Unbeknownst to its leaders, Galecrest City, the jewel of Stormreach’s eastern border, had already fallen—not by sword or siege, but by something far more insidious.The Black Roses and Blood Letum—elite infiltration units of Lunaris—had slipped into the city like whispers in the wind.Over a thousand Lunarians now moved unnoticed through the streets, hiding in plain sight.Some donned the armor of city guards, having quietly knocked out or silenced their counterparts, storing their unconscious bodies in locked barracks and armories.Others posed as traveling merchants, innkeepers, or citizens, having assumed identities through swift, silent strikes and arcane concealment techniques.The real citizens were subdued without a sound, hidden within their own homes, bound and preserved under sleep-inducing spells.To all outsiders, nothing seemed amiss.Even Oasis, with his spiritual perception honed to frightening precision, had not noticed the infiltration at first—a testament to the perf

"Barrier Magic: Aetherion Dome," Oasis whispered from the rooftop, his voice low and serene.In an instant, runes spiraled outward from his open palm — ancient glyphs of ethereal light and order.They spiraled like stardust across the midnight sky, forming delicate threads of luminous silver and azure.The runes twisted through the air in elegant, spiraling paths, guided by Oasis's will and the sentient pulse of his grimoire, Aetherion Veil.The entire city of Galecrest shimmered, cloaked in a nearly invisible dome that fell like a silken veil across its spires and streets.The magic didn’t crackle with violence — instead, it resonated like the final note of a lullaby.The barrier was flawless, absorbing external noise and sealing the city from outside forces, both magical and physical.None would leave.None would interrupt.And then came the tide.One by one, Blood Rose operatives unleashed their aura, each like a silent gong struck by their will.Then, simultaneously, their spiritu

In the days that followed the Blood Roses’ silent conquest of Galecrest, Oasis moved with cunning precision.He began circulating through the city’s merchant district, holding private discussions with both humble shopkeepers and powerful trade guild leaders.His pitch was simple but effective: "War is on the wind. Galecrest must be protected."With 50,000 gold coins at his disposal, Oasis funded a sweeping recruitment initiative under the guise of civic defense.Mercenaries and independent guards were brought in from nearby regions—grim-faced wanderers, seasoned adventurers, former soldiers—and stationed along the outer walls and main arteries of the city.But what the merchants didn’t know was this: every replacement allowed Oasis to quietly withdraw the Blood Roses.Within two days, the innward district became their stronghold.Of the 1000s Blood Roses stationed in Galecrest, nearly all now resided in that central area in the Innwards region.A skeletal crew remained on patrol, blen

“Hah... Master Shadowfen.”Orion immediately rose to greet the towering figure entering the tent.With genuine respect, he gestured toward the seat at the forefront.“Please, take the seat of honor.”Jovial Shadowfen, ancient and immense in presence, stepped forward with a grin.Two equally fearsome elders followed, their features chiseled with time and eyes glowing with ancestral weight.“If it isn’t little Orion,” Jovial mused, his voice low and teasing, yet crackling with authority. “You’ve grown… though I expected more wrinkles by now.”He glanced toward the battlefield, watching the balanced stalemate unfold.And added, “And I see you’ve learned the art of war. Things are well-balanced here... not like someone I know.”His gaze drifted sideways—pointedly—toward his son, Varian.Varian tensed but said nothing.Jovial ignored him and turned his attention toward the distant horizon, where the Verdantia leadership had gathered across the marshy field.“The children have grown, I see…

The Wetlands Before the Blood Roses Arrived...The wetlands just beyond Stormreach’s border had a dense, soggy hush to them.Mist clung to the tall reeds, while pools of shallow water shimmered under the amber slant of an evening sun.A long caravan moved steadily—boots squelching, armor clinking, and voices low.At its center rode Dante, comfortably seated in a covered carriage, flanked on foot by two Enlightened cultivators draped in ceremonial robes.He cast an occasional glance out the window, more out of habit than worry.After all, they were well within their own lines—or so he thought.Marching behind Dante was a company of supposed mercenaries, men and women with a hardened air, bearing no banner but clad in worn travel leathers and dust-covered cloaks.But these weren’t ordinary sellswords.Their movements were too clean, their discipline too sharp, and their silence too deliberate.At their head marched a young man with unruly black hair, a sword slung lazily at his side.Oa