There was the scent of a thunderstorm in the air.

This was the kind of night that the Knight lived for. They were the times in his life that he felt alive, somewhat. That he finally felt like he had control on this complicated thing called life. But more of that was attributed to the talk that many of the other Knights had about him back at home.

Cursed.

That was the word they would use around the village when he passed by. On nights like these, when the blood lust was almost ringing in his ears, the Knight was swayed to think that they might have had a point. It was at this point that he looked to the past. He hoped that there was something there that would get him closer to humanity.

Born in the far away wastelands to the north of the Motherlands many winters ago, where the sun is seen a total of only sixty seven days a year, Bolin was born to the Oaks, a kingdom that barely raised ten thousand warriors when call ups to the army came every winter from the Motherlands of Yori.

Bolin was a man of rare courage to come from the lands of Yori. He had the build of a Knight from the Scora Kingdom, but the mind of mages in Elenka Villages and the heart of an Oak Outcast.

As an outcast, the people of Oak were always the least favored in all of Yori. This meant that it would require feats deemed extraordinary for an Oak from the North wastelands to be accepted as a human being, let alone a Yorite Knight.

No one knew why this had been so, but these were the traditions that the Elder Mothers preached to the masses. No one saw fit to contradict such powerful beings as the Elder Mothers.

The Trials were a clever way for the Yori Motherlands to make sure the outcasts only came to the warm embrace of belonging if they were the best amongst them. Brolin’s trial had been perhaps the most gruesome one ever devised.

At only his eighteenth winter, he had but one job to do; rescue the war captives stranded in the Nether regions of the world they lived in. Bolin’s grandmother, once an Elenkite herself, knew the plan was devised to kill her grandson. He was the only one in Oak with much promise for a brighter future. He was to be their leader out of this hell called solitude and being viewed as an unwanted people in all of the Yori Motherlands.

Bolin was as fearless as he was clever. He agreed to the Yorite’s Trial with an additional clause to it. He would bring the people of Yori not only their war soldiers, but also the head of the Men Slayer King with the condition that his people be liberated from the tyranny of needing Trials to prove their existence.

The Elder Mothers were astonished with the young man. King Cerritus the Men Slayer was the worst enemy Yori had seen in sixteen centuries of their existence. Most men spoke of him not being human at all. Soldiers that had gone to fight him had come back either dead or maimed in one way or another. Most did not come back at all. Cerritus the Men Slayer had found it useful to use the war captives as his personal guard rather than have his own people fight.

That was when the might of the Thirteen Witches was known throughout the Yori Motherlands and the entire world. Their beauty was only second to their skill. They could bewitch the mind to learn new tongues, encourage the body to continue moving after complete exhaustion, and persuade the soul of soldiers to do their bidding no matter what ideals they held previously. As of now, Cerritus the Men Slayer and his Thirteen Witches had hundreds of thousands of Yorite knights at their beck and call.

The Elder Mothers of Yori were convinced the young outcast was addled in his head. His demands aside, he was actually implying to be able to free men who had been bewitched by the Thirteen Witches when even the best mages of Elenka had failed for almost a decade. They should have cut his tongue from his head and left him to the Dead Forest for the wild to take him.

But one elder voiced an interesting logic. “My fellow sisters, what have we to lose if the outcast fails? Is his life not the only thing that will be forfeited in this Trial? He asks that we liberate his kind if he brings back our entire fallen warriors. What is his thousands of outcast nation compared to hundreds of thousands of Yorite Knights fallen to the Men Slayer? Let us give the boy his wish. If we recover our might from the Men Slayer King, then we will most likely have no use for the outcast nation anyway.”

So Bolin was granted his bargain by the Elder Mothers of Yori, branded a Demi (an outcast in the process of a Trial) and sent with a time limit of a season’s cycle.

His grandmother did not want him to leave. She still held faith that her grandson had been born to lead their people out of this era they lived in. But she had already lost a son and a daughter-in-law to the Men Slayer’s insanity. To lose the only thing left to remind her of her family…

“Fear not Grandmother. I will not let my death come if I am not by your side. This I swear to you on father’s shield and mother’s sword that I carry with me today.” Those were the words Bolin had for her. It was not much, but she believed he would keep his word.

He next went to the house at the very edge of the Oak territory. This was the house he had built for the woman he was devoted to. She had called to him by heart and he had responded with equal measure. Now she was devastated that she would never feel his warm embrace again.

Should he fail, he would be dead to the world with only herself and his grandmother remembering him. But should he succeed, he would be a Yorite citizen with no business engaging an Outcast such as herself in conversation let alone be a beloved.

“I deserve nothing more than your trust, Miral. If you find it possible to conjure up enough trust, then no magic in this world will stop me from making you my wife.”

It was winter’s beginnings when Bolin set off on his Trial. A season’s cycle was all he was given. It came… and it passed, with no sight or word from the outcast.

The Elder Mothers were not that surprised by it. The prospects the boy was speaking of were far too vast for his simple mind to contemplate. He was added to the list of all those dead Demis and life went on in Yori.

It was several winters later, when the Trials were set to happen again that the elders were surprised by news that reached their kingdom. The Men Slayer King was on his way to invade the lands of Yori, bringing with him a sea of knights both under his command and spells. Summons were sent to the Oak people as they were to stand in the front lines of the defense. None of them had been trained in actual combat but they would distract the advancing army long enough for the Yorite Knights to strike back.

Miral was amongst those drafted into the army. She was to be led as sheep to slaughter. She was glad that she was still young enough to be considered worthy to fight though. It meant she would finally be able to avenge her beloved. If not, then go and be with him in Valhalla.

The rain that day made it impossible to see well. In these conditions, even skilled warriors from Elenka would fare no better. The dark of the night sent enough chill down her spine long before the sound of the horn blazed. The destruction of her people was at their door step at last.

The army never came though.

But the promise of a new future arrived.

It was a man who walked out of the Dead Forest’s enclosure, followed close by a boy, no older than his fifteenth winter in appearance. Miral was surprised by the two beings in front of her. They were cloaked in magic in a way she had never seen the mages in Elenka have. This magic… it ran in their veins as part of their beings. Something about them was not entirely human.

“ELDER MOTHERS! I HAVE RETURNED!”

It was impossible. None of the Yorite people could believe it. Yet from the statue and the build, it could have been none other than Bolin himself, in hand, the head of the Men Slayer King.

The tale was long, but only the Elder Mothers got to hear it. It seemed that Bolin had told a thrilling tale because the people of Oak were liberated from their bonds to Yori and left with the free will to wander the world or stay in Yori as a people of the motherland, even though half of Bolin’s quest was not met.

Bolin, now an old man, went back to his home with the boy in toe. He had kept his beloved waiting a long time. She did not know what the man had done, but she was sure that he was not the same boy who left here all those winters ago.

The boy Bolin led back was proof of that. He was unusual for a boy of his age. Coal black eyes and snow white hair. Miral could sense more magic in him now that she was closer. Bolin would not mention where he came from, but spoke of him being the only chance to survive what was coming.

Miral never knew if Bolin was the child’s father. They both behaved in completely opposite mannerisms. The only similarities were bravery and that clever mind.

In fact, in all the six winters that Bolin the Brave and Miral got to live together before their journey to Valhalla, the only thing the woman knew about the boy was his name.

And that name was perhaps the only thing the Knight today thought he owned from his past, and present, that was pure. His nature… his very core… did not allow purity in whichever form it came. That was perhaps why he was the only Knight the Elder Mothers would task with voyages into the harshest parts of this world. The only soul that could sustain exposure to the darkness of his world, all for the good of Yori.

He casted aside these memories of a life that was now gone and stood just as his companions came to fetch him. A total of only four people, but the fiercest knights he had ever gotten the pleasure to slay enemies with. The cold rain was now falling on his face, and it felt rejuvenating.

This thunderstorm felt similar to that day Bolin and he came to Yori.

“We move on your command, Azra.”

A/N: Thank you for reading Thunderstorms. Its just the first part of the short series but let me know if you are feeling it by leaving a comment right here👉.....

Until next time, stay safe and keep it locked✌.