The night held them in a loving embraced. They were the darkness and all the life it held. Feared and forgotten warriors of old. Not good, not bad, but somewhere in the grey.
BTS X READER | based/ inspired of Ryan Kirks Nightblade trilogy. You DON'T...
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A small travelling group of nine trekked through the snow. It was as deep as it was cold and came up to the knee caps. Each step was an effort in itself to take and took more energy and strength than they had. Their tour guide had scammed them and had disappeared. They were very lost, and as night started to fall, they were getting increasing scared.
The group was small and consisted of two families and three elders. The first family was a Merchant and his wife with their teenage son. They had travelled out of their town to invest in some new stocks. The tradesmen had decided to bring his family along, to make a small holiday of it.
They were by far the richest of the group, yet the man was stingy and didn't want to invest in a more reliable tour guide or a cart. He had once been in the army and thought he had a good enough idea of how to navigate in the harsh conditions. With the disappearance of the tour guide, he had taken it upon himself to become the temporary leader until they reached familiar grounds.
The second family was a young couple with a small boy no older than six.
They were honest people and hadn't complained once along their journey. They were used to hard work and being out in the cold. Their child was well behaved and entertained the elders with his constant questioning about the world.
The three elders were struggling the most out of the group. Their old bodies were not fit for hiking in deep snow.
Yet, they still pushed on. At some point, the elders had lost the will to go any further and lit a fire to keep warm. The plan was to wait out the snowstorm and re-navigation their way home the next morning.
The light acted like a beacon to all the robbers and thieves, so it was no surprise when it attracted some unwanted attention from a group of bandits. The group was smart enough to hand their money and valuables over. They were too tired to argue and knew losing a few items wasn't as bad as losing a life.
The bandits, however, had other ideas.
If they left any witnesses, their chances of being found and sentenced were higher. Bloodshed was the only answer.
They killed all but one.
The elders were the first to fall and put up little fight. The merchant tried to run, and his son put up a small display of bravery as he tried to protect his mother. The whole family died in minutes. The farming couple kept surprisingly calm and held themselves together until their last breaths.
This left the little boy who had come with his mother and father to visit distant relatives. He had been silently weeping the whole time, watching as his group joined the great cycle. The bandits admired the boy's bravery for not screaming out or trying to run.
They decided to make him an offer "If you wish to live, then join us; we can train you and teach you many things." The leader asked, and the young boy reluctantly accepted the offer. He spent four years with the bandits he learnt how to hunt and fight - they even gave him a new name Shiro, but he never forgot about his family. He kept his hate a secret, letting it boil up within him till one day it blew. It's said that he killed them all in a minute and escaped. He was a ten-year-old boy with the power of fifteen men. He travelled the kingdoms learning every technique the sword had to offer.
The story's of his skill travel far and wide. And eventually, when he learnt all there was to learn, he ran to the mountains. No one ever saw him again, and people long forgot about his exceptional skill. He was 23 when he disappeared, and that was 50 cycles ago. Tales of him turned into legends and myths and turn into bedtime stories told to small children by their mothers. (Y/n) was no different; like every night before, her mother would tuck her into bed while her father would blow out the lanterns. With a small candle, the lady would sit upon the girl's bed and stroke her child's hair as she hovered between dream and awake.
"sleep now," Her voice carried softly into the cold night air.
"Tell me the story again. " The child whispered to her mother.
She chuckled lightly at the little girl. "But it's not a story," the lady swore it was real. In the mother's heart, she knew it wasn't just a tale.
