The night burned red.The first wave of creatures tore through the outer barricades like smoke through cloth. Arrows hissed from the watchtowers, striking bodies that shattered into sparks—only to reform again from the heat of their own ashes. The ground pulsed beneath every footstep, and the fissure’s glow spread outward, tracing lines of molten light across the valley floor.Michael met the charge head-on, his sword a storm of light. Each swing sang through the air, cleaving shadows apart, sending bursts of white flame cascading into the night. But for every wraith he struck down, two more rose behind it, clawing their way from the earth’s memory.“Hold the line!” he roared.Jonathan was beside him, his shield blackened, his face streaked with blood and ash. “They don’t die!” he shouted over the din. “You cut them down and they return like smoke!”“Then we burn the smoke,” Michael said, driving his blade through a creature’s chest. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, spl

For a long time, there was only silence.And then—breath.Michael’s first inhale burned. The air was dense, warm, and metallic, filling his lungs with the taste of stone and smoke. He tried to move, but pain shot through his shoulder and ribs. Dust and embers floated in the dim light, swirling like dying stars.He groaned, pushing himself upright. His armor was cracked, his sword buried halfway in the rubble beside him. Around him stretched a vast hollow chamber—deeper and stranger than anything he had ever seen. The walls glowed faintly with moving lines of light, like veins beneath translucent skin.The fall should have killed him.But it hadn’t.He turned sharply. “Jonathan!”The echo rolled for what felt like miles before a weak voice answered from the shadows. “Still breathing… barely.”Relief flooded him. He found Jonathan wedged between two slabs of broken stone, his shield half-melted from the heat of the descent. Michael heaved one slab aside, then another, freeing him.Jonat

The echoes of the storm still whispered through the valley long after the battle had ended. The scent of burnt soil, crushed leaves, and cold ash hung thick in the morning air. Even the birds seemed hesitant to sing, as though nature itself was mourning what had been lost.Michael stood on the ridge overlooking the plains, his armor dented and streaked with soot. The metal was heavy on his shoulders, but it wasn’t the weight of steel that burdened him—it was the silence that followed victory. The kind that forced him to remember every life that had been taken, every promise whispered in the chaos.Below, the remnants of the once-thriving outpost lay in ruin. The gates, torn and twisted, stood like the ribs of some fallen beast. Smoke rose from scattered fires, curling skyward in thin, ghostly trails. Yet amidst the destruction, there was movement—life. Survivors tending to the wounded, children clinging to their mothers, monks walking barefoot through the debris with quiet chants of m

The rain came hard and relentless, drenching the valley as Michael thundered down the last stretch toward Elaris. The night flashed white with lightning, and each burst illuminated the city’s silhouette — once proud, now rimmed with fire.His horse strained beneath him, hooves striking sparks from the cobbled road. Around his neck hung the medallion Clara had given him, the silver tarnished but unbroken. Each time it struck his chest, it steadied him. It reminded him what waited beyond those gates — not just a city, but a heartbeat.By the time he reached the outer walls, the storm was a roar. The gates hung splintered, half-burned from within. Bodies lay scattered in the mud — some soldiers, some citizens. The banners of Elaris, torn and trampled, fluttered weakly in the wind.Michael dismounted, his boots sinking into the soaked earth. The air reeked of smoke and fear.“Open the inner gates!” he shouted to the sentries above.For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then a young guard leaned

The wind had grown colder as they left the city behind.Elaris, once a gleaming fortress of banners and bells, shrank into a gray silhouette swallowed by mist. The world beyond its gates was quieter — too quiet. Even the horses seemed uneasy, their breaths visible in the chill dawn.Michael rode at the front, cloak drawn close, eyes fixed on the eastern ridge. Beside him, Clara matched his pace, her posture straight, her silence thoughtful. Behind them, a dozen riders followed — scouts and loyal guards, handpicked by Michael himself.The road wound through barren fields where the grass had turned to ash-gray. Burnt remnants of old villages lay scattered — charred beams, hollowed wells, and walls half-swallowed by weeds. The smell of smoke still lingered, faint but persistent.Jonathan, riding just behind, muttered, “No birds. Not even crows. It’s wrong, sir.”Michael nodded. “Keep your eyes sharp. Wrong is where danger hides.”Hours passed before they reached the ridge. The ground slo