GoT Shadowborn: The Rise of Ashford

Ethan rode silently, The faint glow of dawn brushed the horizon as the caravan pressed onward, winding through thick woods and uneven trails that seemed to grow more foreboding with every mile. The fresh scent of dew hung heavy in the air, mingled with the earthy tang of moss-covered trees. Even though Riverrun was leagues behind them, the weight of the past lingered like a shroud over Ethan and his companions.his gaze flickering between the darkened canopy above and the twisting path ahead. His body still ached from the chaos they had left behind, but his mind was sharp, haunted by thoughts of Kieran's strange transformation. The young man rode just a few paces ahead, shoulders tense beneath his worn cloak. Since that night by the village, an unsettling quiet had settled over him. His usual energetic banter had vanished, replaced by a brooding silence.

Bjorn rode up alongside Ethan, breaking the quiet with a low grumble. "He hasn't said a word since yesterday," Bjorn muttered, nodding toward Kieran. "You sure you did the right thing back there?"

Ethan's jaw tightened. "I didn't have a choice. He was dying."

"Aye," Bjorn conceded reluctantly. "But there's something different about him now. The lad ain't the same."

Ethan knew Bjorn was right. Kieran's transformation had left him changed in ways neither of them fully understood. The raw hunger in his eyes, the way he moved with unnatural grace—it was as if a primal force had awakened within him.

They crested a small hill, revealing a vast expanse of rolling fields beyond. In the distance, smoke curled lazily into the sky from a cluster of stone buildings nestled by the river—a trading outpost, perhaps, or a small village untouched by the chaos that plagued the region.

"We should stop there," Bjorn suggested, pointing toward the settlement. "Rest the horses, maybe trade for supplies."

Ethan nodded. "Agreed. We could use a break."

The caravan descended the hill, the rhythmic clatter of hooves filling the air. As they drew closer to the village, the signs of life became more apparent. Farmers tended to their fields, while children chased each other along dirt paths. The sight was almost idyllic—a stark contrast to the burning ruins they had left behind.

Kieran lagged behind, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Ethan slowed his horse to ride beside him.

"How are you holding up?" Ethan asked quietly.

Kieran's lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't know what I am anymore."

Ethan frowned. "You're still you, Kieran. Nothing's changed that."

"You say that," Kieran murmured, "but it doesn't feel true. There's this... voice inside me now. A hunger I can't ignore. It scares me."

Ethan understood all too well. The same hunger gnawed at him constantly, a relentless reminder of the power that coursed through his veins. "You learn to control it," he said firmly. "It doesn't control you."

Kieran's gaze hardened. "What if I can't?"

"You will," Ethan promised. "You're stronger than you think."

They reached the edge of the village, where a group of wary villagers watched their approach. Bjorn took the lead, offering a friendly wave.

"We mean no harm," Bjorn called out. "Just travelers looking for rest and trade."

The tension eased slightly, and an older man with a thick gray beard stepped forward. "You're welcome here," he said gruffly. "But keep your weapons sheathed. We've had enough trouble lately."

Bjorn nodded respectfully. "Understood."

The caravan was led to an open clearing near the village center, where they began setting up camp. Ethan dismounted, his muscles protesting the movement. He watched as Bjorn negotiated with the villagers for food and supplies, his natural charisma winning them over despite their initial suspicion.

Kieran lingered at the edge of the clearing, his expression distant. Ethan approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on," Ethan said. "Let's see if we can find something useful."

They wandered through the village, taking in the simple yet functional architecture. Stone cottages with thatched roofs lined the narrow paths, their gardens filled with herbs and vegetables. The air was thick with the scent of baking bread and freshly tilled earth.

A blacksmith's forge stood near the riverbank, its chimney belching smoke into the sky. The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal echoed through the air, drawing Ethan's attention.

"Let's check it out," Ethan suggested.

Kieran followed silently as they approached the forge. The blacksmith, a burly man with arms like tree trunks, glanced up from his work.

"Looking for something?" the blacksmith asked, his voice rough from years of breathing in smoke.

"Gear," Ethan replied. "We ran into some trouble on the road. Need to be better prepared."

The blacksmith grunted, wiping sweat from his brow. "Got a few things that might interest you."

He led them to a rack of weapons and armor, each piece crafted with meticulous care. Ethan's gaze lingered on a sleek longsword with a finely honed edge.

"That one," he said, pointing to the sword.

The blacksmith nodded. "Good choice. Balanced and sharp. Won't fail you in a fight."

Ethan tested the weight of the sword, satisfied with its craftsmanship. "We'll take it."

Kieran's attention was drawn to a set of throwing knives, their blades glinting in the sunlight. "These," he said quietly.

The blacksmith raised an eyebrow. "You know how to use 'em?"

Kieran's lips quirked into a faint smile. "I'll learn."

They completed their purchase and made their way back to the camp. As they walked, Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. His senses prickled, every shadow seeming to hide a potential threat.

"You feel that?" Kieran asked, his voice low.

Ethan nodded. "Stay sharp."

Back at the camp, Bjorn was organizing the caravan members, ensuring that everyone was accounted for. The villagers had warmed to them, offering food and stories of recent events.

"Bandits have been a problem," one villager said. "But there's something worse out there. Creatures that don't belong in this world."

Ethan's stomach churned. He had hoped to leave such horrors behind, but it seemed that darkness was never far away.

As night fell, the camp settled into an uneasy quiet. The crackle of the fire was the only sound, its flickering light casting dancing shadows across the ground.

Ethan sat by the fire, his new sword resting across his lap. Kieran joined him, the throwing knives strapped to his belt.

"Do you think we'll ever find peace?" Kieran asked softly.

Ethan stared into the flames, the weight of his choices heavy on his shoulders. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we keep moving forward. That's all we can do."

Kieran nodded, his expression resolute. "Then let's make sure we survive whatever comes next."

Ethan's lips curved into a faint smile. "Deal."

The journey was far from over, and the road ahead promised danger and uncertainty. But together, they would face whatever challenges lay in their path. And perhaps, in time, they would find the answers they sought.

For now, survival was enough.