The Crimson Covenant Volume 1 Prologue

 

Volume I  The Crimson Covenant: The Moonlit Blood

Prologue

Ashes in the Forest

The village of Kisfenyő had always been peaceful. Nestled beneath the emerald forests of Central Elyria, its wooden cottages stood beside clear streams, while fields of wheat stretched toward the distant hills. Children laughed as they chased one another through the market square, merchants packed away their stalls for the evening, and the village bell announced the coming sunset. It was just another ordinary day. No one noticed the figures watching from the treeline. Dozens of riders emerged from the forest like shadows. They wore flowing black veils stained with dust, layered black desert robes, and curved swords hung from wide leather belts. Bronze skin gleamed beneath the setting sun, while black banners bearing the burning symbol of Baalzur fluttered above them. The first arrow struck the bell tower. A second pierced the village guard before he could shout a warning. Then came the fire. Flaming arrows rained across rooftops. Within moments, straw roofs erupted into blazing infernos. Smoke swallowed the sky.

"Panic!" someone screamed.

"The Baalanians!"

The marketplace dissolved into chaos. Parents grabbed their children. Farmers abandoned wagons. Villagers fled toward the forest as armed raiders stormed through the gates. The Baalanian warriors fought with terrifying discipline. Their curved blades flashed through the smoke as they overwhelmed the small village militia. Shields splintered beneath powerful blows. Guards fell one after another, hopelessly outmatched by soldiers raised for war in the unforgiving deserts of Baalania.

The village elder stepped into the square, raising trembling hands.

"We surrender!" he cried. "Take our grain! Take our livestock! Please... spare the people!"

The raiders ignored him. One struck him down with the flat of his blade before turning toward the church at the center of the village. Their commander dismounted from a black horse. Unlike his soldiers, his armor was blackened steel etched with crimson symbols.

He slowly surveyed the burning village.

"Search every house."

His voice was calm.

"Every cellar."

"Every crypt."

"Every shrine."

A younger warrior frowned.

"Commander... this village is too small."

"It cannot possibly hide it."

The commander turned.

"The relic was seen in this region."

"It is here."

"We do not leave until we find it."

The raiders spread through the village. Doors were kicked open. Cellars ransacked. Families dragged from hiding. Even the old cemetery behind the church was dug apart.

The villagers watched in horror.

"They're not here to rob us..." whispered an old woman.

"They're searching for something."

A terrified boy hiding beneath a wagon saw two soldiers carrying a small stone chest from the church.

The commander inspected it. He opened the lid. Inside... Only old prayer books. He threw it aside.

"Worthless."

The flames grew higher.

One of the raiders approached, breathing heavily.

"We've searched every building."

"Nothing."

Another arrived moments later.

"The crypt beneath the church is empty."

The commander narrowed his eyes.

"No..."

"It should be here."

He reached beneath his cloak and removed an ancient parchment covered in faded symbols. Upon it was drawn the image of a black coffin surrounded by silver runes. Beneath it were only three words.

The Blood Coffin.

"Find it," he ordered.

"No matter how many villages must burn."

Before anyone could move... The sound of galloping horses echoed through the forest. The commander looked toward the road. A strange carriage slowly emerged through the smoke. It was unlike any wagon the villagers had ever seen. Its body was carved from polished black wood. Silver runes shimmered across its surface. Iron lanterns burned with pale blue flames. It was pulled not by ordinary horses... ...but by four enormous shadowy steeds whose glowing eyes pierced the darkness. The Baalanian soldiers clad in all black instinctively reached for their weapons. The carriage came to a halt at the edge of the burning square. For a moment... Nothing happened. Then its door opened. Two blond youths stepped onto the road. The older wore a long black coat trimmed with silver, twin coiled whips hanging at his waist. His expression was cold, unreadable. Beside him stood a younger blond boy carrying an enormous battle axe far too large for someone his age. Unlike his brother, he looked around with genuine sadness at the burning homes.

"So many people..." he whispered.

Behind them... The ground trembled. Heavy footsteps echoed across the village. Out of the smoke emerged a towering figure of brass and steel, over three meters tall. Ancient runes glowed beneath battered armor as blue light shone from within its helmet. Across one massive shoulder... It carried an elegant black coffin engraved with silver dragons and ancient symbols. The villagers stared in stunned silence.

One old woman dropped to her knees.

"No..."

"It can't be..."

"The Coffin Guild..."

Even the Baalanian commander took an uneasy step backward. His eyes never left the coffin. For the first time that evening... He looked afraid. The iron clasps on the coffin slowly clicked open.