PETRORIA - The Legend of the Creators

Prologue

After months of riding, he finally found it. In the glow of dusk stood the small village he had sought for so long. He could make out the faint lights betraying life beyond the high walls. He imagined the inhabitants convinced they were safe, protected merely by pieces of wood and a few snowflakes that made the mountain path barely passable. But they had no idea that for him this was only an easy obstacle, a grain of sand compared to everything he had endured to reach where he stood today.

‘My lord, shall we launch the assault?’

He lowered his eyes towards the warrior who had asked the question. His best lieutenant, as efficient as he was fearsome on the battlefield. The fighter was on the alert, spinning his glaive at great speed in one hand. It was easy to imagine the damage that sharpened blade could inflict on a body made of flesh and blood. The lord was not surprised by Sergei’s impatience. His right-hand man thrived in action, especially when expressing his main talent: taking lives while causing as much damage and suffering as possible. However, in this case, one had to act with intelligence.

‘No, Sergei, we shall use the night to slip in without being exposed. Give the orders to the warriors: climb the palisades discreetly, cut down the sentries, and open the gates. Kill no one else. At least, not for the moment.’

Sergei nodded, his face remaining impassive, a testament to his indifference at the prospect of murdering innocents.

The next instant, the troop of fighters set off. Around thirty men built like oxen charged up the snowy slope towards the lights glowing in the dusk, as agile and silent as felines. At first, the lord heard nothing; he merely watched shadows pass easily over the walls with exceptional skill and speed. He waited a few minutes, saw two bodies fall from the watch posts, and the gates opened.

Upon arriving on horseback at the cleared entrance, he discovered the guards lying on the ground, a gaping wound tearing deeply across their throats.

Sergei had enjoyed himself.

Then cries rose into the night. Advancing into the hamlet, he found himself among men and women fleeing in every direction, trying to hide in their small wooden houses. Some clung to their children, begging to be spared. But his warriors were far more numerous and far stronger. They pillaged the homes and forced every man, woman and child they found to their knees.

Only a few valiant villagers fought back, rather well he had to admit. One in particular.

The man with the athletic build was giving the mercenary trying to subdue him a hard time. With a large pitchfork, he parried each attack from the colossus who swung his sword like a club towards his flanks.

The lord watched the man defend himself and admired his tenacity and physical prowess. Only he remained; all the other protectors of the village had joined the rest of the people. Kneeling, they looked with reverence at their hero.

‘My lord, shall we intervene?’ Sergei asked after a moment.

‘Yes, this has been entertaining enough.’

Sergei and three warriors slipped behind the last fighter.

‘Careful, Adrian!’ cried a young man kneeling a few metres away who looked very much like the said Adrian.

Presumably his brother.

Taken by surprise by the four mercenaries, Adrian was quickly overpowered. Sergei sent the pitchfork flying with his glaive while the colossuses grabbed the villager’s arms and forced him to bow.

‘What do you want?’ he roared. ‘Who are you?’

From atop his immense bay stallion, whose nostrils released a faint mist into the icy air, the sovereign announced:

‘My name is Dimitri, lord of Tsviata. You must be the chief of this hamlet, if I am not mistaken.’

Upon hearing that name, Adrian felt terror seize him. He knew all too well Dimitri’s reputation. As a child, he had witnessed the bloodthirsty feats this lord of Tsviata was capable of. He glared at the tall man with the lean face, dressed in a long black coat, his steel-grey eyes and peppered hair slicked back.

Dimitri dismounted with dexterity and approached him.

‘If you help me, I promise not to harm you. Nor your people.’

‘You have already killed two of my guards, friends dear to me!’

‘True. Let us say then your people minus two,’ the noble replied without a hint of remorse.

‘What do you want?’ Adrian spat.

‘I am looking for children. Four, to be precise. I have been searching for them for a very long time, and I know they are here. At least, if they are indeed the children in question. I have crossed many villages, you see, and each time I was disappointed. And considering your expression when you heard my name, I believe you know I do not handle disappointment well.’

He fell silent for a moment, recalling the atrocities he had inflicted upon the little ones who had had the misfortune of not being the ones he sought.

Then, returning to the present, he continued:

‘I am looking for four children, among them a pair of twins. More precisely, a twin brother and sister. Do you know whom I mean?’

‘No, there is no family of four children here. And certainly no twins!’

‘You are lying,’ Dimitri replied with calm as sharp as a blade. ‘The fear in your eyes betrays you. You know exactly whom I seek. Answer me or I will slit this young man’s throat before your eyes. Given your resemblance, he is likely your brother, is he not?’

Dimitri grabbed Adrian’s younger brother by his chestnut hair without pity and pressed a large knife engraved with heraldry against his neck.

‘Say nothing, Adrian, say nothing!’ Luka exclaimed, his gaze resolute.

Adrian was horrified. He felt helpless, faced with an impossible choice.

When suddenly, a clear and gentle voice ended the commotion:

‘Father?’

Everyone turned.

In the middle of the path, near a small house set apart from the others, stood a little boy of about six or seven. Behind him hid three children younger than he.

Ignoring Adrian’s furious shouts, Dimitri released his brother and advanced towards the four little ones. He looked at the eldest, a charming boy with chestnut hair and blue-grey eyes like his father. The child did not seem afraid; he stood straight, shielding his younger siblings. The lord of Tsviata then turned to the youngest of the children — a toddler of about two, with brown eyes, just as beautiful as his elder brother, clutching the hand of another small boy and not truly understanding what was happening.

Then Dimitri saw the twins: the boy, chestnut-haired like his brothers and with light green eyes, stared at him defiantly from the height of his four years. And, nestled behind him, a beautiful little girl with the same light green eyes as her twin.

Dimitri bent towards her:

‘Hello, young lady. What is your name?’

The twin and the eldest brother pushed her even further behind them, preventing her from speaking, but the lord paid it no mind and continued addressing her.

‘If you do as I say, I promise not to harm your brothers, your father, your uncle, or anyone in this hamlet. Answer me. What is your name?’

The child glanced at the frightened villagers kneeling in the snow and surrounded by armed giants. Despite her young age, she seemed to understand the situation. She stepped forward slightly, still close to her brothers, and said in a trembling voice:

‘Iléana.’

‘Delighted, Iléana, my name is Dimitri,’ he replied. ‘Where were you hiding?’

‘Father told us to go into the room under the rug and not to move. But Adam went out and Father told us never to separate.’

‘I see… If you want your brothers to stay by your side, I shall need you to do something for me.’

‘What?’

‘Do you have an object you care for very much, Iléana? A toy perhaps, one you never part with?’

The little girl nodded and showed a wooden carving of a bear. Probably made by her father, Dimitri guessed.

‘Very well. And if you lost your bear, you would be very sad, I suppose?’

The little girl nodded again.

‘Well, you see, Iléana, I too have lost something I truly need. And I have been searching for it for a very long time. Will you help me find it?’

Again, the child nodded silently, holding Dimitri’s steel gaze.

‘You are very kind. Come closer.’

Adrian shouted for his daughter not to move and her brothers formed a barrier.

Dimitri did not push the boys aside, for he knew that otherwise he would lose the girl’s trust, and it was necessary that she willingly give him what he desired.

Iléana gently moved her eldest brother and her twin aside and stood near Dimitri. He knelt before her and inspected her with his sharp gaze.

‘Iléana, I shall need a tiny drop of your blood. You will barely feel a thing. And then you may return to your brothers. I shall leave your father and all these people safe and sound, and I shall go. All right?’

‘Why do you want my blood?’ the child asked, her voice higher, betraying her fear.

‘To verify something.’

He knew perfectly well that if the child failed the test, his word would not be kept. He would destroy the village, impale each of its inhabitants, starting with the beautiful little girl with the large green eyes and long chestnut hair standing before him, watching him with pure innocence. After all, that was what he had done for the past fifty years to the hamlets whose children had failed. That is to say, all of them, for none of those little ones had possessed what he desperately sought.

Dimitri took Iléana’s delicate hand and drew a drop of blood with the tip of his dagger. The child whimpered when the blade cut her fine skin, but did not move. The lord of Tsviata then brought the knife to his mouth and licked the red liquid on the tip.

Surprised, he stared at the little girl before him. Then, with a victorious air, he strode back towards Adrian.

‘I will leave and spare your village. But on the condition that your daughter marry my son, Prince Kerian of Tsviata.’

With all the hatred he could muster, Adrian replied:

‘NEVER!’

Dimitri gave a cruel smirk.

‘You have no choice. She will grow up here; she is safer in this village lost deep in these mountains. But in twelve years, your daughter will be about sixteen. I will return for her and she will become Princess of Tsviata. If you refuse, I will impale every inhabitant of this hamlet alive before your eyes. And I will begin with your eldest, who resembles you so much.’

Adrian did not answer, his face pale. He knew Dimitri did not make empty threats. ‘Good, I am pleased that this is settled,’ Dimitri said, signalling to his lieutenant.

The lord of Tsviata turned around, mounted his stallion, and left the village followed by all his warriors, without a backward glance.

Adrian and Luka immediately ran to the four children and held them in their arms.

Watching Dimitri disappear with his mercenaries, Adrian clutched his daughter tightly.

‘What are we going to do?’ his younger brother asked.

‘I do not know, Luka. But we have twelve years to think about it…’

Chapter I

Ten years later.

‘Iléa? Iléa?? Incredible, where has she gone now?’

Luka kept searching for his niece through the village streets. He had gone to check the well where he had sent her a few hours earlier, but when he saw she hadn’t returned, he guessed she had abandoned her task. And, knowing his nephews and niece, he had a good idea of what was happening.

He continued his search at a run from one end of the hamlet to the other. Upon reaching the market square, he spotted one of his nephews hiding. Luka recognised Novak by his chestnut hair tied back with a leather strap and by his broader, more imposing build compared to his brothers. Iléana’s twin was crouched behind a cart filled with hay, watching the centre of the square. In front of him, all the merchants had set up their stalls and were calling out to the villagers wandering through the narrow lanes formed by the various counters. The market was the event of the week. The traders sold their hard‑earned vegetables, eggs, chickens, wool, furs obtained through hunting, and various other materials used to make warm clothing. It was cold for most of the year in this quiet village lost between the mountains. Yet the sky was often blue.

The villagers were enjoying this sunny day when an egg shot through the air above the market and smashed against the cart where Novak was hiding. That was the spark that ignited the war before Luka’s eyes. His nephew sprang to his feet and shouted, ‘Attaaaaaack!!!’, and then everything happened very fast. Iléana crawled out from under a stall and hurled eggs at her twin’s face, while a few metres away Adam leapt from a pillar he had climbed. The eldest of the siblings landed on Nicolae, who realised too late that his brother had ambushed him. The two rolled over each other and crashed into a wool stall, knocking over all the goods in their path.

Hearing the villagers grumble at his nephews and niece while they laughed their heads off in the middle of their battle, Luka briefly considered hiding.

‘Luka! Call those children to order! It’s the third time this month, and you still haven’t finished paying us back for the damage from their last fight,’ grumbled an elderly man dressed in a tunic of thick grey wool.

‘I know, Master Ted,’ Luka muttered, cheeks red. ‘I’ll go get them.’

‘It’s high time your brother stopped disappearing and took his role as father and village chief more seriously!’ Master Ted shouted after Luka, who was already running towards his nephews.

Luka reached Adam and Nicolae, still rolling on the ground, throwing flour at each other and smashing eggs on their faces. He grabbed both by the collar of their jackets and hauled them upright.

‘That’s enough!’ Luka snapped. ‘Look at what you’ve done! Iléana! Novak! Home. Now!’

The twins froze mid‑gesture as they saw their furious uncle separating their brothers.

The market looked like a battlefield: broken stalls scattered across the square, chickens fleeing in panic, about twenty eggs smashed on the ground. Goods had flown everywhere, and the villagers were fuming, their features twisted with anger and impatience.

Luka dragged Adam and Nicolae by the arm and shot a furious glare at the twins to make it clear they had better follow him.

***

They all entered the small house, and Luka shut the door behind them.

‘Go sit down!’ he ordered.

They obeyed without protest and sat on the bench in the small sitting room near the fireplace. They immediately lowered their eyes under their uncle’s palpable anger.

Luka looked at each of them in turn. All four were in a dreadful state, with flour, eggs and dirt smeared across their faces, in their hair, and on their clothes.

He sighed and, in a tired voice, said:

‘You need to stop this nonsense. You’re not children anymore!’

He met Adam’s blue‑grey gaze. The eldest was the spitting image of his father. The same unruly hair, the same handsome face, and the same athletic build, though less imposing than Novak’s. Adam was the most thoughtful of the four and possessed a presence and persuasive ability he wasn’t even aware of, hidden behind a deep lack of confidence.

‘I wish your father were here! I’m sure you’d listen to him…’

‘We’re sorry, Uncle Luka,’ answered Iléana’s melodious voice.

‘Yes, sorry, we didn’t mean to cause any damage, we just got caught up in the heat of the moment,’ Nicolae added timidly.

Nico and Iléa were the gentlest and most sensitive. Their softness was written on their fine features, and the thought of upsetting their uncle or having him angry with them saddened them. Tall and slender, Nicolae was also seen as the most fragile of the four. To his siblings, he was the dreamy little brother, often lost in his thoughts.

‘We’re bored in this village! There’s nothing else to do,’ Novak went on. ‘You forbid us from going out, we can’t even go hunting with the other youngsters our age, or walk in the forest, or visit the lands around here!’

As for Novak, Iléana’s twin, he was as mischievous and headstrong as she was wary and stubborn. Aside from their hair colour and light green eyes, the twins had nothing in common. Slight and of average height compared to her imposing twin, Iléa was naturally discreet and empathetic. Overprotected by her brothers, they rarely left her alone and constantly watched her every move. Not wanting to upset them, she struggled to assert herself and admit that sometimes they smothered her. Novak had no such problem. Combative and extroverted, he had no trouble making himself heard and saying exactly what he thought.

‘It’s my fault, Uncle Luka, don’t punish them, please!’ Adam pleaded.

‘No, it’s all our fault!’ the other three insisted in unison.

This solidarity, which they had shared since they were very young, made Luka smile.

‘I was planning to punish all four of you anyway,’ their uncle replied. ‘Don’t worry about that. Go wash up while I think about your punishment,’ he sighed.

***

By early evening, the four siblings were still keeping a low profile. They were reading by the fire, trying not to do anything that might upset their beloved uncle.

Suddenly, the wooden door of the little house creaked.