Morning dew clung to the edges of Fennvale's outskirts as mist drifted low between the trees. The silence was unnatural—not the calm of peace, but the hush before thunder.
Darian stood over a crumbling ward stone, its sigils faint and fractured.
"We're not alone out here," he murmured.
Behind him, the cohort gathered. Caelum was reviewing mana drift readings, Rowan scanning with a detection orb. Teyla flexed her fingers, the heat of flame dancing at her knuckles.
"We'll cover more ground if we split into pairs," Caelum suggested. "Quick sweeps—no one engages. We reconvene in two hours."
The group nodded.
Darian and Bryn headed northeast, tracing broken pathways through collapsed fences. Caelum and Eilo moved west, toward the outpost ruins. Teyla and Rowan went southeast, following the warped leyline paths.
---
The woods swallowed them.
Darian and Bryn moved in silence. The trees were burned near the roots, as if scorched by unnatural heat. Birds avoided the sky. The deeper they walked, the heavier the air became.
"Over there," Bryn said, pointing at a tree with vertical claw marks five feet high. "Fresh."
Darian crouched beside it. The marks pulsed faintly with dark residue. His fingers brushed it—and recoiled.
Wrong.
It felt like hunger carved into bark.
---
Elsewhere, Teyla and Rowan moved between abandoned houses. One door was melted clean off. Inside, a spelllamp flickered weakly, blinking red.
Suddenly— Crack.
Something dropped behind them.
They turned—and saw it.
The creature.
Its form was more human than ever—tall, lean, and obsidian-skinned, with molten-red veins pulsing beneath its surface. Its eyes burned like forge embers. Fingers long, tipped with razor talons. Antlers had fused into a sharp crown of twisted bone.
Rowan gasped.
Teyla lit a flame in her hand.
"Run!" she yelled.
The creature blurred forward.
They didn't make it far before it appeared in front of them again.
It didn't strike yet—it watched.
Then it spoke.
"Where… is the Bearer?"
Teyla hurled a firebolt. The creature stepped through it and swatted Rowan into a wall.
Teyla screamed.
---
Darian heard it.
Without a word, he ran—Bryn right behind him.
The scream cut through the trees. The sky itself seemed to pull back as Darian burst into the clearing, sword already drawn.
He saw Rowan slumped. Teyla barely standing. And it.
The creature turned slowly.
And smiled.
"You…"
Its voice was deeper now—less broken, more whole.
"…You stink of Might."
Darian froze.
"What?"
He charged anyway.
He swung with practiced fury—overhead arcs, low cuts, shoulder feints.
The creature danced between them, unbothered.
Then it struck.
A single blow—a backhand across Darian's ribs—sent him flying into a tree. His blade clattered to the ground. His breath left him.
The creature stood over him.
"No mana. No fire. Nothing." It crouched. "Yet you… linger with his scent."
Darian tried to rise. His sword was inches away.
The creature kicked him back down.
"I could break you with a breath."
It reached down—
And was blasted by fire.
The flames roared across its back, making it screech for the first time.
Caelum appeared, both hands glowing with burning sigils, eyes wide with fury.
"Get away from him."
The creature turned.
Its skin blackened, smoldering.
Then it looked at Caelum—
And stepped back.
It tilted its head.
"You… smell even stronger."
Caelum blinked. "Stronger…?"
The creature's molten eyes narrowed.
"You… burn with his mark."
It didn't retreat.
It stood there—watching.
The rest of the cohort arrived. Bryn stood protectively over Darian. Eilo tended to Rowan.
The creature raised its clawed hand.
"Soon," it whispered.
And lightning cracked in the distance—not from it, but from the sky.
The fight was not over.
Only paused.
---
Far away, in the Emerald Throne Chamber, Queen Maerion stood before a glowing mirror orb, the pulse of distant energy trembling in its depths.
A messenger's voice echoed through the chamber: "Six students. Arcadium-trained. Attacked near Fennvale by an unknown force. Not human. Not fully magical either. No casualties—yet."
Queen Maerion's jaw tightened. She turned to King Orvain, who stood silent beside her.
"We can't wait any longer," she said.
He gave a single nod. "Then we act."
From the misty peaks of the north to the volcanic reaches of the east, elite battlemages, spell-swords, and nullcasters were summoned. Air mages trained in battlefield disruption. Bladecasters sworn to wardbreaking. Firestorm tacticians born for devastation. And the elusive Nullseers—sensitive to the unnatural pulse of untraceable magic.
They were united under a single name: Ashveil.
Led by Rune Marshals and bound by a singular purpose, their mission was clear—find and eliminate the unknown entity.
Queen Maerion's voice rang through the strategy chamber.
"The demon has returned."