The Northern territories of the Kingdom Oriaet were still underdeveloped and monster swarms frequently would attack from the mountains and forests. This meant the possible locations where the fallen object could have fallen were limited. King Gaberil didn’t know what had fallen, but in the past, it normally meant either a good omen for the kingdom or a bad one. More than a few celestial events preceded the rise or fall of nations or races.
Gaberil wasn’t as tired as one might expect after a full day's ride. His body had been conditioned through years of both combat and courtly endurance. The journey north had been long, yet the crisp air and the weight of responsibility kept him alert. In two days' time, they would arrive at Braunsted, the only significant city in the northern territories, where he would set up his temporary seat of command. For the coming weeks, this would be his stronghold from which to direct the kingdom's affairs and monitor the search for the fallen object.
Beside him rode Didrich Braun, a trusted nobleman from the northern territories, his grizzled visage hardened from years spent in the rugged lands of Oriaet's frontier. Didrich had only recently returned from the capital, where he had been enjoying the festivities of the new year, a brief reprieve from the harsh realities of his domain. But duty called, and Didrich had quickly marshaled his forces, bringing with him four hundred of his best soldiers and a contingent of battle-hardened mages. These men were not the polished knights of the southern cities, but warriors who had grown up amidst the constant threat of monster attacks and bandit raids. They were rough, unrefined, but fiercely loyal.
Didrich was a nobleman with a graying brown beard and more rough exterior compared to the people from the more pampered southern cities and towns. Oriaet was already less developed and rougher than your average nation in the central lands of Ibbariea, but that was even more so than the northern reaches of his lands."What weighs on your mind, Didrich?" Gaberil asked, breaking the silence between them as they rode side by side.
Didrich grunted, his brow furrowed beneath his weathered brow. "Mmm," he growled in response, his voice low and rough, like the gravel under their horses' hooves. "I think none of us are willing to speak the truth aloud, though we all know it deep down." He glanced at Gaberil with a grim look, his eyes darkened by years of experience in the harsh north. "This is no ordinary falling star. It’s the descent of a deity, or something close to one. Whether it’s a servant of the gods or perhaps a child of one—who’s to say? These things are more common in the richer lands, the prosperous kingdoms where the gods’ eyes are always watching. But we’ve heard the stories, haven’t we? We know the signs when they come."
Gaberil sighed audibly as the words were blunt without any dressing. “I believe you are the correct old friend, but the question is how do we handle it?”
Didrich's eyes narrowed, the gears of his mind turning, though his expression remained as stony as ever. "If they belong to the core deities we honor here in Oriaet," he said, his tone matter-of-fact, "we throw a grand celebration. We shower them with the respect they are due, make it clear that Oriaet reveres them. Anything less would be unthinkable." He nodded to himself, as though already in agreement with his own conclusion. "But if they are not among those we honor, we offer to take them to whichever nation does. We make no enemies if we can help it. Let another kingdom bear the burden of their divine arrival."
“I agree, but what ought we do if they are none of those?” Gaberil asked as his son Eston’s ears perked up.
Didrich shrugged, his face betraying no emotion. The man had seen enough hardship to be unflinching in the face of uncertainty. "If they’re hostile," Didrich said without hesitation, his voice like the cold edge of a blade, "we do what must be done. We kill them, and send them back to the heavens where they came from."
Eston, riding just behind them, straightened in his saddle, his ears perking at the grizzled warrior’s words. His eyes widened, shock flashing across his young face. "Kill... a being from the heavens?" Eston blurted out, incredulous. "Isn’t that blasphemy? To even think of striking down a celestial being... wouldn't the gods curse us for such an act?"
"You’re still young and ignorant of the true nature of this world, boy," Didrich said sharply, turning his gaze toward Eston with a hard, unyielding look. "The heavens aren’t filled with just benevolent beings, dancing around in golden halls. They’re as much home to monsters as they are to angels. The gods of the goblin tribes—are they not real? What would you do if it’s the offspring of one of those foul creatures? Or worse, what if it’s a child of a rival deity, one who seeks to destroy us, subvert our kingdom, and bring ruin upon our lands?"
Eston stared back at Didrich, his youthful idealism clashing against the older man’s hardened view of the world. "But—" he began, only for Didrich to cut him off with a dismissive wave.
"You’ve lived too long in the safety of the capital, sheltered from the harsh truths your father and I have faced head-on. The world beyond those city walls is cruel, and when the time comes, if it’s a hostile being, I wouldn’t hesitate to take its head clean off." Didrich’s voice dropped to a low growl, each word laden with cold certainty. "Even if it meant earning the wrath of a god. Better to face divine ire than allow an enemy to tear us apart from within."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over Eston like a heavy cloak. "This realm—our world—it’s the playground of gods. And we mortals... we’ve been their playthings for as long as history can remember. Don’t ever forget that."
Eston swallowed hard, his youthful bravado faltering in the face of Didrich’s brutal honesty. He wanted to argue, but no words came to his lips.
"Eston," Gaberil spoke up, his voice firm yet not unkind. "Your mother has sheltered you more than she should have, I'm afraid. Her love for you is undeniable, but the world you will inherit is far less forgiving than she would have you believe." He turned in his saddle, looking his son in the eye, his expression softened but serious. "The truth is, I had already planned to teach you more about what it means to rule in these times—about the harsh realities that come with power and responsibility. It’s not enough to be kind or just. You have to be strong."
Eston shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, but his father pressed on. "I may still be young by the standards of those who walk the path of power, given my level of cultivation, but time moves quickly. If I don't continue to grow stronger, the years will catch up to me. I may live another two centuries if fortune is kind, but that’s not long enough if I stagnate. You need to be ready to face the world, not just as a prince, but as a ruler—someone who can make hard decisions when the time comes."
After a few hours of riding the city of Braunsted entered into sight. While not as grand as the capital it was still a sizable city since it was the central hub of the northern territories. Most of the homes were made of mighty pine on the top floors with a solid stone first floor. Most of the buildings were no more than two floors with only the temple of Orria and the Braun family manor being taller.
Gaberil was impressed with the Braun manor; overall it wasn’t too flashy but showed the distinct style he knew the Braun family for.
Not wasting any time Didrich, Eston, and Gaberil moved into the main study and rolled out a map of the northern territories.
Didrich pointed to the map his calloused finger tapping on a small town called Hemsberg. “We have a small house located here. House Garet. My men said they believed the impact was in this area. I’m sure Lord Garet already started sending out scouting parties.”
He nodded. “Then we will send Prince Eston to Hemsberg to meet with Lord Garet and take command.”
Turning to Eston he put his hand on his shoulder giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Take fifty knights and three temple priests of Orria. Once you determine if that is where it impacted send us word immediately.”
Eston bowed and turned around leaving the two of them alone to continue mulling over their options. Gaberil felt anxious for the first time in a long time; he was sure a few new gray hairs would be sprouting from his head after this.
