Chapter 2: Return to Lugar onde Cultivamos

Lugar onde Cultivamos is a small rustic village nestled in a lush, forested valley. A winding dirt path ran through the village, leading into the woods. The path was well trodden, with patches of grass growing along its edges, giving it a natural, lived-in feel. On either side of the path were quaint cottages with steep, thatched roofs made of straw and the walls made of light-coloured plaster, with visible wooden beams. As a small farming village there were wooden carts and cattels beside some of the houses and small animals scattered around. The village was semi-encircled by a dense forest, composed of tall evergreen trees rising in the background, their dark green needles contrasting with the lighter foliage closer to the ground.

It was a day like any other, Amelia had just returned from the well with a bucket of water. Suddenly the ground trembled and the sound of marching and screaming came from the horizon. A bunch of villagers gathered by the blacksmith’s hut, looking at the ridge. Amelia shoved through the crowd, and then she saw it, black banners snapping in the wind and soldiers lining the ridge in ranks so deep she couldn’t see the end – twisted shapes in dark armour, eyes glowing like coals. A few villagers had farming tools in their hands, but everyone knew it wasn’t enough and the Knights of Dourado were too far away.

The enemy ranks parted allowing a man to ride forward alone on a black horse. The rider had long, straight ash coloured hair that fell past his shoulders. His skin was pale– ashen, almost lifeless– which contrasted sharply with his crimson eyes. Those eyes were so unnatural, radiating a faint, eerie light which suggested there was something cursed about him. Dark, vein-like markings crept up from beneath his armour onto the right side of his neck and jaw, resembling the spreading of a type of corruption. He wore heavy, blackened armour that looked both ancient and battle worn. As the rider rode closer, Amelia could see the details of his armour, which was layered with jagged plates, chipped edges and a rough, almost decayed texture. His gauntleted hand gripped the reins firmly, the glove similarly worn and rugged. Amelia had never seen a horse with such a deep black coat. The tack on the horse looked heavy and as if it were made of dark leather and metal fittings, some adorned with sharp elements that matched the rider’s armour.

The rider stopped his horse twenty paces from the village. The villagers started whispering among themselves. “That is the commander of Mestre Escuro’s vanguard. The man who burned the Santo Capital’s eastern quarter to the ground,” a man whispered. “That is Luz Krepts the fallen Santo Knight. The traitor,” one woman whispered. The name caught Amelia’s attention, and she looked back at the rider of the black stallion. This is not how she remembered him. Six years ago, Luz Krepts rode into this village atop a white horse. He wore ornate gold and white armour, decorated with intricate engravings and raised filigree patterns. A pale cloak drapes from his shoulders, lined with soft, fur-like trim near the collar. His vivid amber eyes used to beam with warmth when he looked at her. He had long, blond hair that flowed over his shoulders and caught the light whenever they were outside. He stayed for three days– helped rebuild the mill and he sat at Amelia’s family’s table and laughed at her father’s terrible jokes. On the last morning, she had pressed a white ribbon into his hand. “Come back safe,” she had said, and he tied the white ribbon around his wrist. “I will come back. I promise,” Luz had said with a warm smile.

A short, hunched man, who looked sickly, followed behind the rider, moving through the horde of black armoured soldiers. “By order of Mestre Escuro; this settlement is to be burned. Surrender or perish,” Salvaxe announced to the village, with a smile that looked like a wound in his face. He looked over the gathered villagers like they were already ash. The rider, who Amelia still didn’t belief was Luz, said nothing, his crimson gaze just swept through the crowd. Then he saw her and the world stopped. Memories flooded to the surface, from when he first came to Lugar onde Cultivamos six years ago. In his left eye the crimson flickered to be temporarily replaced by a flash of amber. There and gone, like sunlight through a crack in a door slamming shut. Luz’s jaw tightened and his gauntleted right hand– the one hiding a frayed white ribbon beneath black steel– gripped the reins until the leather creaked. He looked away. “You have one hour,” Luz said in a cold voice, carrying across the air without effort. “Take what you can carry. Leave.” Salvaxe’s smile faltered. “Commander? The order was to burn, not evacuate–”

“One hour,” Luz repeated to both the villagers and to Salvaxe, his crimson eyes’ glow intensifies as he looks at Salvaxe, until Salvaxe physically steps back. “Question me again and I will demonstrate what Mestre Escuro’s power does to insubordination.” Salvaxe bows, silently, but his black eyes flicker to the girl Luz was looking at. The army holds. The hour begins. And as the villagers scramble to evacuate, Amelia finds Luz’s gaze across the chaos, and this time he doesn’t look away. His lips move, but no sound comes out, as he mouths a simple word, ‘Run’. The ribbon beneath his gauntlet is the only white thing left on him and his hands, gripping the reins are shaking. Amelia Squinted her green eyes and then she saw the White ribbon, her eyes widened with recognition. For a long moment she just looked at Luz, trying to reconcile the man in front of her with the golden knight he used to be. Then she ran straight to her house to gather her things. As she stood in the doorway, with a brown bag over her shoulder, she remembered all the good memories she had in the house with her father. Memories she had thought she would one day share with her children.