When the month began, I spent time browsing DeviantArt in search of images that spoke to me. It took some patience, but a few stood out, and the first appears below. At a glance, it may not seem as though the story was drawn directly from the image, especially when compared to the final cover. Yet the similarities outweigh the differences. They simply ask the viewer to look a little deeper, and it is within those shared elements that the strongest connections take shape.
Men were never meant to live encased in steel. Armour was designed to be forged, broken, and repaired. Yet in this world, there are kingdoms capable of binding it to flesh, and they call the result protection. Here, warriors walk encased in metal that listens, responds, and remembers. Power hums beneath their armour, contained by steel and oath alike, holding both the soldier and the force within. Everyone bound this way carries the same burden, while the power they wield constantly presses, seeking release.
Battles between such warriors are rarely decided by strength alone. Magic answers magic, and discipline answers instinct. Every movement is weighed against consequence, and every hesitation carries political weight. Words often prove more dangerous than the blades they carry, for once steel sings, nothing can recall its voice. The moments before violence matter most, when intent is tested and restraint is measured.
This tale takes place within that narrow space between decision and action. It follows a warrior shaped as much by his armour as by the power it contains, standing before an enemy who bears the same burden. What unfolds is not simply a clash of arms, but a confrontation with what it means to wield force without surrendering to it.
Alaric tightened his fingers around his sword’s hilt as he stared at the invader standing across from him. The metallic shell fused to his own body hummed, containing the power that flowed through him as it threatened to escape. He took several breaths as he drew his blade, unleashing its song.
Aside from a slight vibration running up Alaric’s arm, only his opponent felt the delicate notes testing him in return. As the soft tones vanished, a pale blue light emerged from the runes carved into the blade’s steel, igniting one at a time. As each rune blazed to life, power surged throughout Alaric’s body, demanding motion. When the last symbol flared with its brilliant hue, he shifted his feet, dropping into a position to meet his foe.
Alaric touched his chest as he focused on the invading champion. “Are you going to attack?”
The Fused Warrior from a neighboring kingdom gripped his sword with his gauntleted hand. “Are you sure you can stand against me?”
Alaric tilted his weapon as his stance widened. “Just because you also bear fused armor, doesn’t mean we’re on the same level. Your skills won’t save you. The blades crafted by my kingdom’s wizards alone secure your doom.”
The Fused Warrior leaned forward and gripped his blade. “You shouldn’t test that—”
“One benefit of my enchanted armor is the ability to feel magical power before it’s fully committed.” Alaric’s hidden lips curled into a smile as he grabbed the second hilt of a shorter sword at his belt. “Your flinch confirms it functions like mine.”
The opponent drew his weapon and stepped forward.
“If you rely on your shell, you’ll die, leaving your kingdom without a protector.” Alaric smiled as he realized no music emanated from his enemy’s sword. He drew the second blade, unleashing another subtle song that ran up his arms while driving his enemy back half a step. “If you continue, this fight won’t last long.”
The army surrounding his adversary shared nervous glances as their Fused Warrior retreated. Whispers flowed through their ranks as their champion turned his helm.
“We’ve each sworn oaths!”
Alaric nodded as he tilted the tips of his swords at his opponent. “We have. But those who are guiding your actions don’t have your kingdom’s best interests in mind.”
The commander stepped beside him and gripped Alaric’s arm, forcing the secondary blade lower as an enemy envoy emerged from the soldiers. “If you attack, be swift. Hesitation will make liars of us all.”
Alaric nodded as he rose to his full height, letting the blades touch the ground.
The opponent’s envoy walked forward, stopping within a stone’s throw from Alaric and his commander before offering a slight bow. “We are here to demand satisfaction for the insult your lord gave ours.”
Alaric’s fingers tightened around his hilts.
The commander gripped Alaric’s forearm. “Don’t attack unless their envoy strikes first. They must be the aggressors.”
Alaric dropped into a ready stance as his commander walked toward the enemy’s envoy. Both talked in hushed tones, keeping their words away from the Fused Warriors. After their discussion, both returned to their champions. When the commander passed in front of Alaric, grief etched his face. He glanced at Alaric and laid his hand on his pauldron.
The commander leaned forward. “If your counterpart moves toward us, dispatch him as quickly as you can.”
Another pulse of magic emanated from his blades, urging use that would shatter his oath. Across the field, the enemy milled around their champion. Alaric’s armor pulsed, reminding him of the day the kingdom’s wizards had bound him inside the metal shell. Back then, each thump fused a piece of steel into his body, stealing choices from him. Whatever spells the wizards used to merge him with the enchanted suit were beyond Alaric’s understanding. But from that day, he and his metallic skin moved as if they were always one.
Shifting his stance, Alaric exhaled, preparing to launch himself at his foe.
Between heartbeats, Alaric’s counterpart stepped toward him. With that initial step, Alaric rushed across the field, bringing his sword down. His opponent brought his blade up to block Alaric’s strike. But Alaric’s weapon sliced through the unenchanted steel like a hot knife through butter. After his blade rebounded off the fused armor, Alaric surged forward, grabbed his opponent’s neck, and rammed the tip of his smaller sword through the enemy’s chest before the armor could protest.
“These blades are enchanted to pierce this armor.” He withdrew his blade and kicked the Fused Warrior’s torso. The lifeless mass of steel sailed back, landing in front of the soldiers with the finality of something discarded.
As Alaric stood alone, his commander walked past him and addressed the enemy’s envoy. While the commander spoke, Alaric cleaned his smaller weapon before sheathing it. His gaze locked onto the opposing army as it retreated. Alaric tightened his grip on his primary sword, and smoke curled upward, carrying the scent of scorched steel.
He stared at his blade and felt it tremble in his grasp, not from injury, but from restraint. It held enough power to level the retreating enemy if he surrendered to it.
“Are you okay?”
Alaric’s gaze shifted to his commander as he slid his sword home with too much force, causing the unarmored man to jump back. “Whenever I’m pushed to act, the blade’s magic isn’t satiated with my actions.”
The commander inched forward as he stared at the two sheathed weapons. “Do you need the wizards to come and help you?”
“No,” Alaric said as he whirled around toward his lord’s keep. “Victory is never the end. It’s only in the aftermath that I’m forced to remind myself of why I took my oath.”
“And why did you make it?”
As the smoke thinned, Alaric tightened his grip on the blade and ignored the commander’s question. “After every use, I have to argue with the magic coursing through me until it agrees to stand down.”