The morning sun barely crested the hills when the horns of Emain Macha blared, shattering the calm. Kael jolted upright on his pallet in the grand hall, the Gáe Bolg already in his hand before he fully registered the sound. Around him, Ulster warriors sprang into action, grabbing swords and shields, their faces grim. The air buzzed with urgency, the clatter of armor and the shouts of men filling the hall like a storm. Morrígan was at his side in an instant, her crimson eyes sharp, her cloak shimmering with the faint outline of crows.
"Fomorians," she said, her voice low and urgent, cutting through the chaos. "They're attacking the Red Branch—a sacred grove near the border. Conchobar's rallying the warriors. You're needed.
"Kael nodded, adrenaline kicking in as he shook off the last traces of sleep. "Guess it's showtime." He tugged on a leather tunic one of the servants had provided the night before—still not his style, with its rough stitching and faint smell of tanned hide, but better than his shredded hoodie—and followed Morrígan out of the hall, the Gáe Bolg's weight a reassuring presence in his grip.
Outside, the settlement was a flurry of motion. Warriors gathered in the courtyard, their breath visible in the crisp morning air, while women and children watched from the sidelines, their faces etched with worry. Conchobar stood on a wooden platform, barking orders with the authority of a seasoned king. His golden torc gleamed as he directed warriors to their positions, his voice steady despite the tension. Aífe was already there, her dark braid swinging as she checked her spear and shield, her blue eyes flicking to Kael with a mix of curiosity and skepticism that made his stomach tighten.
"You're with us, spear-bearer," Conchobar called, spotting Kael through the crowd. "The Red Branch is Ulster's heart—its standing stones hold ancient magic, blessed by the Tuatha Dé Danann themselves. We can't let the Fomorians defile it."
"Got it," Kael said, gripping the Gáe Bolg tighter. Its runes glowed faintly, as if sensing the battle ahead, their blue light pulsing in time with his heartbeat. "Let's do this."
Aífe stepped up beside him, her tone cool but edged with challenge. "Don't slow us down, outsider. I've heard you're strong, but I'll believe it when I see it."
Kael flashed a grin, unfazed by her sharpness. "Keep up, and maybe I'll impress you."
Her eyes narrowed, but a flicker of amusement crossed her face before she turned away, her movements sharp and purposeful. Morrígan smirked, leaning in close enough that Kael could feel the warmth of her breath. "Careful, spear-bearer. Aífe doesn't lose gracefully—and she's as stubborn as her sister."
"No pressure," Kael said, his grin widening despite the nerves coiling in his gut.
The war party—fifty warriors strong, with Conchobar, Aífe, Kael, and Morrígan at the lead—marched swiftly through the rolling hills, their footsteps a steady drumbeat against the earth. The path to the Red Branch was lined with ancient oaks, their gnarled branches whispering in the wind, as if warning of the battle to come. Kael felt the weight of history in every step, the land itself seeming to hum with the echoes of past heroes.
The Red Branch grove came into view, its massive oaks and standing stones radiating an otherworldly energy that made Kael's skin prickle. The stones were carved with spirals and knots, their surfaces shimmering with a faint green glow—remnants of druidic magic, Kael guessed, tying the grove to the Otherworld. But the scene was chaos. Dozens of Fomorians, their barnacle-crusted bodies towering over the trees, smashed through the grove, uprooting sacred stones with brutish strength. Their guttural roars mixed with the screams of Ulster scouts caught in the assault, their bronze armor no match for the monsters' ferocity.
Conchobar drew his sword, its blade flashing in the sunlight, and his voice boomed over the din. "For Ulster! Drive them back!"
The warriors charged, a wave of bronze and fury, and Kael surged forward, the Gáe Bolg humming in his hands like a living thing. A Fomorian turned, its single glowing eye locking onto him, and swung a massive club studded with jagged bones. Kael dodged with Scáthach's trained precision, his enhanced speed a blur, and thrust the spear into the creature's chest. The Gáe Bolg's curse erupted, thorny energy shredding the Fomorian from within, its barnacled skin splitting apart as it collapsed with a howl that shook the leaves.
"Nice one!" Aífe shouted, nearby, as she skewered another Fomorian with her spear, her movements fierce and almost feral. She spun, her shield blocking a club strike, then drove her spear through the creature's eye, felling it with a single, precise blow. Kael couldn't help but admire her skill—her ferocity was a match for Scáthach's, but wilder, more untamed. She caught his glance and smirked, her blue eyes flashing. "Eyes on the enemy, spear-bearer!"
"Right," Kael said, refocusing with a shake of his head. He moved through the battlefield like a storm, the Gáe Bolg a deadly extension of his will. Each strike was lethal, the spear's curse making quick work of the Fomorians—thorny tendrils of energy burst from every wound, tearing through their thick hides. But their numbers were overwhelming, and the Ulster warriors were taking losses. Kael saw a young fighter go down under a Fomorian's club, his shield splintering like kindling, his cry cut short as the monster stomped him into the earth.
Morrígan intervened, her cloak swirling as a flock of crows descended from the sky, their black wings a storm of chaos. The birds clawed at the Fomorians' eyes, forcing them to flail blindly, giving the Ulster warriors a chance to regroup. "Kael, the leader!" she called, her voice cutting through the battle's roar as she pointed to a larger Fomorian at the grove's center. It was twice the size of the others, its eye glowing like a furnace, and it clutched a sacred stone in its gnarled fist, dark energy pulsing from its grip, tainting the grove's magic with a sickly aura.
"On it!" Kael shouted, charging through the fray, weaving between fallen warriors and splintered trees. Aífe fell in beside him, her spear flashing as she cleared a path, her shield raised against a hail of Fomorian strikes. They moved in sync, an unspoken rhythm forming between them—Kael's raw power complementing Aífe's precision. A Fomorian lunged at them, its club aimed at Aífe, but Kael intercepted, his spear piercing its arm and forcing it back. Aífe finished it with a thrust to its chest, her movements fluid and fierce.
"You're not bad," Aífe said, her voice breathless but teasing as they pressed forward. "Maybe you'll survive this after all."
"Glad you think so," Kael replied, flashing a grin despite the chaos. "Let's take this big guy down together."
The Fomorian leader roared, its voice a guttural bellow that shook the grove, and slammed the sacred stone into the ground. A wave of dark energy erupted, a shockwave of shadow and malice that splintered trees and knocked warriors off their feet. Kael braced himself, the Sidhe's blessing on his spear glowing a soft blue, shielding him from the worst of the blast. Aífe staggered but stayed upright, her jaw set, her braid whipping in the wind as she raised her shield against the lingering energy.
"Together!" Kael said, and Aífe nodded, her blue eyes fierce with determination. They attacked as one—Kael aiming for the creature's legs to bring it down, Aífe for its glowing eye to blind it. The Fomorian swung its club, the air whistling with the force of the blow, but Kael vaulted over it, using the Gáe Bolg as a pole to launch himself onto its shoulder. He drove the spear into its eye, the curse exploding in a burst of thorny light, while Aífe's spear pierced its throat, black blood spraying across the sacred ground. The creature screamed, a sound that echoed through the grove, before collapsing with a thunderous crash, the sacred stone rolling free from its grip.
The remaining Fomorians faltered, their morale broken by the loss of their leader, and the Ulster warriors pressed the advantage, their war cries rising as they drove the monsters back into the woods. The grove was saved, though at a cost—several warriors lay dead, their bodies scattered among the shattered trees, and the sacred stones bore fresh scars, their glow dimmed by the Fomorian taint.
Kael panted, leaning on his spear, the adrenaline fading to a bone-deep exhaustion. Aífe stood beside him, her armor splattered with Fomorian blood, her expression a mix of exhaustion and respect. She wiped her brow, her blue eyes meeting his with a newfound warmth. "You fight well, Kael Lughson," she said, her voice softer now, the edge of hostility gone. "I misjudged you. That was… impressive."
"Does that mean I impressed you?" Kael asked, grinning despite the ache in his limbs. He straightened, trying to look heroic, though he was pretty sure he had dirt smeared across his face.
Aífe's lips quirked, a rare, genuine smile that made Kael's heart skip a beat. "Don't push your luck. But… perhaps you're not just an outsider. You've got the heart of a warrior—and the strength to back it up."
Morrígan appeared, her crows settling on the branches above, their black feathers stark against the grove's green. "Well done, spear-bearer," she said, her tone approving, though her crimson eyes held a flicker of something deeper—pride, perhaps, or something more personal. "But this was a skirmish. Balor's true forces are gathering—Conchobar will need your help to prepare."
Conchobar approached, his face grim but proud as he surveyed the grove. "You saved the Red Branch, Kael. Ulster owes you a debt. This grove has stood since the Tuatha Dé Danann first walked Ériu—its magic binds us to the land. To lose it would have broken our spirit."
Kael nodded, the weight of the victory sinking in. "Glad I could help. But what's this about Balor?"
Conchobar's expression darkened. "Balor of the Evil Eye, leader of the Fomorians. His power grows, and his gaze turns toward Ulster. We must fortify, and I'd have you at my side. Your spear—and your courage—will be our greatest weapons."
Kael felt the weight of leadership settle on his shoulders, heavier than ever. "I'm in. Let's make sure Balor regrets crossing us."
As they returned to Emain Macha, the warriors marching with renewed vigor, Aífe walked closer to Kael, her presence a quiet warmth at his side. She glanced at him, her voice low so only he could hear. "You surprised me today, Kael. I don't surprise easily. Maybe… we'll spar sometime. I'd like to test that spear of yours myself."
Kael's grin widened, his exhaustion forgotten. "Looking forward to it. But don't cry when I win."
Aífe laughed, a sharp, bright sound that echoed through the hills, and Kael felt a spark of connection—a bond forged in battle, with the promise of more to come. The victory at Red Branch was theirs, but the war was just beginning—and Kael knew he'd need every ally, and every bond, to face what came next.