(KBTCM) Ch 26: The Stranger at the Gate!

The breeze rolled gently over the rooftops of Grelling Row, dancing between laundry lines and rattling old window panes. It was one of those cooler mid-morning winds that smelled faintly of earth and woodsmoke, a whisper from the hills beyond. Kerren sat cross-legged outside his small home, the chipped stone steps warm beneath him, his hammer resting across his lap like a sleeping animal.

He liked mornings like this—when his father was out working the forge and the world felt still. The quiet helped him think. Helped him feel.

With closed eyes, he breathed deeply, the old rhythm in his chest steadying. He focused on the wind first—the way it pushed and pulled lightly against his skin, how it played with his hair, how it moved the tiny grains of dust around his boots. Then he focused inward, where the warmth inside him lived. The fire. He didn't know where it came from exactly, just that it was always there... low, calm, like embers waiting for breath.

A flicker.

His eyes snapped open.

Someone was running.

Fast. Unsteady. Down the outer road and straight toward the city gate.

From where Kerren sat, the figure looked more like a shadow than a man at first, cloaked in rags and limping with every other step. His feet dragged, kicking up dust as he stumbled toward the guards stationed at the iron-wrought gate. One of them stepped forward, hand already on the hilt of his sword, the other motioning to block the way.

Kerren furrowed his brow and stood up, slinging the hammer across his shoulder.

He didn't know why he moved toward them—only that something in him told him to. Maybe it was the look of the man, the sheer exhaustion in the way he staggered, or maybe it was that strange pull in Kerren's chest again—the fire whispering. Whatever it was, he found his feet carrying him down the dirt path and up toward the main gate.

As he approached, he could hear the guards' voices.

"—where are you coming from? What happened out there?"

"You're bleeding," another snapped, eyes narrowing. "Did you flee a fight? Are you bringing trouble to the gates of Vaeloria?"

The man—barely more than skin and bone—swayed on his feet. His face was mottled with dirt and dried blood, hair matted to his forehead. He tried to speak, but the words came out broken, barely above a whisper.

"I know him," Kerren said, without thinking.

The guards turned at once, eyes falling on the tall, broad-shouldered youth with the oversized hammer.

One of them—Captain Dorrick, a man known for his distrust—stepped forward, scowling.

"What's your relation to this man, boy?" he asked, gesturing with his gloved hand toward the stranger, who was now clutching his side.

Kerren offered a crooked smile and scratched the back of his head.

"He's my cousin," he lied, eyes darting between them. "From the east. I... didn't expect to see him like this."

The guards exchanged glances.

"If he's family, then tell us why he's half-dead and dragging his feet through our front gates?"

"I don't know," Kerren said, shrugging. "But I plan to ask him. If it's something the king needs to know, I'll bring it straight to the keep myself. Swear it."

Captain Dorrick didn't look convinced, but after a long silence and a look at the man's deteriorating state, he finally relented with a grunt.

"Fine. But you keep him close, and if anything happens, it's your head, understood?"

Kerren gave a quick nod, then stepped beside the stranger, slinging one of the man's arms over his shoulder and helping him walk.

The man muttered something—words lost in pain—and stumbled forward with Kerren supporting nearly all his weight. His knees buckled every few steps, and Kerren had to stop more than once just to keep him from collapsing outright.

It wasn't long before they reached Kerren's house again. He guided the man to the steps and gently lowered him down.

"Just sit here, alright? I'll get you water."

Inside, Kerren filled a wooden cup from the barrel near the stove and returned quickly. The man was still hunched, head low, chest rising unevenly. He drank eagerly when handed the cup, water dribbling down his chin.

"Thank you," the man rasped, setting the cup down. "You didn't have to help me."

"Yeah, well... you looked like you were going to fall apart right there on the road," Kerren said, kneeling beside him. "What happened? Why're you like this?"

The man's eyes—dark and sunken—looked up at him.

"I'm carrying a message," he said. "For the King. For Thandor."

Kerren blinked.

"Wait—you're official? You're not just... some poor traveler?"

The man shook his head slowly. "My name's Anden. Of the kingdom of Torr Valen."

Kerren's stomach tightened.

Torr Valen.

That was far from here. A northern kingdom, known for its alliance with Vaeloria. Warriors, riders, and mountain men lived there—Kerren's father spoke of them with respect. If someone from Torr Valen had stumbled all this way in this state...

"You came all the way from Torr Valen like this?" Kerren asked.

Anden gave a grim nod. "I have to see the king. The message... it can't wait."

Kerren stared at him for a moment, the breeze tugging lightly at his shirt.

He didn't know what this meant. But something in his gut told him this wasn't just politics or trade talk.

Something had gone wrong. And this Anden guy... he might be the first crack in the dam.

Kerren rubbed the back of his neck, shifting the massive hammer resting across his lap. "Well... you're in luck, Elric. I can get you to the king."

Elric looked up sharply. His eyes scanned Kerren's face like he was trying to decide whether or not to trust a stranger with broad shoulders and soot-smudged clothes.

"You can?" he asked, voice laced with suspicion. "How?"

Before Kerren could answer, the ground beneath them began to tremble.

It started as a faint shake—barely enough to rattle the wooden steps of the house—but quickly grew into a low, groaning quake that hummed through the earth. Dust leapt from the cobblestones. The glass in the windows gave off a soft rattle. Birds scattered from the nearby rooftops.

Kerren stood, hammer over his shoulder. "Right on time."

Elric's eyes darted around in alarm. "What is it—an earthquake?"

The tremors deepened, becoming more rhythmic. Thoom. Thoom. Thoom. Each impact was heavy, spaced just far enough apart that it made Kerren grin in recognition.

He turned toward the city's edge, just beyond the upper gate, and sure enough—there she was.

A silhouette crested over the stone outer wall. Her shadow stretched across the ground, long and towering. Trees barely brushed her knees. Her braided hair bounced with each step, and the wind carried a faint, familiar scent of floral perfume—subtle, but unmistakably Rowena.

"Princess Rowena," Kerren said aloud, smiling.

Elric's mouth hung open as he stared.

The towering woman strode into view like something out of a story. Her white cloak fluttered behind her, and even from this distance, her deep blue eyes sparkled like the reflection of the sky in a still lake. She didn't notice them yet, her gaze scanning the city buildings.

"She's... she's massive," Elric breathed. "By the stars—what is she?"

"She's a friend," Kerren said simply, then glanced down at Elric, his grin widening. "And you said you wanted to see the king, right?"

Elric nodded slowly, still watching the giantess approach in stunned silence.

"Well, lucky you," Kerren chuckled, shifting his grip on the hammer as he turned toward the street. "She's the way to do it."