Toren froze in terror as the alarm horns sounded around him. He stood, petrified, as the people around him left the fields of crops and ran towards the tall black-stone walls of the inner stronghold. They were at least three hundred metres away from where Toren was standing. He quickly turned to face the forest behind him, to his horror he could already hear the harsh cries and curses of the Orá-krai as they crashed through the trees towards the farming meadow. He would never make it back to the stronghold in time. Toren spun around in a panic to try and find a safe place to hide before the Orá-krai could reach him. Frantically, he ran towards an old farm shed. The old wooden door was rotting, the handle had more rust than metal, and the roof partly collapsed. A perfect place to hide. Toren began scrambling as fast as he could across the uneven terrain of the stronghold farmland towards the small shed. While he ran, he could hear the shouts of the Orá-krai growing lowder and he felt an overwhelming sense of fear engulf him. He reached the shed just as the first of the Orá-krai were charging out from the trees. Swiftly, he slid in, closing the rotting door behind him and dived into one of the corners behind a pile of empty sacks. ominous dark shadows fell through the cracks in the failing stone walls. As Toren’s eyes adjusted to the half-light of the shed, he inspected the rugged place. He could see where the roof had fallen in one corner; there were splinters of wood scattered all over the cold ground. In the centre of the room on a low wooden crate, which seemed to serve the purpose of a table. There was a pile of numbered wooden tokens and a stack of golden Vlolopee, indicating that between shifts some of the farmers must have come in here to play for money. Hanging on the wall beside the door there was a set of skiing boots, probably used in the winter when the pond on the northern side of the stronghold was frozen over.
Toren froze as a harsh cry sounded on the other side of the wall; this was followed by a set of fast footsteps and a loud bang. Toren held his breath, the distinctive sound of heavy breathing resonated from the outside world. Suddenly, a small but terrifying movement caught his eye. His heart was pounding. He was sure he'd seen the door knob turn. The door swung open and slammed against the wall, knocking it off its hinges, light flooded into the dusty shed amplifying the dark silhouette of the tall armoured figure standing in the doorway. The Orá-krai silently scanned the tumbledown room before turning around and shouting somthing unauditable. The Orá-krai strode over to the bag of potatoes Toren was hiding behind, snatching up a handful of vlolopee of the table, and sat down. Toren barely held back a scream of fear, his lungs were on fire. Unable to hold his breath any longer, Toren tried to quietly draw more air into his lungs. Instead however all he managed was a rough gasp for air as the second Orá-krai entered the room. Both Orá-krai locked their eyes on him, their bone masks making them even more terrifying. “Well,” the second Orá-krai snarled, walking over to Toren “it looks like you’ve actually found something useful this time, Kra!” Toren let out a small cry of fear as the Orá-krai garbed his arm and led him out of the shed. “Wait,” Kra walked out of the shed after them and Toren realised that the Orá-krai was only a few years older than himself. “What is it?” the Orá-krai holding Toren sounded annoyed. Kra looked like he wanted to say something but instead shook his head and turned away. “Never mind.” the other Orá-krai growled motioning for Kra to follow as they turned draging Toren along behind.
Toren groggily opened his eyes to find he was lying on a dirty piece of cloth. Surveying his surroundings carefully, Toren found he was in a white fabric tent which was stained brown presumably from rain and mud. The ground was wet, however Toren was keeped dry by a few crisp wooden planks below him. “Good, you're awake.” Toren jumped when he realised he wasn't alone and sat up quickly to find a man sitting on a low bench. “You were out for a good few hours, Nira must have hit you pretty hard, I’m Kra by the way.” Kra Toren thought sitting up shakily “you were the one who found me.” he said. Toren recognised his voice from his capture but without his bone mask Kra seemed different, almost nice, he didn't belong here, with the, with the Orá-krai. “ Yes,” Kra replied, “I found you, Nira captured you, now you're wanted in Yánrak’s tent.”
“What?” Toren asked.
“Yánrak wants to see you.” Kra replied then he frowned “not good news for you, last time he wanted to see a prisoner it did not go well, for the prisoner I mean not Yánrak.” Toren suddenly felt very tired. “ So I guess you're here to take me to him then, right?” he said. “Um, no actually,” Kra muttered “I’m just here to watch you, make sure you don’t escape. They don’t really let me do much except clean the tents and look after the livestock, you're the first time I’ve actually done any proper work. Niras coming to pick you up soon”
“Oh” Toren said glumly
“Nari isn't a bad person,” Kra said somewhat forcefully, like he was trying to convince himself just as much as Toren “She just wants to be respected.” he finished.
“And that's why she kidnaped me?” Toren said, raising an eyebrow.
Kra shifted nervously and replied simply “No” Toren sensed that the conversation was over and was silent. The tent door opened and Nira, the Orá-krai who had captured Toren entered the small damp space. Kra quickly stepped away. Nari ignored him and focused on Toren. “Yánrak wants to see you.” she motioned for him to get up. Toren stood and the two Orá-krai led him out of the tent. The Orá-krai camp was the same outside the tents as it was inside, damp, muddy, and very, very dark. Even though it was daytime only in a few places did the sun's light penetrate the forest's dark green canopy. The ground was the same muddy leaf mould as in the tent and puddles were frequent. Toren was led across the wet landscape towards a large structure, which was more like a building than a tent. He thought about the events leading up to his capture, the morning, helping his father work in the forges. Then lunch and the all too familiar fight with his mother who had sent him to the farms. Toren was pulled out of his thoughts as they reached the door of Yánrak’s tent. Kra and Nira stepped aside for him to enter. Toren took a deep breath and nervously stepped into the room. Upon entering he immediately noticed the difference between the tent he’d previously been in and the room he was in now. The floor was boarded with strong dry wood that looked like it had been there since long before the great division. The walls were not the stained white they appeared from the outside but a wonderful blue. Across the room candles of all colours burned leaving only a small path for Toren to walk on. In the centre of the room surrounded by weapons of all kinds sat an old man in tattered black clothes. A knife lay on his lap, its sheath burnt, a dark glow that seemed to swallow light emanate from it. Unsure of what to do, Toren stood waiting for the Orá-krai’s leader to speak.
“You are the captive?” Yánrak’s voice had a cold tone that radiated authority and power. “Yes,” Toren replied, trying to keep his voice calm. “Who are you?” Yánrak questioned. Toren took a deep breath and began to talk. “I am Toren Dinori,” Toren began “My family works in the forges on the east side of the stronghold.” Technically what Toren said was true, his fathers side of the family, the Dinori family, had worked in the forges and made the stronghold's weapons. “In the forges,” Yánrak asked. “What did you make?”
“Tools for the farms.” Toren said, hoping he could get away with another lie. Yánrak narrowed his eyes. “Tell the truth,” he growled, “what did you make?” Toren tryed to lie but his eyes drifted to the blade on the Orá-krai’s lap and the darkness surrounding it. “Weapons.” he choked out suddenly finding it hard to breathe as cold dread and realisation swept over him. Yánrak followed his gaze to the knife on his lap. “Have you seen a weapon like this before?” he inquired as he picked up the dark blade. Toren gave up. Bowing his head, he replied “yes.”
“You're not really a Dinori are you,” Yánrak began with a voice that could have frozen steam into ice in a matter of seconds. “ You're a Cronivo. Tell me Toren Cronivo, where have you seen a weapon like this before?” Toren bit his lip till it hurt. “ You stole the knife,” Toren accused “The Orá-krai took my family’s greatest treasure, the knife, and the shield.” Toren took a breath “ we were furious and stole back the shield but failed to regain the knife, the symbol of the Cronivo family's power.” Yánrak’s pale face twisted into a grim half smile. “Is that what they tell you?” He said “let me tell you the real story, Toren.” The old man put the knife down on the floor beside him and stood up. “The trouble started around a hundred years ago when the weapons of night were recovered. There were a lot of arguments over who should keep them, in ancient times that would be whoever the most powerful wielder of shadow magic was, but the ability to control the elements had long since been absent even in the strongest of families, like yours. So instead it was decided that the weapons would be shared around the four kingdoms of shadow, staying in one place for five years before moving onto the next kingdom. This went fine until the weapons were passed on to the stronghold, your grandparents were in charge then. The darkness of the weapons corrupted them, They abused the power the weapons gave them and used the combined force of the pair to destroy the other three kingdoms. When the strongholders found out they were devastated, their perfect rulers had turned evil. Your mother reacted almost instantly, trying to talk sense into her power crazed parents. But she failed. After her failure your uncle, Trenen, stole the dagger and killed his parents in their sleep. When your mother found out she was enraged she forced Trenen out of the stronghold separating the weapons of night. Then her own selfish ambition came out. She slaughtered most of the strongholders who supported him, taking the throne of the shadow kingdoms for herself. She sealed the boundaries of the stronghold with the shield making them impenetrable, your uncle started the Orá-krai from his supporters who had survived, and the kingdoms descended into the chaotic place it is today.”
Torens face went almost as pale as Yánrak’s. “ They told me that the kingdoms had been destroyed by their own ambition,” Toren said quietly “the stronghold had been forced to destroy them in an act of defence.” “ Well,” Yánrak said grimly, “now you know the truth.” Toren clenched his fists, his voice rising “ they told me the weapons had belonged to my family since before the great division.” His voice sounded as cold as Yánrak’s as he finished “They lied.”
Yánrak smiled “yes they lied. That's why you're going to help us steal the shield.”
“What?” Toren was obviously surprised by the statement. “You’re going to help us steal the shield.” Yánrak repeated simply. Toren closed his eyes “you raid my stronghold, capture me, and tell me that everything I thought I knew was a lie,” Toren took a deep breath. “And you expect me to help you?” “No we don’t,” Yánrak said as Two more Orá-krai stepped into the room “But you don’t have a choice.”