breath hitched. My grip tightened around my sword.

We were not alone.

Rikard raised his hand, signaling for Lukas. “Put it out.”

The flames around Lukas’ fingers vanished, plunging us into near darkness.

Silent now, we crept toward the light.

The fire crackled, casting an eerie glow across the cavern walls. But it wasn’t the flames that made my stomach twist.

It was what they were burning.

The bonfire wasn’t wood. It was bone. Skulls stacked atop one another, fused together with melted, blackened flesh. Ribcages split open, spines twisted and intertwined like a grotesque sculpture. Human remains. Soldiers, most likely.

And just behind that wretched pyre—

It.

A creature unlike anything I had ever seen. Twisted. Wrong. An abomination given form.

It stood hunched over, its elongated body rippling with lean, sinewy muscle. Pale, leathery skin stretched too tight over its frame, slick with some kind of viscous secretion. Its arms were long, disproportionately so, ending in hooked claws that glistened in the firelight.

But it was the head that made my breath catch in my throat.

Elongated. Predatory. The shape almost mimicked the Schädelwyrms—but where they were feral beasts, this was something else entirely. Its maw was too wide, stretching past where a jaw should have ended, filled with jagged, uneven teeth that looked like they had been stolen from multiple creatures.

And its eyes—

Gods, its eyes.

Too many of them, scattered unevenly across its face, bulging, their milky-white pupils twitching in different directions as if they each had a mind of their own.

Its chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths.

It knew we were here.

And it was waiting.

The moment we saw it—it was already moving.

A blur of pale muscle and death.

Before I could even react, before anyone could raise a blade, Lukas was gone.

One second, he was standing beside me—the next, his body split in half. A sickening wet sound, like tearing meat, filled the cave as his torso slid apart. His fire flickered out as his remains crumpled to the blood-soaked ground.

Another soldier barely had time to scream before the creature’s hooked claws ripped through his throat, severing his head from his shoulders. The last thing I saw of him was his eyes—still wide, still alive—before his body collapsed beside Lukas.

A third soldier died without a sound. One moment standing, the next—nothing. Just a smear of red across the stone.

“Erik!”

Rikard’s voice snapped me out of my frozen state, and I barely had time to raise my sword as the thing turned toward us.

Too fast.

I couldn’t react. I knew it. I had no chance of blocking something that moved like that.

But I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

Rikard lunged forward, his sword flashing in the firelight. For the first time, the creature hesitated. It had been toying with us—until now.

Rikard had seen something. An opening. And before the creature could move, he took it.

His blade slashed through its side, black blood spraying across the cave floor.

It hissed, a horrible, clicking noise that rattled through the chamber. Its milky-white eyes twitched, its claws flexing.

It was wounded.

This was it.

I surged forward, sword aimed for its chest. If we could just—

Clang.

Pain shot through my arms as the creature’s hooked claws caught my blade mid-strike.

It blocked me.

I barely had time to process what happened before it moved again.

Fast. Too fast.

A flash of white—a claw raking across my shoulder. Pain. White-hot and blinding.

I staggered back, barely holding onto my sword.

Rikard wasn’t so lucky.

The creature’s next strike nearly took his head off. He jerked back at the last second, the edge of the claw missing his throat by an inch.

I barely had time to breathe before two more soldiers rushed forward.

Their swords were raised. A battle cry on their lips.

I knew before they even reached it—they were already dead.

And just like that—

They were gone.

It happened so fast, I didn’t even register it.

One moment they were charging—

The next, their bodies were ripped apart, torn as if they had never existed.

And now, it was just Rikard and me.

“Stay sharp,” Rikard muttered, his grip tight around his sword. His breathing was steady, his stance firm. He wasn’t afraid.

His eyes tracked the darkness, focused, calculating.

“I can see it move,” he whispered. “I can track it. We’ve wounded it before—that means it can die.”

Across the fire, the creature hissed, its unnatural, too-wide mouth peeling open.

It knew.

It knew we weren’t just another meal.

We weren’t easy prey.

And I’d make damn sure to keep it that way.

Rikard moved first, and I followed without hesitation.

The creature lunged, but Rikard was already tracking it, eyes flicking with every unnatural twitch of its body.

“Left! Now!”

I didn’t hesitate.

I swung with everything I had—felt the bite of steel sinking into flesh.

The creature screamed.

Its clawed hook—gone. Severed, twitching on the ground, black blood pooling at its feet.

For the first time, it felt pain.

And then—

It vanished.

Gone.

Like mist dissipating in the night.

Rikard didn’t stop.

He surged forward, swinging wildly into the darkness. The air itself seemed to warp around his blade—until suddenly—

A shriek.

Not Rikard’s.

Not the scream of a dying man.

The creature.

Rikard hit something.

His sword cleaved deep into its shoulder, black blood spilling like tar across the cavern floor.

We were winning.

I rushed forward, my sword raised.

This was it.

This was over.

I took my stance, my blade gleaming in the firelight, aimed straight for its head.

With one clean swipe, my blade sliced through flesh and bone.

The creature’s head rolled, its bulging, too-many eyes still twitching, its jagged maw frozen in a silent snarl. The body lurched, spasming violently before collapsing to the ground with a heavy, wet thud.

And just like that—

It was over.

For a long moment, I just stood there, sword trembling in my grip, breath ragged. It was dead. We were alive.

A slow, breathless chuckle broke the silence.

I turned—Rikard was grinning.

“Well, shit.” He let out another shaky laugh, rubbing his face. “That actually worked.”

A laugh bubbled up in my chest, raw, exhausted, almost delirious. After everything—we actually won.

We shouldn’t have. We should’ve died like the others. But we didn’t.

Because we fought together.

Also this time, I was the one who landed the killing blow.

Not Rikard.

Me.

I glanced at him, still catching his breath, still grinning like an idiot. He saved my ass too many times to count. But this time, I saved his.

And damn it—that felt good.

Rikard let out a long sigh, stretching his arms before clapping me on the back. “Alright, I’ll admit it—you saved my ass back there. That means I owe you. First round’s on me when we get back.”

I smirked, rolling my sore shoulder. “Oh? What are we talking? A good meal?”

“Damn right,” Rikard grinned. “Whatever you want.”

I didn’t miss a beat. “Roman’s?”

“Nah.” He wrinkled his nose. “I told you before—Roman’s is overpriced. The food’s not even that good.”

I chuckled. “Right. Lyria’s, then?”

He nodded, already turning to retrieve his sword. “Now that’s real food. Best lamb stew you’ll ever have.”

I grinned wider, raising a brow. “You just like Lyria’s because she’s pretty.”

Rikard stiffened. His face immediately went red.

“Shut up.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I wiped the blood from my blade.

He ignored me, bending down and grabbing the severed head of the creature. He held it up, examining its grotesque features. “Let’s clean this up. I think we did it.” His voice was lighter now, almost relieved. “We killed The Mother.”

And then—

Laughter.

It echoed through the cavern, curling through the air like something alive.

Loud. Overwhelming.

I felt it in my chest, in my bones. The very cave trembled with it. For a moment, I thought the walls would collapse around us, burying us beneath the earth.

Then—silence.

The fire flickered.

And from the darkness, something stepped forward.

It moved slowly, deliberately, its silhouette forming in the dim, flickering light.

A woman-like figure—but no woman at all.

Its limbs were too long, its fingers ending in twisted, gnarled claws. Its body was skeletal, hollow, draped in thin, gray flesh that seemed to barely cling to its bones. And its face—gods—its face was wrong.

A maw too wide, stretching in a way no human mouth should. Its eyes sunken, bottomless pits of void.

A voice—low, crawling beneath my skin like a whisper made of razors.

“That… is not The Mother.”

Rikard and I snapped to attention, swords raised.

The figure took another step forward, tilting its head.

“I am The Mother.”