Sanctuary: Safe Haven

A week had passed since the gates of Clan Varran had shut, leaving many outside the clan curious, even the king himself. Numerous attempts to inquire about the situation had been met with the same vague response from the elders: "It's an internal matter, already being dealt with." Yet, no one truly knew what was happening behind the imposing gates of the renowned warrior clan.

Inside, however, the atmosphere was far from tense. In fact, it was quite the opposite—training fields stretched across the base, filled with warriors pushing themselves to the limit. Shouts of exertion, the clang of weapons, and the sound of heavy footfalls on the dirt were a constant soundtrack.

Among the warriors, exhaustion was evident, but so was the fire in their eyes as they honed their skills.

"Are they going at it again?" a young warrior asked breathlessly, wiping sweat from his brow. His gaze drifted toward the arena, or what remained of it.

"Yeah," another replied, equally exhausted. "The floors there are wrecked beyond recognition. The guild leader's going to be furious when he gets back."

A third voice, a woman's, chimed in with a dry laugh. "That's his father, you know. How's he going to get mad?"

Boom!

A resounding explosion echoed across the field, but none of the warriors flinched. They'd become accustomed to the regular destruction that had befallen the arena. It was normal now—a part of their daily training routine.

Since the day Saint Dravos of Clan Varran—the revered former leader—and Vorgrim, Canna's second-born and general of the shock troops, had engaged in their first brutal battle, the two had developed a strange, mutual understanding. A week ago, the two titans fought for an entire day, their battle stretching well into the evening.

By the time the fight ended, the arena was in ruins, and Saint Dravos, despite his incredible endurance, was unable to continue. But Vorgrim, true to his Voragon blood, waited patiently for his opponent to recover.

When the morning light broke, Dravos had regained enough strength, and the two went at it again. This time, they were joined by Canna, who had casually woken up from a nap in the rubble, stretched lazily, and decided to join the fray.

Without any preamble, he threw himself into the battle, landing punches on both Vorgrim and Dravos with the kind of carefree enthusiasm that would make anyone question his sanity.

At first, Dravos had been shocked by Canna's seemingly reckless intrusion, but after exchanging blows with the mid-transcendent leader of the Sanctuary, he realized just how skilled Canna truly was. What had begun as a clash of might between Dravos and Vorgrim quickly evolved into a three-way sparring match that pushed all of them to their limits.

By the time evening arrived again, all three were bloodied and bruised, but grinning like fools. In one of their breaks, Canna casually asked what was for dinner, as if they hadn't been beating each other senseless moments before. Dravos, without missing a beat, told him where to find the clan's mess hall, and they had a feast together like old comrades.

That same day, Varya was finally released by Mortem, after being kept under the watchful eyes of Canna's undead firstborn.

From that moment on, a new routine emerged. Saint Dravos issued a decree: the gates of Clan Varran would remain closed to outsiders for the time being, and no one was to speak of the events transpiring within. The outside world didn't need to know about their unusual arrangement. As far as anyone beyond the gates was concerned, Clan Varran was handling an internal matter, and nothing more.

Apart from that, the daily trainings became longer and twice as hard.

But inside, the clan was undergoing a subtle transformation.

Canna, Vorgrim, and Saint Dravos became an almost inseparable trio, engaging in daily spars that left them bloodied but content. Each session was a testament to their warrior spirits—Vorgrim with his overwhelming strength and relentless tenacity, Dravos with his centuries of experience and brutal techniques, and Canna with his uncanny ability to adapt, mixing finesse with raw power.
Continue reading at empire

The arena, though now little more than a ruined battlefield, was their playground. They switched between weapons—longswords, axes, and even spears—but more often than not, they favored bare fists. It was the kind of battle that transcended power levels. It wasn't about ranks or status. It was about the love of the fight.

Even Varya, who had initially been cautious of Canna and his entourage, found herself respecting the young leader more and more. After witnessing the sheer skill and determination in his sparring, she began to assist Canna in any way she could. If he needed anything—whether it was a weapon, advice, or guidance—Varya was quick to provide it.

It became clear to her that Canna, despite his carefree attitude, had a deep warrior's heart, one that resonated with her and the traditions of Clan Varran.

Not all of the clan members were pleased with the changes. Some of them resented the closed gates and the fact that outsiders were being treated as honored guests. But Varya, speaking on behalf of Dravos, quickly shut down any dissent.

"This is the way of the warrior," she had said during a clan meeting, her voice firm. "We walk with our fists, with our honor. Strength recognizes strength. Saint Dravos has seen the strength in these visitors. That is why we fight. That is why we train.

If you cannot see that, then you have no place in this clan."

Her words had silenced the grumbling, at least for the time being.

But today, things were different.

The rumors had already begun to circulate. The clan leader and the vice leader were returning from their expedition, and with them, the troops that had accompanied them. The streets of the clan compound were abuzz with whispers and excitement. It had been months since the leader had left, and now, they would finally return to the clan that had changed so much in their absence.

Saint Dravos, Vorgrim, and Canna were in the arena once again, their fists raised, bodies covered in bruises and cuts, but grinning as they traded blows. The air was filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, the dull thuds of powerful strikes echoing through the ruined arena.

"One more round," Dravos said, his voice rough but filled with excitement. Blood dripped from his split lip, but his eyes shone with the same joy that had been missing for so long.

Vorgrim nodded, his breathing heavy but steady. "Let's finish this."

Canna, his face smeared with dirt and blood, smirked. "You two are relentless. Let's go."

As the three prepared for another clash, the news arrived: The clan leader and his people was back.

Just as their fists collided again, the news was heard by them.