Chapter 1: A New Dawn
The morning sun rose over the kingdom of Eldoria, its warm beams casting a faint glow upon the desolate streets below. Though summer had yet to relinquish its hold on the lands, an ominous chill remained in the air, a lingering reminder of darker times yet to pass. It was in this unsettled realm that a young warrior named Eamon found himself awakening, as he did every morn, with an uncertain future laid out before him.
As Eamon ventured through the streets in search of work, he began to grow restless with each denial. It had been a fortnight since last he had earned coin for his services, and his supplies dwindled with each passing day. Though skilled with sword and shield, it seemed none cared to employ a solider these days, when the threat of war felt so far away.
Eamon stopped to catch his breath, leaning against a nearby stone wall for support. His stomach growled in protest, aware only of its own needs rather than the greater troubles of the world. As he scanned the sparse crowds for any opportunity that might present itself, Eamon found only disinterest staring back. The people of Eldoria cared little for a nameless warrior, when their own troubles felt so immediate.
He pushed off from the wall with a weary sigh, steeling his resolve to try once more. Through it all, one truth remained—fortune would not find him idly waiting. If work he sought, then work he must pursue with vigor unmatched. And so Eamon continued his search, unaware of the greater forces at play and the pivotal role he would soon find himself thrust into amidst the unfolding events that would change Eldoria, and its people, forever.
Eamon walked on through the winding streets, growing more desperate by the hour. As he turned down a bustling crossroad, a voice called out to him from nearby.
"You there, lad! I could use an extra set of hands."
He turned to find an elderly man gesturing towards the heavy cart beside him, filled near bursting with equipment and supplies of varying shape and size. The man wiped his brow, showing fatigue beyond his years.
"Need help loading the rest of these onto my cart," the man continued. "Pay you 300 Tok if you lend your strength for a bit."
It was modest pay for a day's labor, but 300 Tok would keep a belly full for longer than most jobs afforded these days. Eamon nodded, already moving to hoist a large crate onto the cart.
"I'll do it," he replied between strained grunts. The crate was more weighty than anticipated, but he was nothing if not determined.
As Eamon worked, securely strapping down each piece alongside the man's direction, they fell into conversation. The man spoke of making deliveries throughout the kingdom, though business had slowed of late as funds dwindled for goods not seen as necessary.
By the time the last tool was loaded, Eamon felt exhaustion deep in his muscles but also a sense of accomplishment for work well done. As the man handed over payment with thanks, Eamon knew this would tide him over for some time - and perhaps fortune was turning his way at last.
With coins now in hand, Eamon's empty stomach drove him to the marketplace in search of sustenance. Upon arriving, the enticing aroma of roasted meats drew him to a butcher's stall.
A portly merchant stood behind the counter, hacking away at a large turkey as Eamon approached. "What'll it be, lad? Finest cuts in all Eldoria, guaranteed to satisfy even the soulst feast."
Eamon's eyes fell upon the turkey, its skin glistening golden brown. "That turkey will do. How much?"
The merchant sized Eamon up, as if weighing whether such luxury may be out of his reach. "This bird? She's a rare beauty, plump and juicy. I'd part with her for... let's say 20 Tok."
Twenty Tok was surely too steep a price for mere provisions. But before Eamon could protest, his gut rumbled loudly, betraying his true hunger.
The merchant let out a booming laugh. "I see that bird's already got her claws in you! Alright, lad, 17 Tok and not a penny less."
With little energy left for bargaining, Eamon reluctantly agreed to pay the demanded price. As the merchant busied himself with carving and packaging the turkey, Eamon's mouth watered at the thought of how quickly it would satisfy his long-denied craving. Seventeen Tok may have been a small fortune, but for a full belly, some costs were worth bearing.
Eamon found a quiet corner to enjoy his prize, tearing into the turkey with fervor. As he chewed the succulent meat, its flavor exploded on his tongue like nothing he'd tasted before.
"By the gods, that old merchant wasn't lying," Eamon muttered to himself through stuffed mouthfuls. "Best. Turkey. Ever."
Just then, the sound of marching footsteps turned his attention down the street. A squad of soldiers clad in the royal colors marched by, led by a captain calling orders. Behind them followed a recruiter, loudly beckoning any able men to join the ranks of King Tristan's army.
"The king calls for new recruits!" the recruiter shouted loudly. "Defend your kingdom and earn good coin as a loyal footman. Report to the barracks at dusk for enlisting!"
Eamon paused, a large leg dangling from his hand as he watched them pass. While work had been scant as of late, soldiering was the only trade he knew. Perhaps faithful service to the crown would finally provide the purpose and stability he desired.
As the last of the squad rounded the corner and faded from view, Eamon took another thoughtful bite. The army had given him purpose once; perhaps it was time it did so again.
With the last morsels now gone, Eamon leaned back with a contented sigh. His thoughts drifted to days long past, as they often did when time allowed for reflection.
"Never knew my parents," he muttered to the empty air. "Left on the steps of St. Adelaide's Orphanage as a babe." The sisters there had cared for him with what few means they had, but at age 18 the rules mandated he strike out on his own.
From those early days, Eamon's one dream had been to join the King's Footguard and proudly wear the royal livery. As a wandering recruit in their ranks, perhaps he could find the belonging that had eluded him for so long.
Pushing himself to stand, Eamon brushed crumbs from his worn clothes. The sun hung low on the horizon, and dusk would be upon them soon enough. With purpose in his step for the first time in weeks, he set off towards the barracks, uncertainty left behind in place of hope for what tomorrow might hold at the army's call.
As the last rays of sun dipped below the horizon, Eamon arrived at the bustling military encampment on the edge of town. Dozens of eager recruits milled about the gates, awaiting their chance to prove themselves.
Weaving through the throng, Eamon accidentally jostled a hulking man, who turned with a snarl. "Watch it, scrawny!" he growled, shoving Eamon roughly aside without a second glance.
Eamon dusted himself off, undeterred from his purpose. A guard then emerged from the gates, clutching a scroll. "All them wishing to enlist, form a line and give me your names!" he called. "I'll be registering you lot for screening one by one."
The crowd surged forward in response, though Eamon hung back to avoid further conflict. As positions were claimed and the first hopefuls began introductions, Eamon saw this as the opportunity he needed to finally forge his own destiny. Whatever challenges may come, he would meet them head on and show his worth as a soldier of the realm.
A restlessness grew in Eamon's stomach as he rose further up the queue. What if they found him lacking, not fit to serve? His slender frame bore less muscle than the brutes who stood before him.
All too soon, his turn approached. Only two more to be assessed stood between Eamon and the guard's scrutiny. He took a steadying breath to calm his fraying nerves.
When the man in front shuffled away with nod of acceptance, Eamon strode forward trying to project confidence. The guard ran a critical eye over him, making notes on his parchment.
"Name?"
"Eamon, sir."
The guard motioned for him to continue. "Height, weight, identifying marks?"
Eamon reported the requested details as best he could judge. His voice remained surprisingly even despite trembling hands hidden behind his back.
A tense moment passed wherein the guard seemed to weigh Eamon's words, searching for any flaw to use in denial. At last, the man dipped his quill and said "Very well, welcome to the ranks. Report to the barracks at dawn."
Relief flooded Eamon's body. At last, a place to call his own within these walls.
With enrollment complete, Eamon took his leave of the muster grounds. His slender yet taut frame, standing just shy of six feet, carried lean muscle from years working with sword and shield. Raven locks framed a face of aristocratic features and piercing emerald eyes that had earned him undue attention, both fair and foul, throughout his journeys.
A faded scar marred his left cheek, a memory of battles long past. He tried not to dwell on where tomorrow might lead or what new scars it could bring. All that mattered now was having a place to lay his head at night, however lowly it may be.
Eamon's lodgings, if one could call them that, were in a ramshackle hovel on the edge of town. Abandoned long ago, the dilapidated structure afforded him meager shelter from wind and rain. As he swept away the day's collection of dead leaves and errant feathers, his thoughts turned towards dawn and whatever trials awaited at the garrison. There, he hoped, his new life would finally begin.
That night, restless dreams plagued Eamon's slumber. He saw himself on a bloody battlefield, sword clashing against waves of nameless foes as the cacophony of war swirled around him. Just as the enemy pressed in from all sides, a thunderous boom jolted Eamon awake.
His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat cooling on his brow in the predawn chill. It was merely a dream, yet the phantom sensations of combat still crackled under his skin, calling him back to the fray. Shaking off the lingering ghost of anxiety, Eamon turned his gaze towards the new day.
The rising sun heralded his summons to prove himself anew. Eamon moved through his meager morning rituals with focused purpose, mind already turned to the tasks ahead. By first light, he arrived at the barracks square where the captain had gathered the latest recruits.
There, the true test would begin to separate the wheat from the chaff—to determine who held the steel and grit to stand as protectors of the realm. Eamon steeled his resolve, ready to meet any trial and emerge having shown his strength of spirit if not flesh. His destiny was set; now, only action remained.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Vnovel3
Vnovel3 "Hello dear reader, I present to you my very first novel. I wrote it with a lot of determination and patience, so if you like it, please feel free to comment on different paragraphs, leave a critique to motivate me to continue. Thank you in advance and happy reading."
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