So. I went on a major detour from Echoes of the Lost.

As it turns out, I’ve spent a week building an app to track my babies diapers (and other stuff).

I had a blast doing it and it’s now a functional prototype. Or MVP as developers say.

And for this week, I’ll probably stick to improving it. I already have a list of twelve things to add. Fun.

Thanks for reading,

—Ricardo

outline is moving along, although not quite as high as I expected last week. I’m in the last stretch, around ~80%. Should be done this week. The target is 100% outline and ready to start re-drafting.

Thanks for reading

—Ricardo

Last week we aimed towards 80% completion on Echoes of the Lost’s outline. And although we did pushed the number up, we are not quite there yet.

I’m much more confident on where the story is going though. Bastian’s arc and plotline are well defined. The Magic Systems and Antagonists have been upgraded, and most of the side characters have stories of their own. What’s missing is a vehicle to carry forth all the threads we need in preparation for books 2 and 3, without killing Bastian’s story.

So, here are last week numbers.

This week I’ll have some limited time. So the goal is to get up to 95% on the outline. Pending minor changes or things to refine during the actual writing of what I’ll call draft 2.5.

Thanks for reading,

—Ricardo

Last week I made the comitment of writing 3, 600 words on Echoes of the Lost. However, as I sat down to write, the story seemed wrong.

I felt at a lost and couldn’t think of the story as my own. So I slowed down. Reviewed my notes and started to review the outline rather than the prose itself.

This takes us to this week numbers.

The reoutliening of Echoes is at 20%, I think I’ve gone through Bastian’s story enough to feel it’s almost done. I want to work on the villain story lines more, and make sure the side characters have satisfactory arcs as well.

Once the outline is completed, I’ll retake the draft 2 of the book and see it through.

So the goal for this week is get to at least 80% of the outline.

The Plaguebreaker Gate will remain on hold until Echoes takes flight, so to speak.

Thanks for reading

—Ricardo

P.S. Updates will keep coming on Monday, both for last week progress, and goal hitting and for current week targets.

Right now I’m sitting on a second draft of 22, 403 words and aiming to get back to a complete manuscript around the 71, 306 words the first draft had.

Tune back on Friday for an update. Wish me luck.

—Ricardo

One of the army’s medics pressed his hands on his bruised shoulder. They were cold as snow. A soldier read a report on the casualties.

Koren didn’t really pay any attention.

How could the Plagued have bested him? All the reports had said they were moving into the village. But they switched tactics and intercepted his army.

The biggest horde so far.

Things were changing; of that he was certain.

He dismissed the soldier and the attendant.

“Send Onir in,” he told them.

“Your Grace,” saluted his friend. The general and leader of his Kingsguard.

“We need to double the scouts. I won’t have this happen again.”

“Koren, this wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, Onir. Our enemy is changing. I should have seen this coming.”

His old friend pulled a chair and sat by him. It had been a while since he had done so. During campaigns he behaved like his general.

“We will adapt,” he assured him. “We just have to push forward.”

Koren agreed with him. He was a firm believer in the army’s efforts and power. It was just that if it were a matter of strength, they would have won since they detected the Plagued.

“I’m sure,” the king told his friend. “But to do so we need better insights on the Plagued movements.”

Onir’s face told Koren he didn’t really agree with him. But he wouldn’t tell him. He was the king, after all.

“Double the scouts. Pull back the lads we dismissed for their down season. I’ll draft summons for farther regions of the kingdom. We won’t lose to those damned forsaken souls.”

“At once, Your Grace,” said Onir, standing and reaching for the exit.

“And send a messenger to Sanctuary. The High Master must answer why he won’t send casters to aid the front lines. We need power, not just medics.”

❖ ❖ ❖

“Are you sure of what you are doing?” Kael asked her.

She was working on the purple plant they brought back from the Ape-world. Kael had helped her mount a working station in the gate room. It had been a week since they came back. She still felt strained from the experience. Especially her lack of power back there.

“Would you let me work?” she asked, rolling her eyes. For a prince, Kael wasn’t as obnoxious as he could have been. They had been friends since they were children. Saela’s mother was influential enough in Sanctuary to be regarded as nobility in court.

I must concentrate; this is hard enough. Thought Saela, forcing herself to focus back on the plant.

It had proven difficult to work with. She had tried probing it with her power to understand what made it numb people. She hoped to imitate that and affect a high number of Plagued.

Alas, the plant kept its secrets.

“I need more time,” she mumbled, scratching her head.

“What happened to that self-confidence of yours?” asked Kael.

“Want to give it a try yourself, Your Grace?”

Kael laughed. “Don’t get mad. I’ll leave you to it, then. I should have been in court half an hour ago.”

“Go. I have to go too, anyway.”

They left the room. Jarek looked at them; he was good at keeping his emotions at bay, but Saela could tell he wondered about what they did inside. His ribs must still hurt from the ape attack.

❖

“Where have you been, child?”

Master Dhorin scolded her when she arrived at his hall. He had his white hair tightly braided, as usual.

“I apologize, Master. I got distracted with a project,” said Saela, bowing.

“Always the same with you, young one.” Heat radiated from him, accentuating his words.

Saela held a grunt. She knew what today’s practice was going to be. They had been at it for weeks.

“Have you practiced, child? Let’s bring this water to a boil.”

She really hated the exercise, not that it was hard. It was just that she had mastered heat a while back. She was bored with it. And she had better things to focus on.

Regardless, she bowed her head and pushed her hands forward. She concentrated on the small particles that formed the water. Pulling her power, she siphoned it into them.

They vibrated faster and faster. Barely opposing her. After a moment, she hesitated. The particles slowed down. And even when she tried pushing more power into them, they didn’t react.

Is he un-heating the water? He certainly must be. It wouldn’t require this amount of power otherwise.

“Are you having fun?” she snipped. Why did everyone have to oppose her?

Old Dhorin chuckled.

“Maybe I am. How else am I going to strain you, child? Most basic exercises are nothing to you. You won’t develop the stamina required to be a Master with just easy casts.”

She looked at his Master. Dhorin was one of the few she respected. She must remember that.

She focused again on the water. Letting the plant problem rest.

❖

It was well past midnight when she arrived at her quarters.

“Late again?” asked Anya, her roommate. The girl never really slept. Or at least not when Saela was there.

“Dhorin gave me a hard time,” replied Saela.

She disrobed and got into her nightgown, exhausted. Her mind sprang back to the purple plant, as if it had been waiting for her to lie down. She mulled it over while drifting into a restless sleep.

❖

I need a botanist.

She awoke tired. But she often did. She jumped out of bed and got ready for her day.

Kael won’t like sharing the secret. But if I figure it out, he won’t have a choice. I can translate the next world, that would buy me time.

Anya had already left, thank the Stars. Saela wasn’t certain Anya would keep her secret. And delving into ancient secrets would definitely get her exiled from Sanctuary.

Saela summoned her power, pulling on her secret vault in her wall.

The Universarium. She felt the weight of the old, leathery tome in her hands as she opened the worlds section.

Or at least she thought it was that. The last pages of the tome were all in a similar format to the ape-world one. A name, a formula, and a description.

Hmm, do I go by order?

She worked on the translation for a good hour. Even though she had bragged to Kael that she was starting to master the language, she wasn’t.

Most words cost her. Specially some ingredients for the pedestal.

Sanderite. That couldn’t be right.

She skipped yet another world. Arriving at one that shared some glyphs used on the ape-world page. World names were something that she definitely didn’t translate.

Ruby, a chicken egg, and amber.

❖❖❖

The ruby reflected the window light, creating a reddish glare around the pedestal. Kael had no trouble getting the materials for Saela’s cast. The royal treasury wouldn’t miss an uncut gem. Not even the ring from which he had taken the amber piece.

Saela pushed her hands forward and summoned her power. She was getting stronger and stronger. One of the best in Sanctuary.

Lightning crackled around her. The egg and amber combusted with a puff of smoke. And the ruby started to shine bright red.

The bluish veil appeared on the gate. Swirling.

Kael felt a slight pull, much like the last time.

“Let’s go before the gate drags us in,” said Saela.

She took the ruby and went through. Kael followed her after waving to Jarek. The Kingsguard had insisted on remaining on duty, even with his ribs sore.

Everything went black.

❖

Kael took a deep breath. Humidity, again.

“For all Fathers, Saela. You certainly know how to pick...”

The ground trembled, and the branches overhead shuddered. Leaves rustled.

“What is that” said Jarek, looking up to the treetops.

A beast of sorts snapped at the upper branches. Munching on them. It had a long neck, as big as the city gate.

Kael had never seen such a beast in Aereth. He doubted anywhere in Oryn a beast this big could sustain itself.

“Whoa,” said Saela.

Behind them, another beast munched on a tree.

They didn’t seem to have seen them.

“We should move, Your Grace,” said Jarek, pulling him around the beasts.

They followed the sound of water, ending up by a cliff overlooking a waterfall.

Before them, a lush valley extended for miles. The river went through it right into the ocean.

“All right. What are we looking for, Saela?” asked Kael.

“I’ll know when I see it,” she replied.

“Over there,” said Jarek, pointing towards a big, stone-like structure down in the valley.

“What is that? A sort of gate?” Asked Kael.

“We could go and check,” said Saela. “Just let me try something first.”

She concentrated. Pushed her hands forward. Energy tried to crackle around them. She let out a frustrated sigh.

“So blasted weird. Why doesn’t power work the same here?” She said.

“It kind of did,” said Kael.

She just brushed him off. “Let’s go then.”

❖

The hike down to the waterfall was easy enough. Jarek grunted a bit but pulled a potion from the pouch on his belt and drank it in a single gulp.

Those things were bitter. Kael used to get one dose after a week’s worth of training.

This world seems just the forest-y trees and river plants.

Other than the beasts they saw back up the waterfall, they had encountered nothing else.

“Maybe this was not the world to visit,” said Kael.

As he said it, a high-pitched shriek pierced their ears. A quick, horse-like beast ran past them; it had a crest that passed its head. It ran on strong hind legs, using a big tail for balance.

Behind it, a smaller, leaner one appeared.

It stopped just before entering the clearing. Sniffing at them.

It had small front claws and thin but strong-looking hind legs. A tail moved from side to side. Its head turned as if thinking.

Jarek drew his sword.

Better safe than sorry, thought Kael.

The creature dashed forward. Going directly at Saela.

She didn’t have time to defend herself; she just screamed.

Jarek jumped to block and pulled his sword up, cutting at the beast’s lower jaw.

It shrieked and stepped back, bleeding.

After studying them once more, it ran back the way it had come.

“What was that?” asked Kael.

“No idea,” said Saela. “We’d better hurry along.”

❖

They reached the gate when the sun went down. Jarek had built a torch with some branches and a piece of his Kingsguard’s cape. He carried it on his off-hand. Waiting until it was darker to light it.

The structure was made of a weird, smooth stone. The gate itself was made of dark wood. Over the gate, a message was displayed in odd, bright runes.

“Can you read that?” asked Kael.

“No, I don’t know the runes,” replied Saela.

Behind them, the bushes rustled.

“Get behind me, Your Grace,” said Jarek, unsheathing his sword.

Three of the clawed beasts rushed at them from different spots around the clearing.

Jarek rushed the first one with his sword. The beast tried to evade him, but he was ready for it. The blade cut right through the beast’s neck.

The other two went around Jarek, straight for Kael and Saela.

She screamed and raised her hands, covering her face. A weak energy pulse exploded from them, stunning the creature.

All Fathers, thought Kael, trying to pull his dagger out and in front of him.

The third beast jumped, legs first, and knocked him down.

Breath went out of Kael’s chest. He struggled and tried to defend with his dagger.

The creature, however, saw that its companions were down. It growled at Kael and rushed out of the clearing.

The one that Saela knocked down stood up, shook its head, and followed it.

“Your Grace,” said Jarek, kneeling to check on Kael.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. It took me by surprise. What Miseries are those things?”

“Whatever they are, they are smarter than any beast I know. Noticed the leader was the one Jarek cut earlier?”

They looked at the carcass; it was indeed cut below the head.

The gate was just that. A gate. Kael deduced it must have had separated a city from the rest of the valley. Saela agreed.

They decided to hike further down, towards the ocean. Maybe they could find that city that the gate was supposed to protect.

❖

After another hour of walking, and Jarek offering twice to get back to Aereth, they found a sort of village.

Vegetation had crept into it. Overtaking some of the outside buildings. The ocean wasn’t far, as Kael heard the crash of the waves.

“What do you think happened to these people?” asked Kael.

“What makes you think they were people? What if they were apes like last time?” Replied Saela.

“Whatever they were, they are no more. Probably hunted down by those beasts.” Said Jarek.

They followed the path to a big, central building. Some walls were made of glass, judging by the holes and some remaining pieces.

They entered the building.

“So odd,” said Saela.

Jarek kept leading them, sword at the ready.

The atrium they entered expanded into a much bigger hall. With the skeleton of a gargantuan creature.

It was much like those beasts that hunted them back at the gate. But bigger. Thrice as big as the ones they saw.

“Maybe we can learn something from those bones?” Suggested Kael.

“Doubt it; they are old. Aged beyond anything I could try.” Saela replied.

They kept searching the building; glass walls separated them from a sort of puppet show without puppeteers. The entire building had an air of rust, forgotteness.

“What are we looking for?” Asked Jarek.

“I don’t know,” replied Saela. “I‘ll know it when I see it.”

They found stairs, still made of that smooth, one-piece stone, going down into a cellar of sorts.

Kael expected to see food supplies, maybe wine, or even holding cells.

But they found a gate. It was made of metal, not iron but steel.

Even after continuous tries, they couldn’t open it.

“Can’t you cast something?” Asked Kael to Saela.

She concentrated and pushed her hands forward.

Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. But nothing happened to the door. Saela grunted, lowering her hands.

“Let me try again, Lady Taeris,” said Jarek.

He pushed his sword between the gate and frame, and through enormous effort, managed to slide it down until it hit something metallic. Unyielding.

The weird thing was that this door didn’t have a keyhole. It was just closed.

“Is it locked only from the inside?” Wondered Kael.

Saela inspected an odd artifact to the right of the frame. Sort of box made of a glimmering, non-metallic material.

She concentrated again, resting her hands beside the box.

A buzz came from the door, and it opened.

“What did you do?” Asked Kael.

“I don’t know,” she replied. She was rubbing her wrists. “There’s some sort of power going through it, though.”

They entered the room. It was like a laboratory back in Sanctuary. Beakers, burners, and other strange implements covered the tables around the room.

But the strangest thing was in the center. A vat, full of greenish liquid, held one of the beasts that had attacked them. It seemed to be asleep, or maybe dead.

Saela got closer, inspecting it. Marveled at the research whoever used to live here was able to do.

Behind them, a growl echoed in the hallway.

“All Fathers,” swore Kael.

“Let’s leave now, Your Grace,” begged Jarek.

“Just let me take some of this,” asked Saela.

The growl grew louder, and was joined by others.

More of those beasts.

Four of them entered the room. Jarek held his sword forward, not waiting for them to attack, and launched the offensive.

“Now, Saela,” yelled Kael, seeing how the beasts surrounded Jarek and started snapping their sharpened teeth at him.

He managed to keep them at bay, but not for long enough.

“Just a second longer,” said Saela. Her face tight with focus. Blood dripped down from her nose.

She pushed her hands forward, blasting the vat with a short but strong pulse. It broke, startling the beasts assaulting Jarek.

The one inside fell.

The greenish liquid drenched Saela and Kael.

Jarek had cut the throat of one beast in their distraction, but the other three jumped back to attack him.

One grabbed his offhand, his left. And bite fiercely until the bone snapped.

Jarek yelled in pain, but kicked the beast back. It fell, dragging its teeth through Jarek’s armor.

It cut the beast’s mouth, and it retreated.

The other two keep Jarek’s sword busy.

Saela was bending over the creature, siphoning blood into a beaker.

“Now, Saela, now,” ordered Kael, frustrated by his own incompetence. Once again he had done too little and let Jarek get hurt.

Saela passed him the beaker and took out the ruby. She concentrated, and the gate emerged from the gem.

The bluish veil shone, ominously.

“Go!” she said, turning back to Jarek and pushing her hands forward. “I’ll help him.”

Kael entered the veil carrying the beaker.

Everything went black.

❖❖❖

Thanks for reading. The path beyond only grows harder. Follow The Plaguebreaker Gate to continue.

—Ricardo

The shriek echoed through the trees. Liam unsheathed his sword and yelled to his company to ready themselves.

The King shouted instructions to make formation, but the horde was already there.

A Plagued rushed towards Liam. His sunken dead eyes pierced him like a winter storm. It ran with claw-like hands ready to dismember him.

Liam held back from running away. Others were not as brave.

He raised his sword and waited until the last second to strike. He sliced the Plagued from the neck to the hip. It fell but kept moving, crawling towards Liam.

The brain, he remembered. He stomped on the Plague’s head, crushing it.

Around him, his company fend off their own attackers. What was Liam so worried about?

But it was only the beginning. Soon, the rest of the horde caught up, and Liam was forced to fight one Plagued after another.

It was endless. They didn’t hesitate. Held nothing back. Each one threw itself onto Liam’s sword as if death meant nothing.

As each Plagued attacked, Liam’s company pushed forward, into the forest. Liam broke into a rhythm. Slash, defend, push.

An image of his father crossed his mind. Strike true, he would say between sparring matches. Respect your enemy, but don’t hesitate. His sister would bring them water and play with Liam’s helmet. She was only three. Focus, Liam, his father’s voice yelled.

They had pushed too far into the forest, away from the rest of the army.

“Back!” yelled Liam to his company.

But to his horror, the horde had surrounded them. He turned in anger, brandishing his sword as fast as he could. Forgetting to strike their brains, he fought to create a way back.

Plagued after Plagued attacked, now with a faster, more chaotic speed. His comrades fell all around him. Nurin fought in the space he left when he turned, covering his back.

“You must leave, Nurin,” said Liam between breaths. “Alert the army.”

But he had no reply other than a grunt. Nurin’s sword passed through Liam’s vision. It was over.

A sharp pain struck him. Heat, impossible heat, irradiated from the back of his neck. He dropped his sword and fell to the ground. His mind went dark, but his heart felt still. A chill took him, as if he had a fever. He shook on the ground; his mind went numb.

Liam felt a single tear rolling down his eye.

Father, I’ve failed, he thought.

❖ ❖ ❖

Saela went right back into the gate room after lunch. Kael had to hold court with his mother. Not before giving her the diamond she had asked for.

I can do this, though Saela as she stood by the pedestal and switched the stones.

She held her hands over and summoned her magic forward.

The surge ran through her body. Energy crackled, and lightning formed around her. She screamed, forcing her power forward.

Finally, the ethereal barrier fighting her broke.

The gate opened.

A swirl of blue covered the horizon inside the gate. Saela felt a slight tug, pulling her towards the gate.

“I did it,” whispered Saela. A mix of relief and pride washed over her.

The diamond in the pedestal shone with intensity; the monkey fur and lion’s mane spores had vanished. Her work was right.

The scent of burned hair pricked Saela’s nose.

“I’ve got to tell Kael,” she turned as the gate pull grew stronger. She couldn’t take another step. She was dragged through the gate.

Everything went black.

❖ ❖ ❖

Later that night, Kael walked back into the gate room. He just wanted to talk to Saela before ending the day. Court had been more gruesome than on other days.

He felt it before he saw it. A pull towards the gate.

“Saela, you did it!” he cheered, walking into the room. He looked around, expecting her to start the told-you-so speech.

But she was not there. A blue, water-like veil swirled on the gate, pulling at him.

Did she go through by herself? He wondered. No, she wouldn’t. Wouldn’t she? But it was Saela. She certainly could have gone by herself.

“Jarek!” he called.

The young Kingsguard rushed into the room. “Your Grace,” he saluted.

He stopped before entering the room. He saw the gate with incredulous eyes.

“It exists,” murmured the bodyguard.

“Yes, Jarek.”

Time to choose sides. Will you run to my father? To the Sanctuary masters? Thought Kael.

“I need you to guard the door. I must find Saela. She’s gone through by herself, I think.”

“Your Grace?” asked Jarek. “If you are to leave, I must accompany you.”

“No, I need you here. No one is to enter while I’m gone.”

Jarek considered his order for a second. “We can block the door, if it suits Your Grace.”

Kael struggled. He didn’t know if he could trust him, but he needed his help.

“Fine, let’s go,” said Kael stepping towards the veil.

Remembering Saela’s translations, he grabbed the diamond from the pedestal.

The swirl in the veil sped up. The veil flickered like a fire in the night.

“Hurry,” said Kael, running through.

Then everything went black.

❖

They came out the other side; it was dark and warm. Humid like Kael had never experienced before. This couldn’t be on Aereth. If Saela was right, they weren’t even in Oryn.

“Where are we?” asked his bodyguard.

“I don’t know. Saela just picked the first page she could translate. Still, there was a lot missing in that translation.”

In his hand, the diamond pulsed warm against his skin. He put it away in his trouser pocket.

“Your Grace,” whispered Jarek, pulling him to the ground and gesturing for him to keep quiet.

Two apes in armor riding horses passed by.

“No more findings, reckon we’ll find,” said one of them.

“Bah, not a funny one like the one before, I reckon,” replied the other.

So they did drag Saela away. Kael mouthed Jarek to move along the marks.

❖

After a short hike, they arrived at what seemed to be a city within the jungle. Buildings were embedded in the trees. Or maybe the trees grew around and through them. It was a jarring sight compared to the structured architecture of Aereth.

The marks led them to an enormous stone structure, with tall windows and a double gate. Two big apes kept guard by it. They wore the same armor as the patrols. Red leathers with steel plates.

“Let’s look around the back; maybe there’s another entrance, Your Grace,” whispered Jarek.

Kael followed him while he removed his robe. It was too hot for that. His shirt was already drenched in sweat.

They found the back of the building. It was unguarded and had some firewood piled against the wall. Above it, there was a window.

“Keep watch, Your Grace,” said Jarek while he climbed the logs and pulled up to the window.

“What do you see?” asked Kael.

Jarek dropped down beside him. “Lady Taeris is there. There are some cells made with logs, and two of those apes are branding the prisoners.”

“Branding? What sort of barbaric world is this?” asked Kael. “We must free Saela!”

“I saw a door on the side, we can sneak in that way.”

They walked to the farthest side of the building to find a small service door. It was closed, but Jarek managed to open it with his knife.

The second they crossed it, a horn blew in the distance.

The ape leading the branding dispatched his helpers and sent them to see what was happening.

“It’s now or never, Your Grace,” said Jarek waiting for his order.

“Go, go,” replied the Prince.

Jarek launched forward, sword at the ready. The ape in robes turned in surprise and tripped while trying to retreat. Jarek held him at sword-point.

Kael rushed to Saela’s cell. She was slouched in the back, twisting her hands, deep in concentration, like she was trying to cast but couldn’t.

“Saela!” yelled Kael. Opening the gate.

The other prisoners rushed out, pushing Kael back. They were ragged and dirty.

Kael entered the cell and pulled Saela from the arm.

She looked at him, incredulous. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said, her hands twitching.

“You are welcome,” said Kael. “Now hurry, we must go.”

“But wait,” she said focusing for the first time. “We should at least…”

Kael pulled her out of the cell and went back to Jarek.

“Never heard of a human that talks, I reckon,” said the ape from the ground.

“Shut it, ape,” said Jarek.

“Leave him be,” ordered Kael.

Jarek looked down at the ape. “We are off then. But better not yell for help or I’ll come back for you.” He pushed down on his sword just enough to make his words clear.

❖

Outside the city was in turmoil. Horns sounded through the trees. Horses rode by apes moved towards the jungle.

A leader of sorts, or so assumed Kael, judging by the ornamented armor he carried, held his robe. He smelled it and felt the fabric.

“For all Fathers,” he said.

“Is that your robe? You idiot,” said Saela.

“Keep it down, Your Grace, my Lady,” said Jarek. “How do we leave this place?”

Kael took out the pulsing diamond offering it to Saela. She took it with trembling hands. “I don’t know if this will work.”

“We better find out soon,” said Kael.

“But the thing I was telling you about. There’s a plant here. I’ve never heard of anything like it in my studies. It froze me. I couldn’t move or talk or do anything.”

Behind them, a horn blasted the alarm.

“Run!” said Jarek, pointing them towards the jungle while jumping in front of the running ape-soldier and drawing his sword.

The ape jumped down from his horse and dueled Jarek. He was much stronger, and every blow dented the Kingsguard’s sword.

But Jarek was better trained. He managed to parry the hits that couldn’t sidestep, and in the end, drove his sword through the ape’s armor plates.

Another ape approached, riding a horse and galloping at neck-breaking speed. He jumped and crashed into Jarek, sending his sword away.

“Help him!” said Saela.

Kael took the sword. He hesitated enough for the ape to stomp on Jarek’s armor with his fists.

“He will crush him!” yelled Saela. Trusting her own hands forward, twisting them and grunting.

“Stop!” yelled Kael, taking a step towards the ape.

He didn’t.

Kael screamed, and with a practiced motion he twisted the blade between the ape and Jarek and cut the ape’s arms. Then, with a kick, he released Jarek from under him.

The armor held up, but it was sunken in two spots, where the ape had hit it.

“Should have gone, I can’t protect you anymore,” wheezed Jarek, blood dripping on the side of his mouth.

“You already did,” replied Kael, bile rising up his throat.

“Let’s hide in the jungle,” said Saela.

She and Kael helped Jarek up, and to the trees. They walked as deep as they could, carrying him.

“The gate, Saela,” asked Kael.

“Didn’t you want to explore the gate-worlds to find a solution for the Plagued? This plant could be it.”

Kael look down at Jarek. The Kingsguard was breathing fine for the moment. He had removed his breastplate and was feeling his side.

“How are you holding up, Jarek?”

“I’m fine, Your Grace. Just a couple of broken ribs.”

“Can you wait here while we go back and find this plant Saela is talking about?”

“Yes, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” replied Jarek.

“We’ll come back for you,” Kael promised him.

He and Saela doubled back to the city.

They approached the prison. Guards were surrounding it, and a couple of armored apes talked to the armless-one while he was being attended by a third ape. This one in a white cloth uniform.

“Maybe there’s another place,” suggested Kael, pointing towards a nearby important-looking hut, where the ape in the ornamented armor was arguing with one of his lieutenants.

They sneaked through the trees towards the back of the hut.

“…The perimeter. They are just like the previous one. They are not blessed by Him.”

“Yes, sire, I reckon. You must be right.”

“Find them for me.”

And the lieutenant left. Back towards the other soldiers by the prison. The leader went into the hut, exhaling loudly.

Kael and Saela pulled at the cloth in the back, seeing that the ape sat by a desk with a map. He opened a drawer and took a brown leaf out. He put it in a pipe and lit it. Resting in the back of his seat.

“There, he must have some of the one they gave me,” whispered Saela.

“I’ll create a diversion, you get the plant and we’ll meet with Jarek right after.”

Before Saela could stop him, Kael sneaked around the hut. He grabbed a stone from the ground and hurled it as best he could to the entrance.

Since nothing happened, he tried again, hitting one beam inside this time.

“Ahhh, Blessedless kids. Come here” yelled the ape leader, going out of the hut.

Kael grabbed a third stone and hurled it as strongly as he could at the ape’s head.

“I see you! Come out, child, I won’t hurt you…” said the ape walking in Kael’s direction.

Kael dashed back to the treeline, hoping Saela had had enough time.

❖

He ran back to where Jarek was. The Kingsguard was struggling to breathe, and Saela was already there.

“He’s worse than we thought. He needs a medic,” she said.

“Shouldn’t have left for that plant,” regretted Kael.

“It should be fine, just… give me a minute,” replied Saela.

She took the diamond out and concentrated.

Jarek grunted and spat some blood to his side. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Worry not, Your Grace.”

He coughed, while Saela stared at the pulsating diamond.

“I just don’t understand,” she whispered. “Maybe just…”

She thrust the diamond forward, twisted her hands and pressed them towards the diamond.

Energy crackled about.

“Ha!” she said. She took a step closer and pressed her hands again. More confident this time.

The diamond imploded.

A veil formed around it, blue light beaming through the trees.

Back in the village, a horn sounded.

“Better leave now,” said Kael, pulling Jarek from the ground and rushing to the veil behind Saela.

Everything went black.

❖ ❖ ❖

Thanks for reading. The Gate has been opened, there’s no turning back. Episode 2 continues immediately. Subscribe to follow The Plaguebreaker Gate.

—Ricardo

This is a period to reflect and look back at the year that just ended. It’s the best moment to look inward and make sure the direction I’m heading towards is the one I want for myself.

Last year, I didn’t work for a top result at my day job.

It’s quite odd letting a fire burn. Being aware of the issues, the opportunities, the projects. And deciding they are not the priority.

Since I became an engineer, I’ve taken pride in my work. In the results and impact I bring to my employer.

Last year, however, I decided to pivot my career. To become a writer.

But looking back at 2025 and the work to be done, what I can do, it gets really hard to understand that decision.

For a minute there, I stopped.

Out of fear, out of doubt, out of complacency.

The path forward for my “engineering-self” is clear. Well-walked. Familiar. Safe.

But then I read this line from Words of Radiance, by Brandon Sanderson:

“In my experience, words are where most change begins.”

And it hit me stronger than it should have. I remembered the cost of that clear, well-walked, familiar, safe path.

The absolute absence of wonder.

So I came back to write. To craft stories. Good, bad, whatever. I wrote them. The most recent one is The Plaguebreaker Gate.

Have you ever found a quote in a book that kept you from quitting?

—Ricardo

Liam sealed the letter as best he could. His hands betrayed him, shaking and smearing the wax over the parchment.

“For all Fathers,” he muttered under his breath.

He gave up and picked up his sword and helmet from the bed. It was time.

Outside his tent, a courier waited for him.

“My lord,” the courier said. Saluting as he received the letter and marched on to his next pickup.

Liam walked through the camp toward the meeting point by the forest. His hands still trembled.

Around him, the army was a controlled chaos. Soldiers ran about, collecting gear, giving last-minute mementos to couriers, and getting final orders.

Liam withheld a scream. How could everyone be like they were conquering another city? Maybe he felt this way knowing he would face them. It was to be his first battle against them.

He reached the front of the formation. Air rushed through the trees, hitting Liam’s bones and making his hands shake even more.

“Evening, Nurin,” said Liam.

“My lord,” replied the veteran officer.

“Any word on its size?”

“I hear it’s twenty hundred souls strong, my lord. An exaggeration, I would say.”

“Could the scouts be that wrong?” Liam snuck his hands under his armpits. His leather gloves did little for him, and he couldn’t let Nurin or his company notice.

“It has happened before, my lord. We…”

A cheer throughout the army interrupted him. The King had arrived.

Liam had seen the King before, and every time he was impressed by him.

The King was pushing over fifty years of age. But he remained a powerful commander. In most battles, he was on the front lines, protected only by his Kingsguard and his sword. He wore full plate armor with little to no ornamentation. He was a warrior first, a king second.

“There’s not much I can tell you, my friends.” The King voice echoed through the lines. “We know our enemy. It’s moving towards Raeyn. Some of you might even have family there. Do not despair. We won’t allow them to fall to our enemy!”

The army cheered and stomped their spears on the ground.

“Scouts say it’s the biggest horde so far. Let’s make history together! If we are to fall, may our sacrifice bring peace to Aereth.”

The marshals sounded the horns, and with that, the army marched forward.

Liam’s hands stopped shaking. This was it. His chance at glory. To carry on his father’s legacy.

A high-pitched shriek broke the monotony of their march. The horde was upon them. Too close. Without warning.

❖ ❖ ❖

The essence distilled will keep the memory of origin. Only the right combination will produce a viable portal. Cast the Universarium and let the matter transmute. First into energy, then into magic. The spell will guide it to purpose. The base gem will be the way back.

“Are you certain?” asked Kael.

“Yes. For the third time. Yes, Kael,” replied Saela, fighting to roll her eyes. “I’ve translated this using two different references. On top of that, I think I’m mastering this rune system.”

“So this is a gate to other worlds.”

“Yes, it must be. And to think the old masters won’t pursue this knowledge anymore.”

She looked tired, but she often did.

“Then we must do it ourselves.”

“Sure, sure,” she said, passing the book over. “This entire section is just the instructions to make the artifact work. But I think the next pages are locations to visit.”

“And can you make it work?”

“Don’t doubt me, Kael Vaerik. You might very well be the Prince of Aereth, but I’m the best sorceress in Sanctuary. I. Can. Make. It. Work,” replied Saela, pointing each word with a magical pulse on Kael’s chest.

She had indeed improved drastically in the past few years, reflected Kael.

“Step back,” she said, raising her arms over the pedestal.

Kael did, wondering still if it would work. Who could have guessed there were other worlds like theirs?

Lightning crackled around Saela’s hands. She frowned in concentration as bright beads of sweat appeared on her brow.

The energy pulsed and pushed Kael back. Saela let out a frustrated sigh.

“For all Saints sake, why doesn’t this work?” she asked, snatching back the book from Kael’s hands. She brushed off the sweat and steadied herself with the pedestal. The attempt had taken more energy than she had anticipated.

“I thought you had it,” teased Kael.

“Don’t start. I do, it’s just… Maybe the combination is wrong.” Or maybe her power was not enough.

Kael looked over her shoulder. Jarek—his Kingsguard-appointed protector—stood by the door, looking boringly formal.

What would the Kingsguard think of Kael’s plans? Where did his loyalties lie?

He hadn’t given Kael any reason to doubt him, but Kael had a hard time trusting his father’s ultimate warriors.

“Are you listening, Kael?” asked Saela, interrupting his meandering.

“What? Sure, sure, I agree with you…”

Saela did roll her eyes this time. “I asked if you could get me a bigger diamond from the treasury. I’m thinking size might have something to do if the gem is to hold the way back. It must take an incredible amount of magic.”

“Oh, sure. We can go after lunch; I’m starving.”

They covered the pedestal with a cloth and left the big stone gate be. Saela said no one came to this part of Sanctuary other than to sneak around.

“Kael?” asked Saela.

“Yes?”

“You really think this is the solution?”

“I don’t know, Saela,” he replied, shrugging. “I only know that whatever my father is doing is not working.”

“What if nothing will?”

He saw the anguish in her eyes. He rarely did. Not even when she went through the Sanctuary trials. Nor when he asked her to sneak around her masters and find the Gate.

“Something must. The plague is upon us, and we can’t lose. We just need to find the answer.”

❖ ❖ ❖

Thanks for reading. The fight against the Plagued is just beginning. Follow The Plaguebreaker Gate. Season 1 begins soon.

—Ricardo

I believe it was because I started to write fiction. And with that, I learned about story structure, character development and worldbuilding.

I now understand stories in a way I just felt before. Now I see how the mechanics of the story make it all work. I understand better why I like some stories and others not so much. And now when I read, I get pulled out of the story just to say: “I see what you did there, nice.”

The book I read as I began my journey as a writer was The Way of Kings, by Brandon Sanderson. I picked up the book wanting to learn if Brandon was as good as his lectures led me to believe. In short, he is.

As I pushed through my first draft ever to be completed, I saw in The Way of Kings what was possible. It was like Kaladin freed me like he did Bridge Four.

The next book that hit hard for me was Mistborn, book one of era one. This book had a magic system so well crafted and engaging that I couldn’t help but read in awe at Brandon’s brilliance.

It really feels like part of the world, and it shapes the story. Both through possibilities and limitations.

Allomancy reminded me of bending, from Avatar: the last airbender. Both magic systems feel organic and credible. Both made me push my hands forward and concentrate to see if I could do it myself.

Around July I read The Poppy War. Let me just say, what the actual fuck… This book broke me. It put me through an emotional blender and made a smoothie out of me.

The themes of trauma, brutality, and addiction explored by RF Kuang are so intense and interwoven in the story that it’s impossible not to feel them.

On top of that, Rin as a character is brilliant. Her desires are so human, and I could understand the push and pull of her emotions. In a way, she brings identity and perseverance to the otherwise grim story.

I also read Fourth Wing during a holiday with my family. It surprised me how much I enjoyed it. Emotion is written so well by Rebecca Yarros. And the dragons were a nice echo to Eragon, which is one of my favorite stories.

As the book moved along the storyline, the world opened. And even though emotion was still the highlight, I was invested enough to want to learn all about the griffins and the enemy.

All in all, 2025 was a glorious year. I read the most I have in recent years. Hell, I read new books by new authors (for me, at least), which I hadn’t done in a while.

I might have lost the comfort of blindly immersing myself in a story. But I love the insight I gained, and the feeling I understand better why I love the stories so much.

Have you ever had a book—or a year—change the way you read?

—Ricardo

The first story I remember reading, where the protagonists traveled to another world, was The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, by C. S. Lewis. I was fresh out of Harry Potter, and the idea of a way to actually visit another world pulled me in faster than one could say Cair Paravel.

Looking back, I think more than Narnia itself, what grabbed me was the endless possibilities anchored in the real world.

To me, it was fantastic to think I could stumble into an unraveling story, full of adventures and a place for me to be the hero. I just needed to be brave like Peter, curious like Lucy, or even lost like Edmund.

As I grew older, and got hooked on Stargate and the SG-1’s galaxy-breaking shenanigans, I continued to be amazed at how just being in another world transformed the crew and, in turn they returned home and changed the world.

Sure, high fantasy—or contemporary urban fantasy—has a great way of creating similar experiences, but being a normal guy in a different world just hits different for me.

It’s easy for a kid to want to be better at dealing with life. For me, Narnia gave me a desire to be better. Stargate—a path.

Today, I still want to go through the gate. So much in fact that I’ve started writing a portal fantasy.

I want something that allows me to hear from you. I want to understand where my stories are landing. Something that will help me grow as a writer. So I’m writing it in a serialized manner, right here on Substack.

It’s the story of a Prince of a kingdom besieged by a plague and his sorceress best friend who finds him a way to find a solution.

I’m very excited about this story. Imagine Stargate meets A Song of Ice and Fire. All the exploration and discovery, with the royal court politics and a zombie-like apocalypse hanging above it all.

In the end, this is just me chasing a dream. Going through the Wardrobe in the look for a faun to drink coffee—sorry, tea is not for me—and share a story. This doesn’t mean Echoes is put to rest, but rather just on a short, non-full-stop pause so I can grow enough to do that story justice.

If you want to be among the first to read The Plaguebreaker Gate, subscribe. I’d love to hear what you think once the gate opens.

—Ricardo

Subscribe now

I finished the Big Read of draft 1 back on Aug 24th. Yeah, almost a month ago. I ended up with over 150 notes of potential issues, and with a strong sense that the story itself might not hold up.

First I did a pass over on excel, of all things. I built a plot grid. Mapped out plot structures and character arcs, made notes on what I was reading on the draft and what I was not. This showed me multiple chapters, especially in the middle, that weren’t really doing anything for the story or characters.

This realization made me step further back and do a full re-outline on Obsidian. I went chapter by chapter and mapped out what I wanted to happen. I laid out character backstories, lore and interactions between different factors in the overall story.

But then I got the feeling that Obsidian was not visual enough to review, so I drafted the whole thing in Canva’s board…

And since I’m a tinkerer, I test-drove Scrivener and even half-finished the map on Inkarnate (although it’s still mostly grass).

Part of me knows this is procrastination dressed up as productivity. Maybe I’m overcomplicating things to avoid doing the hard part, putting words down.

And then, after all the tinkering, I finally did the scary part: I wrote again. It felt like going out of the water after a “let’s see who can hold his breath the longest.”

I’ve been thinking through what got me to write in the first place, and the same line of thought keeps popping up. So I’ve come to accept it is something I can’t shake. Even when I know other endeavors would be easier, or faster to give me that success-feeling.

Bastian’s story will come to be. Maybe not on the date I first imagined, but it’s happening. And I’m not letting go.

—Ricardo

Thanks for reading! Would you like me to post the different first-scene rewrites side by side in the next update?

Have a good day!

When I was a kid I used to make “notebook” games for me and my cousins. I would take elements from our favorite IPs (Rocket Power, Pokemon, Yu-Gi-Oh!) and would make up stories, levels and game mechanics.

Today my cousins allege I was “Crazzy-Traps-Ricardo” because I always won. They might be right… though I, of course, remember it differently.

What brought that memory back was how much fun I’ve been having building the world of Echoes. As I moved along the first ten chapters revision, I embedded legends and myths into the story. Creating a vivid world for it to live in.

Gardium, the avenger of Ravenspire
Garrick’s legendary duel with Ignatus Thorne (the father of Echoes main villain, Dorian Thorne)
Vex and Riven’s failed Heist at the Merchant’s Guild
Luthan’s secret letter to his cousin, Magnus
Marine, the Pirate of Istapurh
Vinidirian, the Machinist

Six short stories that spawned from only ten chapters in the book, during a bumpy first attempt at revision.

Not to mention the Lost Prologue—that should already be published here, in The Forge (I’m writing this beforehand, so, if I remember, I’ll update this to include the live link).

The hunger to keep creating stories in this world is too strong to ignore. Aside from writing some of those legends I mentioned (let me know in the comments which one would you like to read first), I’ve decided to write a one-shot D&D scenario for my brother’s group. I’ll even bring Echoes’s magic system into it.

Right now, the idea is to set it during the Lost Prologue’s era. I’ll post dates and links on my IG. Follow if you are interested in how the game turns out (RicardoWrites92).

—Ricardo

I wanted to share something—not quite a revelation, maybe more of a wake-up call. It’s something that took me some time to realize and internalize. My bad.

As a kid, I was always praised for my talent, I got good grades without much or any study. I understood hard concepts without much lecture or guidance from my teachers and was able to extrapolate and bring my own insights. Sure, they were kid-level insights—but they got me praise and allowed me to cruise through my academic life.

For that, I have to thank my parents, they did a fantastic job of building my confidence and I carry it with me to this day.

When I joined the workforce, as an engineer, the trend sort of continued. Low-ish effort, high impact. I could show up, do the work, and things usually worked out.

But Echoes of the Lost has opened my eyes to something. That talent, however great, won’t replace or overpower grit. Writing Echoes is a story of perseverance, because I’m deeply sure it’s not a story of talent.

Every corner of the maze that’s writing a novel is built with more things to learn, more things to be humbled by.

And even on the days that I find it plain awful, and I doubt myself and the fever-dream of thinking I could pull this off, I keep getting pulled back. Bastian’s story demands it.

Up to this point I haven’t really studied in any organized fashion. I subscribed to some YouTube channels (Jed Herne, Just in Time Worldbuilding, Alyssa Matesic, Story Grid, Abbie Emmons, to name a few). But I think more conscious learning is in order.

Not going back to university, but actually planning and understanding the concepts. Brandon’s lectures were a great starting point. But there’s just so much nuance that everything feels like an ocean to explore. Structure, pacing, voice, the list is never-ending.

Realistically, I won’t be an expert before Echoes is done. But maybe that’s not the goal. I do want to learn—don’t get me wrong. I must improve to see this through.

Because if Echoes of the Lost’s story lives the way I dreamed it, I have two more books to write to bring it to its conclusion.

Their titles? Echoes of War and Echoes of Silence.

—Ricardo

And that makes a lot of sense. There’s a reason Gandalf is Gandalf—and not, say, Pedro.

In Echoes of the Lost—its current iteration, at least—I’ve been all over the place. I have cities named Ravenspire, Veynirya, Istapurh, Durinthal, Arteris. I have people called Bastian, Cyrus, Cassius, Luthan, Lucan, Vex, Dorian. There’s no clear logic tying them together—yet.

Part of it is of course, I’m not a linguist. I also didn’t stop during draft one to check if the names actually worked together. I just made my best effort to fly through and get the story done.

As I wrote, names were a way for me to remember the characters, and who they shaped up to be. Bastian was Bastian before I discovered his story. Ravenspire was a great name, and I didn’t pause to think about why it was called that way.

In one of his videos, Jed Herne talks about how he uses place holders for this very same reason. In one of his books he used over 400 of them. I can’t even imagine how he kept track.

But I think he’s onto something. It wouldn’t surprise me if, during revision, Bastian becomes someone else entirely. And all the names start to make sense.

The thing will be, how will I make sure I change all the appearances of a given name and not Michael-Scott it and leave a Dwigt behind.

Another interesting resource I’ve found is from Just In Time Worldbuilding, Marie talks about Onomancy, the Greek foretelling by using names. She cites some examples of powerful magic derived from names.

It’s a world of learning all on its own. But one that deserves attention, I believe.

As I push forward, and face new mountains to climb, I see myself and my inexperience as a key obstacle. So I’ll keep learning along the way, and try to avoid backtracking too much. I still want the story to be finished!

In the end, writing the story was the easy part. Making it good—that’s the real challenge.

That old adage “stories are rewritten” rings trueer today.

—Ricardo

But writing Echoes of the Lost gave me an excuse to doodle—at least enough to sketch abstract shapes, river lines, mountains, and dots that meant something to me.

One of the very first things I drew for the story was the map.

I’m no cartographer. Honestly, I wasn’t even that good at geography in school. But when I started building the world of Echoes, I needed to see it.

So I began with Ravenspire and radiated outward.

Where would the mountains be? Where would rebels hide? How long would it take to travel from the Hollow Fangs hideout to the capital? Every choice on the map came from a story question.

I didn’t worldbuild everything in advance. But I always had the map drawn on my window, and later in a drawing notebook. Anytime I got stuck, I’d turn toward it and imagine where the story would go next.

And that was a blast.

A lot of the Veynic Kingdom is visited in Echoes of the Lost. That was intentional. I wanted the reader to walk this world alongside Bastian and the others.

But not everything made it into the book. There are still places on the map that haven’t appeared—like the pirate islands in the west, or the coastal cities along the eastern edge. I’d love to explore them in a sequel or maybe a short story someday.

I have to confess—it was easy to get distracted from Bastian’s story while drawing the map and imagining all these other stories in the world.

This rough sketch will eventually be one of the first things I commission—once I’m confident the story’s structure is final. I love when fantasy books include maps. They’re not just decorative. They’re a promise: this world is big, and you’re invited to explore it.

For now, the map is still a living thing. A little messy. A little hopeful.

Kind of like the story. Kind of like me.

—Ricardo

Which brings us to today’s post—because if there’s one thing I’ve realized during this big read, it’s this:
Ravenspire isn’t breathing the way it should.

Ravenspire: The In-Between

Ravenspire is where Bastian’s story begins.
When I first imagined this city, I wanted it to be something specific: a place teetering between decay and hope. Not as rotten as the capital, but far from the safety of Bastian’s hometown. A place where rebellion simmers just under the surface—but hasn’t boiled over yet.

Back then, I had a clear image in my mind. I even tried to visualize it early with the help of AI, like the picture below. But for whatever reason—my noobness, probably—that vision didn’t fully translate into the first draft.

Now, during revision, I’m realizing Ravenspire needs more than just a role. It needs a voice.

The scenes in the city show a few key events—guild politics, rising crime, quiet oppression. But what I’ve underwritten is the city itself.

• The claustrophobic alleys.

• The contrast between guild halls and gutter kids.

• The iron tang in the air.

We spend all of Act I here. That should be enough time to bring the city to life, right?

A key inspiration for Ravenspire came from a feelin I hate: being in-between.

That awkward, anxious moment between ending one thing and beginning another. Ravenspire is that feeling.

In the story, crime is rising. Nobles turn a blind eye—or worse. The people are discontent but not yet enraged. There’s just enough pain to notice, not enough to act.

And that’s the point.

Ravenspire doesn’t just need to seed rebellion in its people. It needs to plant it in the reader.

For the story to work, Ravenspire must eat its own. And the reader must feel its hunger.

—Ricardo

My engineering career has left me with a lot of fantastic friends, experiences, and lessons. But also it has shaped the way I see the world. I’m a person of systems and structure. If you follow my IG—@ricardowrites92—you might have seen some of the dashboards I’ve put together to track my writing and revision process.

This way of being has made me want to look at the whole picture, even if just to have an idea of what’s to come.
I’ve gone through the indie vs. trad debate and concluded that, for me, indie is going to be the route.

But choosing indie brought a whole new set of challenges. Specially with the imaginary standards I’ve set for myself: finding and paying for a cover, learning about marketing, having a budget for ads. Even creating a presence on social media is its own monster. I was pretty much a ghost before all this.

I’ve faced the question: “Why the career change?” I’ve done all right as an engineer, really. But something insde me keeps pulling me back to the page—even on the horrible days when I can’t seem to write a single word, or revise a thing I’ve written.

A fire was lit, and time itself has been making it grow.
Funny how things work.

I don’t really know if I’m going to meet all my self-imposed expectations. But maybe that’s just the engineer in me talking—always chasing the KPI.
The writer in me?
He just wants to hold the book in his hands, admire the cover, and keep going.

There are already more stories simmering in the back of my head: a sci-fi adventure, a pirate quest, an Aztec-inspired mythos.
As long as I don’t end up like that poor writer in The Sandman—scribbling in blood—I think I’ll be fine.

—Ricardo

Bastian was walking by his father between the wagons in their caravan. They were traveling to Ravenspire, the capital city of the northern county. They had to cross the final bridge of the three that separated Pesmontis from the capital and walk another hour to reach its walls.

His father was quite silent. Bastian wondered if the contract that had him join the caravan at last was that important. It was true his father had been having trouble getting contracts as of late, and he never asked him to join the actual caravans. But why this one? He even gifted him a new bow, did he fear he would need it?

The monotony of wheels creaking on the road and looming trees around them was broken by a raven flying by. Bastian noticed his bluish black feathers gleaming on the afternoon sun.

As Bastian turned to point the bird to his father, he saw a group of raiders lurking from the bushes on the side of the road. His words froze in his throat.

The raiders mobilized to attack. Rodrick, the guard leading the front of the caravan barely had time to pick up a spear before a raider vaulted onto the seat of the wagon and drove a knife into his belly.

Bastian cried out and stepped back. He tripped and fell to the ground. He had never seen real violence. His eyes darted from the raiders surrounding their guards to his father. He would know what to do.

“Fall back! To me, to me!” yelled Gerald trying to assemble some sort of resistance to the attack.

It was in vain. From the ground, Bastian saw a second wave of raiders attacking the back of the caravan and eliminating any opportunity to retreat.

His father wasn’t a fighter, they were merchants. To Bastian’s surprise Gerald let out a desperate shout and charged the closest attacker trying to connect a punch. Bastian’s hands shook as he scrambled onto his feet.

Steel ringed in his ears as he jumped onto the wagon’s driving seat. The conductor had moved down and was keeping a raider back with his whip.

Bastian’s mouth was dry as ash as he pulled himself up, to the wagon’s roof. He took his bow from his back, but it slipped in his grip as his fingers were slick with sweat. His breath was shallow as chaos thundered around him.

A third wave of raiders swarmed the first and last wagons, prying them open and starting to unload crates and chests into carts. The wagon on which Bastian had climbed was in the middle of the caravan and would be the last to be opened.

A scream from his father pulled him back to the fighting happening below him. Still with shacking hands he managed to loosen an arrow. His breath caught in his throat as it buried itself in a raider’s arm, it was the first time he had done that to another person. The one arrow wasn’t enough as the raider barely staggered before striking his father’s side with a club.

Gerald resisted the blow and connected a jab on the raider’s uncovered head, knocking him down.

Bastian was relieved and looked around just to feel his heart drop. The rest of the guards were overrun. The raiders had them two to one and weren’t even struggling to push them back.

From the south a raider with black gloves came closer to his father, he moved with slow and careful consideration behind the line of raiders, without looking away from Gerald’s petrified stare.

Gerald launched himself to the gloved raider’s chest. With a swift motion the raider sidestepped his attack and pushed him to the ground. Bastian’s bow fell from his hands as he fumbled to get another arrow from his quiver.

“You should have taken a hint after the last three caravans, old man,” said the raider as he flexed his gloved hand, like he was bored of the procedures. He bent down and pushed his knee on Gerald’s chest in a surge of brutality. “This was your last attempt to help them.”

With a swift and decisive motion, he struck his father’s brow with the back of his hand. Gerald’s face froze in a last look of fear to Bastian, over the gloved raider’s shoulder. The raider signaled his men towards Gerald. “Take him.”

“No!” Bastian cried out. He rushed to the edge of the wagon, intending to climb down and chase his father’s captors but another raider had climbed to the roof without him noticing. He hit the boy with a club knocking him down.

Pain exploded in Bastian’s head. The taste of iron flooded his mouth as blood poured from it. The last thing he saw was the inert body of his father being drawn away by the raiders. “Father,” whispered Bastian before everything went black.

The attack ended as swiftly as it began. The bodies of the guards laid still on the ground, blood pooling around them. The raven flew back and landed on top of Rodrick.

…

Bastian slipped in and out of consciousness. The morning sun hit his face as he was pulled up from the ground and thrown over the back of a horse.

His head jumped up and down with the horse’s rhythmic galloping. He could feel the warmth and sweat from the horse’s hair. The pungent smell pierced his throbbing head.

They stopped by the gate, his savior discussed with a guard pulling the horses reigns.

The noise of the city hammered his ears as the horse walked through a crowded street.

Strong hands carried him through a hallway.

He was in bed; blankets covered his body. A man and a woman discussed by the door. His head still throbbed with needlelike pain.

…

“Father!” Bastian jerked up. A mistake. He recoiled as pain pierced his head.

“He’s up,” said the woman by the door, walking to his bed and pushing him down. She added “don’t try to stand up just yet dear, you were struck pretty bad.”

Bastian laid down, distracting himself with his surroundings. He was in a small bedroom, with walls and roof made from stone. Beside his bed a night table had a half-burnt candle. His body ached and his head seemed to be splitting in half. Grief started to settle in as he remembered the attack.

A man entered the room and looked at Bastian with critical eye. He opened his eyelids and mouth, turned his head to both sides and said “He’ll be all right. Just have him take this after he has puked.”

The woman, a short, round, middle aged person, took a small leather bag from the healer and walked him to the door. She turned back to Bastian’s bedside and offered him a cup of water.

“You’ll be all right Bastian, just rest. I’ll let Luthan know you woke up. He wanted to talk with you, of course. We were all concerned when Gerald’s caravan didn’t show up last night.”

“Sorry, who are you?” asked Bastian with a coarse voice.

“How silly of me, I’m Margie, dear. I’m the guild’s steward.”

“I’m in Ravenspire?”

“Yes, dear. Ronan found you by the bridge and brought you here. Awful what happened to you and your father’s caravan. Luthan wants to know everything about it when you feel up to it.”

“My father?” as he posed the question the memory of the raiders taking him flashed his mind. “He was taken by the raiders,” he said failing to contain a sob.

“Ronan thought as much, dear. Luthan is talking with the Lord Commander right now. He hopes to get the count’s attention and launch a search party before midday.”

She offered him a handkerchief. Bastian took it and rubbed his face, drying his tears. He offered it back to Margie, but she shook her head. “You can keep that dear.”

Bastian drank another sip of water and handed the cup back as he felt the world turn around. He bent over the side of the bed and puked water and bile onto the floor.

“That’s it, just let it all out,” said Margie bringing a mop from outside the room. “Here,” she added handing over the leather pouch.

He opened it and poured a bunch of seeds into his palm. He never had healers seeds before, but he knew they were from special plants that would make his recovery faster. Usually, healers charge a hefty fee when aiding people with them.

“I don’t think I can pay for these,” he said without looking up. “We were not well off and now without my father…”

“Don’t you worry about that dear,” said Margie retaking her seat by his bed. “I’m sure Luthan will extend you a loan from your father’s ledger or even wave the charge altogether. Just eat those as the healer said.”

The taste was bitter and made him gag, but Bastian pushed himself to swallow them all. “Thank you,” he said handing the pouch back to Margie.

“Ready for Luthan?” she asked with a smile.

“Yes, I’m feeling better.” It was fantastic how the aches on his body dulled immediately and the needles in his head pulled back considerably. The seeds did nothing for his grief, however.

Margie left him for a couple minutes. She came back followed by a man in a purple robe. He was tall and slim with a golden loop adorning his left ear.

“Bastian, I’m glad you are awake. It’s great to finally meet you, despite the unfortunate circumstances.” He offered a strong hand which Bastian shook. Margie left after Luthan sat by Bastian’s bed, giving the boy an encouraging smile from the door.

“I’m Luthan Vael,” said the man introducing himself. “I understand that you were attacked by raiders and Gerald was taken. I want to assure you we are taking steps into finding him. The Lord Commander has agreed to send a search party later today.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Bastian. He seemed confident and sure of himself. Even as he sat, he carried himself with pose and grandeur. Or was Bastian just too much of a town kid?

“I can see that you are hurt,” said Luthan. “And can only imagine the feelings that must be rushing through your mind right now. But I need you to pause and tell me what happened. Anything and everything you can remember”.

Bastian made an effort to remember the attack. His wounds flared as he went through the events of the attack. When he mentioned the black-gloved raider, the expression on Luthans’s face changed. A sense of worry set on his otherwise sharp blue eyes, and he rested his head against his interlaced fingers, he leaned forward deep in thought.

Bastian ended his story asking: “why did the raiders took my father?”

“The raider you described goes by the name of Dorian Thorne. He runs the Hollow Fangs in the northern county. I can only guess what he wanted with Gerald.”

“The Hollow Fangs?” asked Bastian.

“You must be familiar with them, or at least their dealings. They are not as prominent in Pesmontis, but they control the black market.”

Bastian’s confusion must have been clear.

“Gerald shielded you from it, I see,” said Luthan, drumming his leg with his fingers.

Bastian’s mind was tired, foggy from the seeds and the physical toll on his body. He played with the hem of the blanket, “will you find him?” he asked in a soft whisper. Tears held back by a hair.

“I’ll do everything in my power to do so, kid.”

Bastian just nodded. Fearing that it might not be enough. What could he do to find his father if Luthan failed? He couldn’t even fire an arrow properly.

“I know you must be tired,” offered the Guildmaster. “I’ll let you rest. Margie will share more and answer any question after you’ve slept.”

He rose and turned to leave. His purple robe waved behind him as he closed the door, giving Bastian one last glance.

Bastian couldn’t hold himself any longer. He sobbed and cried as if he were a child once more. His father was gone; he was in an unfamiliar place with people he didn’t know. He had no idea what to do.

I’ve revised 10 chapters so far, about ~27% of the pre-alpha draft.
Huge thanks to my cousin and friend Mario, whose notes helped me spot some important gaps. I’ve been addressing those in the Alpha 2 version of the story, and while the word count has grown from ~71k to ~76k, I think the additions actually move the story forward. So far so good.

Now, about becoming a Writer.

I started writing Echoes of the Lost back in March.
At first it was sort of a fuzzy wish—the resurrection of an old dream I’d buried after reading Eragon for the first time.

That spark returned after stumbling upon one of Brandon Sanderson’s lectures on YouTube. He was talking about Plot, and Luke’s Hero’s Journey. The way he explained it… it just clicked.

So I dove in. Headfirst.

I binged his lectures from 2020, bought a window whiteboard, and opened a Word doc to start plotting my story. And honestly? It felt like flying—most of the time.

By May, I had a full Draft 1.

As I shared before, I stepped away for a little over a month and returned late June with the manuscript printed, some post-it notes, and a red pen. It was time to roll up my nonexistent sleeves and make a book out of my draft.

But the revision process? It’s been… different.

I’ve stumbled into things I didn’t expect. New dragons to slay, so to speak.
I have to turn the hazy, discovery-fueled frenzy of my first draft into something readable.

There are grammar issues. Vocabulary gaps. Loose threads everywhere.
And yet— it’s quite exciting.
After the fact, you know.
When the work is done and you look at the contrast between the gross pile of wishful words and the slightly more thoughtful second draft.

It feels like being a paleontologist.
The bones are there—I just need to find them, clean them up, and piece them together in a way that makes sense.

I still struggle with calling myself a Writer.
Partly because I don’t want to be bad at things.
And partly because I still feel like I am—and will be for some time, if we are being honest.

Writing is easily one of those things that’s easy to start… but impossible to perfect.

But maybe that’s part of the beauty of this whole quest.
It’s forced me to get closer to myself.
To be more comfortable in my own skin.
To be okay with learning, with being new at something that matters.

I promised on IG I’d post the Alpha 2 version of Chapter 1 here.
So if you made it through this spaghetti of a post—thank you.
Subscribe, give it a read, and let me know what you think.

—Ricardo