The Mad King

By Gabriel Lyannas

The King is Dead

When a mad tyrant kills the beloved king of the peaceful Kingdom of Wimark and steals the throne, a brutal war erupts between his forces and the opposition to his wicked rule. As the Resistance teeters on the brink of defeat, the renowned Leland Voltrane finds himself torn between joining the fight and keeping his family safe.

A skilled warrior, Leland once fought to gain Wimark's independence but has since sworn himself to a life of peace and now has a family to protect. When the tyrant comes to his doorstep, however, he is forced to pick up his sword and fight once again—but will his quest to put an end to the false king's rule consume him and his family, or will he overcome his fear of becoming a monster and free his people from the tyrant?

Whatever the future may hold, it is inevitable that his life will be forever changed as he battles against The Mad King…

 

The Mad King transports readers to the medieval-esque Kingdom of Wimark, where a mad tyrant murders the beloved king and steals the throne, plunging the kingdom into a vicious reign of terror. In this thrilling, brutal fantasy novel, we follow the internal struggles of Leland Voltrane, a former war hero who now lives a peaceful life, as he tries to save the kingdom from the false king.

 

With the Resistance teetering on the brink of defeat, Leland grapples with the choices he must make in the heat of war to protect not only his family, but also the entire kingdom. Leland's past comes full circle, forcing him to confront his former sins as he faces off against The Mad King. The novel delves into the intricate interplay between intentions and consequences, revealing how the noblest motives can sometimes lead to the worst outcomes…

 

About the Author

Gabriel Lyannas is a 17-year-old high school student in Georgia self-publishing his first novel. He is in the top of his class, currently in the middle of his junior year, with plans to attend a prestigious university. A devoted scholar and writer, Gabriel is focused on self-improvement and accomplishing his dreams. He has always wanted to be an author, and now that dream has come true with his debut novel, The Mad King.

 

Visit his website at books2read.com/gabriellyannas

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabriel Lyannas
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223253655

Book preview

THE MAD KiNG

Gabriel Lyannas

Copyright © 2023 by Gabriel Lyannas

Visit the author’s website at books2read.com/gabriellyannas

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Gabriel Lyannas at [e-mail].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

First edition 2023

Contents

Prologue: A New Age

1.A Day to Forget

2.Awakening

3.Debate

4.The Reckoning

5.The Resistance

6.The Call

7.Broken Shackles

8.Liberator

9.Declaration

10.New World

11.Black Legend

12.The Breaking

13.Legacy

14.New Beginnings

15.A Better Age

16.Growing Pains

17.Requiem

18.All Good Things

19.Shattered Glass

20.Twists and Turns

21.A King’s Lament

22.Where Shadows Lie

23.In Parting

24.Cassius and the Conspirators

25.Tattered Tapestry

26.Et Tu?

27.The Mad King

Thank you, Matthew, for always believing in my writing and being there for this amazing journey.

I also want to thank everyone else who supported my book, namely Shaun, Angie, Ms. Chestnut Sewell, Mr. Prince, my Aunt Esther and Uncle Steve, and, of course, my parents. You guys helped me through this whole process and gave me feedback along the way, and I’m happy I was able to present this book to you!

Enjoy!

Prologue: A New Age

The advisor pressed the royal seal into the king’s crimson wax, sealing the new edict in a scroll. He lifted his work and smiled. I think the people will find this most satisfactory, my king.

I do hope so, the king replied, his voice scruffy and rigid from almost eight decades of use. His wispy gray hair and wrinkled skin gave him the appearance of a feeble elder, but he was quite the warrior. He was renowned for his tactics—maybe not so much in battle, but he was deadly with his words. In his glory days, he fought valiantly to defend his people, using skilled diplomacy to buy his people out of slavery. They then formed a kingdom of their own—Wimark—which became a symbol of prosperity. Whenever his subjects had quarrels, they went to him to resolve them. He was a fair king, so he always ruled in favor of the justified—and the people loved him for it. However, this left him vulnerable…

The Geurins and the Ingrams have had their feud for far too long, he continued. Now that they’ve gotten past their issues, they can combine their resources to make our farmers even more valuable to the kingdom.

Indeed, the advisor agreed. Both sides of their argument have been weighed, but both are rather trivial. This agreement should usher in prosperity for our posterity.

The king chuckled at his friend’s choice of words. He waved a hand, his young son coming up the steps of the throne. The prince had light blond hair that bounced on his shoulders and a smooth face that had yet to see violence. The broad smile on his face made his alabaster cheeks glow in the sunlight coming through the windows. His exquisite, drape-like robe flowed with him as he ran to his father.

And that, my son, the old man said, putting a hand on his boy’s shoulder with a warm smile, is how you mediate.

The advisor shuffled through the stack of papers in his hand, looking for the next issue to discuss with the king, when the doors to the throne room burst open. A guard, clad in iron armor, came rushing in, panting heavily as he tried to approach the throne. His sword fell from his fingertips, bouncing onto the stone tile.

The castle… is… under… He went down to his knees. "…attack…" He fell forward, his helmet slamming onto the tile. Sticking out from his back was a sword stained with crimson blood. The king’s confused expression morphed into one of worry as he pulled his son over and held him tightly.

He hurriedly told the boy with shaky breaths, "I want you to go through the side door and find someplace safe to hide. Do not come out until I come get you. Understand?" His son nodded, tears starting to run down his cheeks.

I don’t think that will be necessary.

The king’s head whipped around, searching for the source of the pompous voice. Walking through the set of large doors, his sabatons clicking on the ground as he walked, was a man with a wicked grin who stared at the king. Black plated armor covered his entire body except for his head. Crude spikes ran along the sides of his gauntlets, more jutting from his pauldrons. A silky red cape flowed from his shoulders to his ankles. He had a chain belt around his waist, a metal skull resting at its front. It clanged as he stepped forward.

W-who are you? the advisor stuttered.

The man snickered.

I am Balthazar Silver— He lifted his dark helmet above his head, slowly guiding it down over his face. He reached behind his back, gracefully avoiding the two pairs of horns that extended from the back of his helmet, and unsheathed his blade. It was made of the same dark metal as his armor, and its razor edge glinted in the light as he swung it in his hand. He stretched out his arm, pointing at the king with his sword. —and I have come to take your throne.

The king pulled his sword from his side, a distinct schwing ringing through the chamber. He stepped in front of his son, raising his weapon and gripping the hilt tightly.

"Well then, old man, Balthazar tittered, let us duel." He approached the base of the throne, raising his blade as he started to sprint. He let out a cry as he swung, his weapon clanging loudly against the king’s. He tried again, sweeping low—only to be parried. The king kicked him in the chest, forcing him back a few steps.

I do like a challenge, Balthazar said while regaining his stance. Pity it’s not you.

He rushed forward again, this time striking faster than before. His sword sparked against the king’s armor, driving between the plating and into the king’s shoulder. The king grunted, knocking the blade away with his own. Gripping his shoulder with his free arm, he went on the offensive. He unleashed a flurry of blows, but Balthazar blocked each one with ease. Grinning, Balthazar taunted the king.

You are past your prime! He twisted his arm, catching his opponent’s blade. Their swords locked above their heads, each trying to push the other back. "You have grown used to your comforts here, but they have left you weak—vulnerable. Balthazar managed to take a step forward, his enemy’s face turning red from the strain. Now, your kingdom falls!"

He released his blade, letting the king trip forward. He stepped to the side, his sword slicing through tender flesh.

The king bore through the pain, striking out at his unsuspecting enemy. His weapon slid across Balthazar’s chestplate, sparks flying as it did. Balthazar tried to regain his footing as he stumbled backward from the impact, but the king delivered a forceful kick to his chest, sending him flying back. Balthazar’s sword slid across the floor, skidding to a stop next to him.

He hauled air back into his lungs, rage flowing through him. Heavy footsteps suddenly rang through the chamber as dozens of the king’s guards filed in through the small side doors of the throne room. They went on both sides of their king, pulling their weapons. A second set of footsteps echoed through the hall leading to the throne room as Balthazar’s men arrived. The man leading them marched forward. He helped Balthazar up, but Balthazar pushed him away and stood up on his own.

Lord Balthazar, the man said, it seems we arrived just in time. His armor was almost identical to his leader’s, lacking only the cape.

Indeed, General Cynesige. Balthazar scanned over the room, the tension nearing its breaking point. Leave the king and his boy for me. His eyes narrowed with a piercing coldness. Kill the rest.

The general pulled a massive, black, one-sided battleaxe from behind his head, gripping the long handle with both of his hands. He started toward the guards, his men charging with him. The two sides clashed, sparks flying as metal contacted metal. The room erupted into a battlefield as swords hit shields, axes carved through armor, and daggers tore through flesh.

With his eyes still on the king, Balthazar took a step. A guard ran toward him, but his blade removed the head from the guard’s body. He continued forward, the king coming to meet him.

The Kingdom of Wimark will not fall! the king shouted, exchanging blows with a newfound strength. The two battled as carnage took place all around them. Bodies fell to the floor. Blood splattered across the walls. Meanwhile, the king’s son tried to stay hidden behind the throne. His father’s advisor was huddled with him, shaking uncontrollably with fear.

One of the castle guards pulled his sword from the corpse of one of the enemy soldiers, rushing to help his king. He reared back as he came up to Balthazar, who noticed the attack just in time.

Balthazar lifted his blade, blocking the blow in a storm of sparks. Another hit came to his arm, causing him to lower his guard. He grunted as the guard rammed his fist into his chest. Winded, Balthazar could not stop the strike that went through his armor and into his leg like butter. He roared as he went down onto one knee, feeling the warmth of his own blood running down his ankle. Enraged, he swung his sword with enough force to stagger the guard. He stabbed his blade into the guard’s heart, a maniacal expression on his face as he paid the soldier back for his leg. He ripped his sword free in a spray of blood, the guard’s corpse dropping to the floor.

Before Balthazar could move, the king knocked his head to the side with his fist and struck him with his sword. Balthazar desperately put up his arm to block, his weapon being knocked from his hand as a result. After watching it slide yards away, he looked forward again—only to see the king’s knee ramming into his face. His head pulled the rest of his body as he fell back, slamming onto the hard floor with a clang. The king walked toward his downed enemy, slowly raising his sword as he prepared to strike down the intruder.

As king, it is my burden to protect my kingdom from people like you! He thrust his sword down, about to take Balthazar’s life, when he tensed mid-swing. Every muscle in his body tightened, his eyes widening in shock as his breath caught in his throat. He stared into Balthazar’s eyes in terror, seeing the darkness behind them. His grip loosened, and his sword went clattering to the floor as a strained groan escaped his lips. He let out a breathless scream as he felt Balthazar drive the dagger deeper. He slowly fell forward, collapsing onto the cold stone floor, his crown bouncing on the ground.

Balthazar grinned, hopping to his feet. He sauntered over to the king, leaning down and removing his helmet as he stared down at the pathetic excuse of a king. His wicked grin sent a chill over the fading man.

What was that you were saying? He cupped his ear, lowering his head to the old man’s mouth. Something about your duty as king? All he heard were the sputtering breaths of a dying man.

He plucked the crown from the floor, watching as the king pointlessly raised his hands as if to stop him. With a huff, he placed it upon his head, everything suddenly feeling right. He reached down, pulling his dagger from the king’s chest. The old man’s eyes fluttered as blood started to gush from the wound, his head falling to the side as he let out his final breath. He got one last look at his son before he faded, praying that his boy would make it out alive.

Foolish swine. Balthazar walked away, leaving the king on the floor in a pool of blood.

He cleaved through flesh as he cut down guard after guard, his sword turning red from the sheer amount of blood he drew. His face was covered in the same crimson liquid, only bringing joy to his sadistic mind. His new crown almost seemed to enjoy watching him tear people apart. The way he dragged his sword through his foes, the way he made a graceful dance out of slaughtering his enemies—the crown reveled in each soul taken while he christened it in blood, as if ushering in its new master.

Balthazar’s soldiers finished off the rest of the guards, securing the throne room. Cynesige came up to him, taking in the glorious view of the scene around them.

Your reign has begun, my lord. He bowed before him.

One of the soldiers went over to the throne, searching for the hiding prince. The advisor stepped out from the shadows and stabbed him with a dagger, but the soldier easily countered and forced his blade through the advisor. He tossed the body aside, marching over to the prince and grabbing him by his robe. Ignoring the child’s screams, he dragged him to his father’s killer.

What should we do with the boy? the soldier asked. Balthazar turned to him, a puzzled expression on his face.

Why, kill him, of course.

W-what? the man stammered. But, sir, it’s forbidden to kill the family—

Cynesige knocked him on the head, causing the soldier to fall to the floor. He lifted the man by the back of his neck.

"You dare question King Balthazar?!"

Let him down, General.

At his lord’s request, Cynesige let go of the man, who caught himself with his hands. Panting, the soldier got back up from the floor.

You say it is forbidden?

"Never has a new king killed the family of the old, the man explained. It is an age-old way."

Well— Balthazar said, ascending the steps to his new throne. He took his seat, smiling madly as he looked over his new kingdom. With a content sigh, he waved his fingers at his general. Without hesitation, Cynesige forced the prince to the ground. He raised his axe high, the boy looking up at him with terror-stricken eyes.

—thus begins a new age.

Chapter 1

A Day to Forget

Smoke billowed over the landscape as the battle raged on. Countless bodies lay on the ground, the rain turning red from their spilled blood as it pooled on the dirt. Two sides fought: one for their continued freedom, and the other for conquest. The battle was brutal, both sides losing well over half of their soldiers to stop the other. Those who stood for their freedom fought with a determination that far outweighed their fear. Their enemy seemed insurmountable, yet they continued to fight with all they had. They did it because there was no one to defend them but themselves.

Leading the forces of Wimark was a man who fought alongside his men. His name? Leland Voltrane. Born from a noble family, he forsook his birth name and decided to join the royal army. He quickly climbed the ranks, becoming one of the most revered commanders in the army. His name sent fear into the hearts of his enemies, but it brought courage to those who fought with him. He rallied his people, helping them turn the tide against the invaders that threatened their freedom. His bravery was unmatched—even as he charged alongside his soldiers, an axe in each hand and blood smeared all over his body.

He let out a war cry, those sprinting with him doing the same as they prepared to do battle with their enemies. Leland locked eyes with an armored soldier, picking up speed as he ran toward him. As the two sides met, the soldier swung his sword. Leland knocked the blade away with an axe, slashing with the other. The soldier felt his armor buckle from the blow. He tried to strike back, but Leland spun around, attacking again. Leland’s axe split through the metal chestplate, cutting deep into the man’s abdomen. Leland pulled out his axe, cleaving through more flesh with the other. The soldier fell to the ground, his lifeless body joining the others.

Leland was in the heart of the fight. People were all around him. The air was hot with the heat of human bodies. The ground was wet with mud. His ears rang from the sounds of metal and screaming men. Unfazed, he ran forward, closing the distance between him and his next victim. His weapon whipped through the air, cutting deep into the enemy soldier. He moved on to the next, blocking his opponent’s sword and cutting off their head. One by one, he cut down everyone around him as he became a whirlwind of death. As he pulled his axe from a corpse, he spotted an enemy commander riding atop a horse, recognizing his rank by his golden armor.

Leland ran toward him, killing everyone in his path. As he neared his target, he picked up speed and jumped into the air, ramming into the armored man. They both fell from the horse, slamming onto the ground. Leland quickly got to his feet, rushing forward. He raised an axe, his enemy just barely standing up. He brought his weapon down, ripping into the man’s shoulder. The commander screamed, falling on his back and taking Leland with him. He tried to throw Leland off, but to no avail. Looking around in desperation, he grabbed a knife from nearby. Before he could use it, Leland punched him in the helmet. Leland’s knuckles bled from the impact, but he hit the commander again. His helmet bent inward, and he let go of his knife.

Please!

Leland hit him again.

"Mercy!"

Leland lifted him by his throat, the soldier trying to pry his hands away from his neck. Leland slammed his head into the ground, the commander’s helmet flying off. A jagged rock stabbed into the back of the man’s skull, his body instantly going limp.

Leland panted heavily, looking down at the man he had just killed. To his horror, he saw someone who could only be as old as seventeen. Cold, lifeless eyes stared back at him, shaking him to his very core. Everything else faded away as he was sucked into the petrifying gaze of his victim. The boy inhaled sharply, grabbing Leland by the shoulders and pulling him to his chest.

You killed me! he screamed. Leland tried to push himself away, but he could not. The boy’s lifeless eyes paralyzed him, trapping him in their spell. YOU KILLED ME!

Leland screamed as he awoke, instantly sitting up. He all but threw off his bedding, practically falling to the floor as he tried to get to the window. Beneath it was a large, brown chest with a dusty lock. His unsteady hands fiddled with the lock, his mind still running wild inside the dream. He tensed as he felt a warm, soft hand on his bare back.

It was just a dream, an angelically soft voice came. He let the lock slip from his hands, breathing heavily. Come back to me, Leland.

He felt the same hand on his olive cheek pull his head to the side. He gave in to her, turning to look at the beautiful green eyes he loved so much. Like emeralds, they seemed to sparkle and shine in the faint moonlight. He studied her delicate features: her cute, small nose and smooth, fair skin. Her light brown hair flowed down to her shoulders, its rich color and curl making her all the more beautiful. His heaving chest slowed, and his mind slowly came back to reality. He saw his dresser and his nightstand, the adrenaline pumping through him beginning to fade as he felt the layer of sweat that coated his body. He realized he was in his bedroom, the moonlight shining through his window and onto his wife’s face.

Was it the same nightmare?

I-I was back on the battlefield, he whispered. Staring off into nothing, he tried to recall the all-too-vivid dream. It was brutal what I did to them. I killed without hesitation—and there was one riding a horse. I took him to the ground and killed him like all the rest. But— The chill of the boy’s face shook him as he faltered.

Noticing his hesitation, his wife pulled his gaze back to her with a comforting smile. You can tell me. We’re supposed to be there for each other, right?

Right, he said with a sigh, pressing on. "His helmet came off, and he was only a lad. He couldn’t be much younger than Grayson, and I killed him. He grabbed me, screaming that I killed him until I woke up."

It was just a dream. It can’t hurt you, his wife replied, sitting down next to him. You don’t need to open that chest.

That’s just it, Leland retorted, his voice warping. I can’t shake these nightmares. Every time I sleep, I’m forced to relive all the horrors I’ve unleashed. I-I’ve tried to change—but apparently it’s not enough. He ran a hand over his face, trying to hold back his pain. I don’t know if it will ever be enough, Jos…

Don’t say that, his wife’s suddenly stern voice commanded. "You can’t give up—not on me, not on the kids, and not on yourself. He focused back on her, seeing her now-angry expression. Look at what you have now. You have friends, you have a family, and you have me. She pulled him into a hug, sniffling as she let out her tears over his back. She whispered into his ear, Are we not enough?"

Leland gripped his wife tight. He truly was thankful to have her and everything else he had, but it was not enough. He no longer felt the deep void in his heart that he used to bear, but now he had a new type of void. The pain of his sins weighed heavy on his conscience, and it was consuming him. Every time he looked in the mirror, all he saw was a murderer. If he looked into the shadows fast enough, he could still see the faces of the people he killed. No amount of love or affection could ever truly cure that pain, only ease it.

I’m more than blessed to have you, but it’s only something for me to hide behind. I need to find a way to atone for my sins… or I’m afraid they’ll haunt me forever.

Please, Leland, I beg of you, she said into his ear, pulling her face away and looking into his eyes, "don’t let this take away everything you’ve worked for. Whether you want to believe it or not, you have changed. Please, just be happy with what you have, please."

I want to be, Joseline, I truly do. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to focus on her as they sat together on the floor, rocking back and forth on the wooden floorboards.

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The next morning, Leland awoke with a smile. He wanted to focus on the good things in his life, and that was what he would do. As he got ready for the day, he tried to believe his wife’s words. And the more he looked at it, the more right she was. He lived in a peaceful town where he lived a simple life. He went to small-town meetings and everything, living the life of a noble, humble man. He had come a long way from dining with the king and leading thousands of men into battle. He really had changed—he just had to believe it.

He looked in the mirror, examining his face. His black, curly hair was more mangled than usual, and his long, scruffy beard had grown far too long. At least his thin mustache looked intact. He threw water over his face, grabbing a blade and lining it up on his jaw. He carefully shaved his beard clean, revealing a part of his face that had been covered for years. Looking back into the mirror, he saw an entirely different looking him, a clean looking him—and it brought a smile to his face.

Going back to his bedroom, he put on a pair of black trousers and buttoned up his white cloth shirt. He threw on a matte black tunic, its intricate patterns made of golden thread giving it a more fancy look than his typical attire.

Leland went into the hallway, seeing that two of the other bedroom doors were already open. Going down the wooden stairs, he ran his hand along the smooth railing. The smell of freshly cooked porridge enlivened him as he wandered into the kitchen area. Sitting at their circular, polished stone table was his wife, son, and daughter.

You finally get some sleep? Joseline asked out of concern, the memory of waking up to his screams still fresh on her mind.

Actually, he started, grabbing a bowl of warm porridge, I slept better than I have in months. He took his spot in one of the two empty chairs, sitting next to his wife and daughter. He picked up the metal spoon already set for him and indulged in his food.

I’m glad to hear it, Joseline said with a comforting smile, grabbing onto his free hand and locking her fingers with his. He gave her a smile back, making hers deepen. His daughter decided to use the opportunity to speak up.

When are we going to the market? she demanded, her voice still quite high despite her being twelve. Leland turned to her with a look of feigned offense.

Such demands, milady, he said, putting a hand to his chest. He dropped the act, another smile rising on his face and making his lips thin. He reached over, moving her blonde locks away and cupping her cheek in his palm. She pushed his hand away.

"Dad, you know I’m too old for that," Brianna whined with an embarrassed look. With a chuckle, Leland turned back to his food.

Don’t worry. We’ll go once we’re done eating. That seemed to bring a smile to her face.

They ate silently until a door upstairs clicked open and heavy footsteps sounded on the floorboards. Slowly coming down the stairs was a tan man with a full beard and a whole nest of black hair. He had a mundane look on his face, grumbling as he made his way into the kitchen. With all the speed of a sloth, he grabbed a bowl of food and sat down in the only free chair, rubbing his temple.

Good morning, Brother, Leland teased after seeing the man’s condition.

Dane paused, slowly turning to Leland. It was a long night.

As much as I love that you’re… shooting your shot… the whole reason you’re staying here is so you can have a place to live while you look for work.

Suddenly finding his porridge very interesting, Dane sighed. I know, I know. I just haven’t been able to find anything yet. Leland put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Don’t worry. I’m sure someone with your talents can be domesticated. Dane decided to let the comment pass.

Anyway, he said, changing the subject, have you heard the news yet? He took everyone staring at him with a confused look as a no. As you know, the Geurins and the Ingrams are the kingdom’s two largest farming families. His family nodded for him to go on. Well, they’ve gotten so big that their land’s started to overlap. The Geurins went to plow some land they purchased, only to find that the Ingrams had already set up a small farm there. Of course, the Geurins demanded they leave.

Leland’s son, Grayson, had been quiet all morning, tired from the previous day’s work. His body was sore from lifting crates, and his mind was still waking up. His long brown hair was tied in the back into a tail, and his face was cleanly shaven. His uncle’s words seemed to wake up his foggy mind as he remembered overhearing something about the debacle.

I did hear about that. A few days ago, I met a man who told me he was working the fields for the Ingrams when other farmers showed up. He said they exchanged words and fought each other over the land. I didn’t know the other farmers were with the Geurins.

That is worrying, Leland remarked. He put his face into his palms, sighing. If farmers, of all the most gentle people, cannot figure out their issues, how are we supposed to as a whole kingdom?

I don’t know, Dane replied, but the Geurins brought their case before King Baynard in hopes of having their property rights honored. The Ingrams sent their representatives to the castle so they could work out an arrangement under his guidance.

At least they’re trying to fix their problems, Leland pointed out. I sometimes wonder if this kingdom’s division will be its downfall.

The family finished the rest of their food, Joseline taking up the dishes for everyone. Leland, Dane, and Brianna grabbed their things and went out the front door, waving goodbye to Joseline as they left. Leland led them to the side of the house, where he had four wooden crates stacked up. He handed two to his brother before grabbing the other two himself. The three walked down the pebble-filled path that went from their house into town. As they walked with lush grass beneath their feet, towering green trees stood above them, the early morning dew still on the ground. The sun had just barely gone over the horizon, yet everything beamed with its golden radiance.

Leland took in the woodland smells as he walked. The sweet scent of berries, grass, and bark entered his nostrils and calmed him; it was one of the reasons he decided to move to the small town he now called his home. That, plus it was Joseline’s hometown. Smiling, he remembered how she finally convinced him to go.

A small town has few defenses. How am I supposed to protect my family when we don’t have any sort of military force? he had said. We can’t just hide here until someone finds us.

Do you hear yourself? Why would we have to worry about that in a small place like Fairburn? No one will come looking for us here, plus everyone loves you. And we’re not hiding. We’re just trying to live our lives.

But—

No ‘but’s.

Letting out a sigh, he had finally given in. Alright. We could use a nice, peaceful place to stay. Besides, the town already knows you, and you know them.

The memory of her pulling him into a kiss filled him with a moment of reminiscent pleasure as he continued to walk down the road.

Finding himself now at the edge of the town center, Leland took a right. His family followed as he made his way to the same area he went every day: the market.

After his time in the army ended, Leland took up carpentry as a pastime. Over the years, he came to love it and decided to pursue it as a profession. In a short time, he had managed to become one of the most skilled carpenters in the kingdom. He opened up his stall at the Fairburn Commerce Center, and it attracted people from all over. While it was not the most famous shop around, it still brought people from all across Wimark to his town. The money was good—not that he needed much after his time leading the army—and he loved to do it.

An older man with gray hair walked down the road toward Leland. He waved as he approached, greeting Leland with, Good morning!

Mornin’, Leland replied, nodding his head. Going to set up your vegetable shop, Mr. Fairburn?

Not today, I’m afraid. I’m headed out to deal with a supply issue I’m having—but don’t worry, the store will be up and running again soon enough!

Leland chuckled as he passed Mr. Fairburn, giving him a parting nod. As he continued on the path, a few other people greeted his family, whom they happily greeted back. Making a left turn, they finally arrived at his stall. It was a simple-looking place, four wooden beams holding up the roof of the stand. It had a flashy sign advertising his work, a blue and white striped cover on the roof, and blue ribbons placed here and there. Small wooden figurines sat in a glass display case at the front, their designs of dragons and castles only of the finest quality.

After carrying his crates into the back of the stall, Leland set them down. Dane set his next to his brother’s, glad to finally put the heavy crates down. Leland got to work unloading them, prying them open and taking his supplies out. He put them in their places and got ready to open up shop.

Brianna helped him tidy things up while Dane lugged the empty crates away. Finally ready, Leland put a sign on the front that said Open! Within minutes, people arrived at his shop. The first person already knew what she wanted, so she grabbed a cute-looking cottage figurine and brought it to the counter. She gave Leland three silver coins, which he gratefully took.

Have a good day, Mrs. Peters! he called to her as she walked away. The next customer came up, looking around at the items on display.

What can I do you for this fine morning? Leland asked.

The man turned to him. Hey, I placed a custom order for a sculpture of my daughter Theresa a couple weeks ago.

Yes, of course, Leland said, remembering the man’s order. Give me one second while I get it for you. He went into the back, looking through the items there. Finding the sculpture, he grabbed it from a shelf and returned to the counter with it in hand.

Here you go, he said, handing the highly detailed sculpture of a young girl in a dress to the man. That’ll be five silver.

The man pulled out an ornate leather pouch from his pocket, taking five silver coins from it and handing them to Leland.

The rest of the day went rather smoothly as Leland greeted his somewhat frequent customers. He had come to know almost everyone in town simply because they were interested in his wooden figures that could make for excellent gifts. He had come to love making them since he admired the craft: it took a tremendous amount of skill and precision to create something so detailed from a chunk of wood, and he had a gift for it. Carving also calmed him, something he valued in his more relaxed life.

As the last customer walked away from his stall, Leland took down the sign and started to close up for the day.