Book 1: The Forgotten Protocol

Chapter 1: Haunted Shadows

A quiet, rural village nestled against a forest, with simple wooden homes and a small marketplace bustling with activity. It’s peaceful, but hints of danger loom in the background.

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Kael sat on the edge of the well in the village square, sharpening his blade. The sound of metal scraping against stone was rhythmic, almost meditative, but his eyes were distant, fixed on the horizon. A faint scar crossed his cheek, a reminder of the life he wanted to leave behind.

“Kael,” came a voice from behind him.

He turned to see Elda, the baker’s wife, carrying a basket of bread. Her face was lined with worry.

“Elda,” Kael greeted, nodding. “What is it?”

She hesitated, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear. “It’s the bandits again. They’ve been seen near the southern fields. Gared said he saw them skulking around last night.”

Kael sighed, setting the blade aside. “I told Gared to fortify that area weeks ago. Did he listen?”

Elda shook her head. “He’s... stubborn. Thinks we can negotiate with them.”

“Negotiation won’t stop a blade,” Kael muttered, standing. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You’ve done enough for us already,” Elda said softly. “You shouldn’t have to fight anymore.”

Kael paused, the weight of her words settling on him. His hand instinctively brushed the hilt of his sword, a weapon he’d sworn to use only when absolutely necessary.

“I don’t fight for glory, Elda,” he said quietly. “I fight because someone has to.”

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Scene Shift: A Local Tavern

Kael entered the dimly lit tavern, the smell of ale and roasted meat filling the air. A few villagers sat huddled at tables, speaking in hushed tones. Gared, the village headman, was among them, gesturing wildly as he argued with another man.

“Kael!” Gared called, spotting him. “You’ve heard the news, haven’t you?”

Kael approached, folding his arms. “I’ve heard. Bandits near the southern fields. What are you doing about it?”

“We’re discussing our options,” Gared replied defensively. “We can’t just—”

“They’ll attack before you finish talking,” Kael interrupted. “How many men do they have?”

Gared frowned. “Maybe a dozen. Hard to say.”

Kael shook his head. “A dozen bandits against untrained farmers. You don’t have a choice. Fortify the fields and the village perimeter. Get everyone armed, even if it’s with pitchforks.”

“You can’t just order us around, Kael!” Gared snapped. “We’ve been fine so far without your interference.”

“Fine?” Kael’s voice was low, but it cut through the room like a blade. “How many families have we lost to them this year? How many more do you want to lose before you act?”

Gared opened his mouth to argue but fell silent under Kael’s glare. The room was deathly quiet.

Finally, one of the villagers, a young man named Bran, spoke up. “I’ll help. If Kael thinks we should fight, then I’ll fight.”

Kael turned to him, nodding. “Good. Start gathering supplies. I’ll draw up a plan.”

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Scene Shift: Kael’s Home, Late Evening

Kael sat alone in his small cabin, the faint light of a candle illuminating the worn table where he worked on a crude map of the village. His sword lay nearby, freshly sharpened.

A knock came at the door.

“Come in,” Kael said without looking up.

The door creaked open, and an elderly man entered. It was Harvin, the village elder.

“You’re taking up the sword again,” Harvin observed, his tone heavy with meaning.

Kael didn’t respond immediately, his eyes on the map. “I never wanted to, Harvin. But I can’t stand by and watch this village burn.”

Harvin sat across from him, folding his hands. “You’ve already lost so much. Your men, your future. And yet here you are, ready to lose more.”

Kael’s hand tightened around his quill. “I don’t have the luxury of walking away.”

The old man studied him for a moment. “Perhaps. But be careful, Kael. The past has a way of catching up to those who can’t let it go.”

Kael finally looked up, his eyes shadowed. “Maybe I don’t want to let it go.”

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Closing Scene: Kael stands at the edge of the village, staring into the dark forest. His sword rests on his shoulder, and his resolve is firm.

“Whatever comes,” he mutters to himself, “I’ll face it.”