82Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA9ayD0iRjECHAPTER 14
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"Fire Beneath The Mountain"
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The wind howls aggressively across the jagged mountain peaks as Cat stands motionless on the cliff's edge, black eyes locked on the fortress below.
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Behind him, a murder of crows darkens the afternoon sky, countless of black birds, overwatching the bandits and their preparations.
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The mountain groans hauntingly.
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Five hundred bandits, each one armed, ready and burning for vengeance.
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Below the ridge, twenty-five steel-wheeled wagons creak into formation, each pulled by two horses.
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Generals ride at the helm of those wagons, cloaks snapping in the wind, eyes glowing bright blue. Crossbows slung, swords sheathed, and daggers gleaming.
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Inside each wagon, sit reaper bandits crouched with large iron sickles, ready to reap, package and sling the magic over the wall with the banded contraptions.
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The heavy harvest machine rolls forward. A large, rolling contraption, made of wood and metal. There are huge iron blades at the bottom of the sphere cart, similar to an industrial fan.
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Close to it, rolling down the mountain dirt path… another monstrous wagon is rigged with iron cords, holding a massive oak log.
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It's being pulled by Big bandits, ropes around one shoulder, clubs resting on the other like toothpicks.
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The five assassins, the only others riding on horseback, move like shadows. Their red eyes pulse beneath tight black hoods. Each ninja carries fire tipped arrows, throwing daggers, and blades of their choosing. They're silent, deadly and lethal.
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Bandits line the slopes with ropes and hooks, some fitted to crossbows, others swing over shoulder.
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Explosive rockets in different shapes and colors.
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Clubs, daggers, bats, knives, sling shots — everything hard, held, sharp, blunt, meant to break, stab, butcher, maim, kill and destroy.
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Cat looks on from the highest peak. His base, a small lit cave entrance behind his two captains. One assassin with red ruby eyes stands behind him on the side, another general, eyes glowing blue, is on the opposite post. Cat's eyes are pitch black, watching his army rumble down the mountain trail.
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He and his captains smell a thick, intoxicating scent flowing from the fortress below. The wind carries the glow leaf aroma through the whole mountain space, exciting the rebel gang.
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— GLOWING HAYFIELDS — TRAIL PATH TO FORTRESS —
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Two royal red carriages ride steadily along the dirt road, each pulled by a pair of tall disciplined horses. The wheels glinting in the fall light, red paint catching the gold of the morning sun.
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Behind them comes a long line of supply wagons — ten total — stacked with rations, tools, and bundled gear for the journey ahead.
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The Knights ride in formation around the convoy, a moving wall of steel and discipline. Their armor is polished to a mirror shine, catching flashes of orange and yellow from the autumn canopy overhead.
Their horses are massive, war bread beasts with braided tails and long back manes. Heavy saddles, each knight carrying a spear or lance strapped to the side and a longsword at the hip.
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They look like a tide of iron, steady and immovable.
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Behind them marches the infantry — leaner, rougher, but no less disciplined. Some carry bows slung across their backs, quivers bouncing against their armor. Others hold swords and shields, boots thudding in rhythm with horses ahead.
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Their cloaks flutter in the cool wind, the red colors of the convoy bleeding in with the fallen leaves.
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At the very back of the procession rides Paul with Stone, the white horse's hooves kicking up soft dust. Lilly sits behind him, arms wrapped around his waist. Her cheek rests lightly against his back.
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Paul keeps his eyes forward, jaw tight.
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Something in the air doesn't feel right — a pressure, a weight — but he keeps his feelings buried. Not wanting to worry Lilly.
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Not yet.
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Sally and Curtis follow close behind, their riders guiding them with quiet confidence as the convoy pushes through radiant fields spraying gold rays of light.
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The second to last carriage is impossible to miss — black lacquer with a red trim, the royal crest is carved deep into its doors.
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Inside, Traeven lounges comfortably, hands on his knees looking forward. Veronica sits beside him, her posture perfect, her eyes drifting between the window and Traeven's animated gestures.
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Across from them, Phillip and Jeffrey listen, entertained by Traeven's stories, still spinning.
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You can still see the bright orange-yellow leaves drifting down, glowing, from inside the carriages.
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Jeffrey's armor clinks as he shifts on a cushioned seat, the big man grinning wide when Traeven leans forward with that easy, knowing smile.
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Traeven: — (voice smooth)
"Jeffrey, you're a big boy…
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"I'd think a strong man like yourself would wield a sword."
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Jeff puffs his chest a little.
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Jeffrey:
"I can shoot, that's what counts."
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Traeven (murmurs)
"Indeed."
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Traven nods, like he's receiving ancient wisdom.
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He turns his attention to Phillip with the same effortless warmth.
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Traeven:
"Phillip, you must feel secure, just as I do."
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He nods deeply, like they are brothers in arms.
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"with all this artillery wrapped around us like a sausage dog."
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Phillip smirks.
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Jeffrey burst a single laugh, trying to control it, but failing.
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Traeven lets the joke breath, then lowers his voice, just enough to shift the tone.
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"Even so… three hundred men seem to be worth the cause."
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He barely forms a smile.
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"After all, there are precious commodities to protect."
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His eyes drift towards Veronica — just slightly.
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Veronica catches it.
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But doesn't react.
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Traeven turns back to Phillip and Jeff instantly.
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"Although we are protected." Traeven begins,
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Traeven (voice low, steady)
"and have the strength of many oxen, it doesn't mean that we can't be touched."
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Jeff and Phillip nod, slow and thoughtful, like he's revealing secrets to the universe.
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Traeven's eyes drift between them amused.
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"I've come to realize that strength isn't in the arm...
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...it's in the intention."
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Jeff squints trying to process it, Phillip nods harder, pretending to understand.
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"A person shows their true colors on the road. You can often reveal strengths, and discover weaknesses."
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Veronica's eyes flick toward him.
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He doesn't look back, not yet.
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"There's a level of understanding," he says, leaning back with effortless confidence.
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"When you surpass all others in your field of expertise.
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(beat)
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Like you three."
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Jeff smiles proudly, Phillips' chest puffs up.
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Traeven's smile sharpens a touch.
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"I," he says softly, "have come to understand people better than they understand themselves."
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He glances down at Phillips boot — the laces uneven, the knot sloppy and sideways.
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"You can sometimes read a man's entire life."
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Traven (murmurs)
"by watching him tie his shoes."
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Phillip looks down at the floor confused.
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Jeffrey tries not to smirk, but his eyes tell the truth.
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Traeven doesn't break stride.
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He continues smiling, softly, confidently,
believing every word he speaks.
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His gaze drifts out the window, the orange and yellow leaves painting warm light across his face.
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He grins gently, almost nostalgically.
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Traeven:
"Once, I'd gotten myself into deep trouble with the nobles.
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(Beat)
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I had to talk my way out of a hanging."
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Jeff's eyes widen. Phillip leans forward.
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Traeven looks between them, lets the moment hang some more.
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"But" (exhales) (waving one hand lightly),
"I don't want to bore you with old tales."
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Veronica feels a shift.
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She turns towards him, her expression flat, almost bored, but her eyes sharp.
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Veronica:
"So… You're telling us how smart you are, and dishing compliments out freely, why do you want to be here again?"
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Jeff and Phillip freeze, both looking between themselves like they've stumbled into a conversation they aren't qualified for.
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Traeven doesn't blink.
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He doesn't look away.
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Doesn't soften.
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He simply smiles.
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Traeven (slow, deliberate, confident)
"Veronica, if I wanted to impress you, I'd try harder than this…"
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His voice dips.
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Traeven (warm but edged)
"If you must know… I admire Metro."
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Jeff and Phillip blink, surprised.
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Veronica's eyes narrow.
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Traeven:
"I want to see his leadership capabilities first hand."
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Traeven continues, still smiling, still calculating.
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"He's very interesting."
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He holds Veronica's gaze — not aggressively, but with quiet certainty that makes her pause.
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"I've known him for years, and I fancy paying him a visit."
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Then he leans in slightly.
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Traeven (voice low)
"But, I think the real question is…"
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His eyes sharpen.
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Traeven (above a whisper)
"… why do you want to be here?"
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Veronica's throat tightens.
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She gulps, cornered, turning her face towards the window, pretending to watch leaves.
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Traeven doesn't stop watching her.
His gentle smile remains, but it's strained — a forced softness, a crack in her mask as he studies her reaction. Discovering truths she didn't want him to see. Then, effortlessly, he shifts back to Phillip and Jeff.
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Traeven: "Many villagers see Metro as a hero," Traeven says lightly. "Others, a false prophet."
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Jeff frowns, Phillip scratches his chin.
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"We shared our teenagehood together," he laughs. "for years we ran in the streets.
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(beat)
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"That was a long time ago though… I knew what he was, but what he's become now...
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(beat)
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...I do not know."
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He turns back to Veronica.
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Traeven:
"He's a handsome hero isn't he?"
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Veronica's eyes widened — shocked.
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Traeven quickly gazes out the window, watching the orange leaves drift past.
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Traeven (murmurs)
"Majestic and magical — the fall leaves. Like a Kingdom on fire… beautiful… peaceful…"
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A light flickers across his face, warm and golden. Then he looks back at Veronica — this time serious, almost solemn.
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"But even orange light from the blazing sun, sparkling off armor, can make anyone look heroic."
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He pauses.
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Letting the words settle in.
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Phillip leans forward, serious.
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Phillip:
"So what you're saying is…the sun makes us look hotter?"
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Jeff nods enthusiastically.
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Traeven sighs internally.
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Veronica looks away to hide a smile.
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Traeven exhales, he smiles again (a different smile this time.)
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Traeven:
"In your case, Phillip, the sun is doing its absolute best."
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Veronica looks down, defeated with compressed laughter.
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Jeff looks confused. Phillip beams.
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Traeven enjoys the moment, leans back, genuine smile, fingers crossed, legs crossed.
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Traeven:
"Truth is," he says softly, "Some people are born to lead. Some to follow. Some to protect the Kingdom…'
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His eyes lowered, voice almost reverent.
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"… others, the future."
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Phillip blinks unsure.
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Traevens leans forward, inviting everyone in — gaze locking with theirs in unsettling clarity.
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Traeven:
"Every convoy has something worth dying for…"
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Phillip swallows.
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Jeff shifts uncomfortably.
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Then Traevens eyes shift — not directly at Veronica, but close enough that she feels the heat.
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"And every convoy," he murmurs, "has its treasure."
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Veronica's breath catches.
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She doesn't move.
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Doesn't speak.
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But Traeven see's.
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He always does.
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His smile returns — soft, elegant, but strained at the edges, like he's holding back truths already discovered.
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The fall light washes over him, an orange glow flickering across his face like firelight.
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— CASTLE FORTRESS TRAIL — FALL —
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The lead carriage rolls steadily at the front of the convoy, its wheels humming softly over the dirt road. Light pours through open curtains of its gold and red frame, painting the interior with warm sun.
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Metro sits closest to the window, scroll unrolled in his lap. His eyes move over the inked lines with slow precision —Next to him, Rose watches quietly, hands folded in her lap. She doesn't interrupt. She likes seeing him like this, thoughtful and steady, carrying the weight of the village with that calm unshakable presence.
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Blake sits across from her, leg bouncing,
fingers tapping. He keeps glancing out the window, restless, scanning the treeline as if expecting something to leap out at any moment.
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Next to Blake, sits Gregory —shoulders lightly armored, with a cloaked cape, grounded like a stone pillar. He sits with perfect posture, hands resting on his knees, eyes forward. His presence alone steadies the carriage.
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Rose leans over slightly, her voice soft but curious.
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Rose:
"Whatcha' reading?"
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Metro doesn't look up, but he smiles.
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Metro:
"A scripture."
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Blake's leg stops bouncing.
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Gregory's posture tightens for a moment before relaxing again.
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Rose tilts her head.
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Gregory clears his throat.
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Gregory:
"Would you… read it out loud…"
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All three of them stare at Metro.
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He blinks, lifting his head like he'd just realized all of his friends were there in the carriage.
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Then a warm glow.
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Metro (smirking)
"Sure."
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He unrolls the scroll a little further, clearing his throat.
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"Let's see what it says…"
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His voice has a calm, steady cadence —
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Metro:
"Blessed is the one who places their trust in the Divine.
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They become like a tree planted beside living waters
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—roots deep,
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leaves unwithered,
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untouched by heat or draught,
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always bearing fruit."
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The carriages falls silent.
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Gregory bows his head slightly.
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Then shifts forward.
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Gregory:
"If you don't mind me asking…"
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His voice is low, respectful.
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"… how did you invite The Divine Flame?"
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Metro locks into Gregory's aura.
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Not dramatically but very subtle.
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Almost in a painful way, where a memory hits too hard.
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His eyes stay locked.
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Metro:
"There are many out there with divine power, given through The Spirit.'
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'Teaching Truth and Knowledge."
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The air in the carriage changes.
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Even Blake feels it.
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Metro keeps speaking but softer now — like the truth itself hurts.
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Metro:
"You just have to look for it."
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Blake exhales, long and slow.
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Blake:
"Wow…"
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He turns his face towards the window, watching the trees blur past, suddenly humbled.
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Gregory lowers his gaze, absorbing every word.
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Rose watches Metro with a mix of awe and worry — she could feel the weight behind what he wasn't saying.
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Then —The carriages come to a slow halt.
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The convoy reaches the outer gate of the city, just as the tension in the air becomes unbearable.
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Metro steps out first, Rose right behind him, Blake and Gregory flanking.
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Something feels wrong.
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The archers on the right front tower suddenly scream.
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Archers — "CONTACT! CONTACT! ON THE EAST RIDGE!"
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Before Metro even turns —
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BOOM.
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A thunderous explosion rips through the distant tree line. A mushroom cloud surges upward, followed by a shockwave of fire that rolls across the horizon like a mini nuke.
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The ground trembles.
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Horses rear.
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Soldiers shout.
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Metro doesn't hesitate.
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Metro:
"LET'S GOO!!"
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Rose grabs her satchel.
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Blake snatches his bow.
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Gregory draws his own bow in one fluid motion, sprinting toward the frontline.
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Metro, Rose, and Blake book it toward the rear end of the convoy where Paul and Lilly are.
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— Switch Scene — Continue Scene —
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Traeven see's the mushroom cloud through the window.
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His eyes widen.
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— in disbelief.
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— in recognition.
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Veronica gasps, clutching the seat with her fingertips.
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Phillip hops out like a trained military unit.
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Jeff stumbles outward, opposite of Phillip, scrambling for footing.
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Traeven leans out the window just enough to confirm what he is seeing, then snaps back inside, eyes locking to Veronica's terrified face.
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He doesn't hesitate.
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He vaults into the front seat of the carriage, grabbing the reins like a man possessed.
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Traeven (screaming in lunacy)
"YA! YA! YA!"
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The horses lurch forward violently as Traeven whips the reins with theatrical intensity, the carriage fishtails before stabilizing the one-eighty turn.
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Dust explodes behind him as he tears through the convoy line, passing Paul and Lilly like a red and black comet.
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Veronica doesn't wait.
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She throws herself out of the carriage mid flight.
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She hits the dirt hard —
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rolls —
rolls again —
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skids —
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tumbles —
a smaller dust cloud billows behind her in contrast to Traven's monstrous plume.
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She comes to a stop, bruised, scraped, coughing, but alive.
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Behind her, Traeven's voice still echoes through the chaos.
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Traeven (fading sound)
"YA! YA! YA! C'MON!"
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His shouting fades, disappearing down a road, like he's been waiting his whole life to play hero in someone else's tragedy.
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Paul, Lilly, and Stone don't even look back. They gallop forward with high alert, weaving through dropped wagons, trotting now towards the smokey front gate where screaming is heard echoing.
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The convoy halts.
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The world shifts.
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— Switch Scene — Continue Scene —
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Sally skids beside the ration wagons, hooves carving trenches in the dirt. Metro doesn't wait — he jumps on instantly. Rose swings up behind him. Blake grabs Curtis by the leash and sprints after them.
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Sally, Curtis, and the gang push past the wagon convoy, weaving through panicked soldiers and overturned crates, until they reach Paul and Lilly.
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Paul spins Stone around, urgency written on his face. He hops down.
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Paul:(yelling)
"LILLY! ROSE! Hop on Stone and Curt! Head back to the workshop!"
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They both bolt toward their horses.
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Paul turns to Metro.
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Paul:(sharp, commanding)
"Metro — find Ana and get her out on Sally."
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Metro nods once, jaw tight, and takes off after mounting Sally. Blake follows likewise and holds on from loosely from the back of Metro shirt. Head tilted, eyes forward.
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Lilly and Rose have already mounted their horses.
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Curtis barks wildly.
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Paul smacks Stone’s hind quarters with everything he has.
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Paul:
“Go!”
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Stone launches forward, Lilly barely holding on as the dust swallows them.
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Only when they disappear into the haze—
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Only when he knows they’re clear— then
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He draws his axes.
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Both blades slide free with a metallic whisper.
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He then turns and walks straight into the tall, glowing hay fields - toward the front gate just where the world is falling apart.
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Metro and Blake jump off Sally mid stride.
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And there— at the top of the steps leading to the main hall—Ana stands frozen still.
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Silent.
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Empty.
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Like the world has stopped around her.
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Lutherain’s voice booms across the courtyard.
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Luther:
“Take the battlements!! Greg, Chad, Sam!”
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Knights scatter through the hay fields,
checking the perimeter.
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Dozens of soldiers rush into the castle.
Shields raised, weapons drawn.
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But Metro only sees Ana.
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He sprints up the stone steps, grabs her shoulders and stares into her vacant eyes.
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Metro:
“Ana. What happened!?”
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Nothing—She doesn’t blink.
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Doesn’t move.
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She’s not there.
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Metro (screaming louder)
“ANA!”
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He shakes her— gently, but desperately.
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Her eyes flicker awake, Just barely, She looks up at him like they are in a warm, narrow cottage together.
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Ana: (voice cracking, trembling)
“I, I…”
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“I used the gem… to harvest early…”
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“to set you free…”
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Ana smiles at him, completely devastated.
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Ana:
"The scent."
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She can't find words to finish speaking—Metro doesn’t let her anyway—He scoops her into his arms, holding her tight, and runs away from the hell birthing behind him.
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After skipping down the steps with his Ani cradled close, He reaches Sally and places her on top lightly. Metro slaps Sally's flank hard.
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Metro: (shouting,commanding)
"COTTAGE! HOME! NOW!"
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Sally explodes forward, hooves tearing through dirt and hay, carrying Ana away from the fires, the screams, the castle and the danger.
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Metro watches her go —just long enough to know she’s safe.
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Then he turns back towards the battlefield. The smoke has calmed from the distance.
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and then Add to home screen.