The drums of war echoed through the valley. It began before sunrise. The Ember Guard—two hundred strong—stood on the ridgeline above the lowlands, their armor mismatched but their hearts steady. Some wore Earth-forged plating, others hand-me-down leather. Many had never held a weapon until Ethan taught them how.
But they were ready.
Below them, the Serpent Court's warband advanced—marching in cruel formation, led by dark-cloaked commanders riding black-armored horses. Red banners with the coiled serpent snapped in the wind, stained with ash and blood.
They'd just burned Hollowridge, a farming village, and now moved west toward Morvain.
But they wouldn't make it.
Not today.
Ethan crouched over the map with Lyra, Mira, and Tavren.
"We hit them at the choke point here," Ethan whispered, tapping a narrow gulley where the terrain forced the road between two high hills. "Ambush from both sides. Archers on the left, close-range fighters to the right. I'll lead the main charge through the middle once they're split."
Lyra nodded. "We set traps last night. Spiked pits. Oil tar in the brush. One spark, and they're boxed in."
Tavren adjusted his spectacles. "It's risky. But if it works, we cripple one-third of their force."
"And if it fails?" Mira asked bluntly.
Ethan looked out toward the rising sun.
"Then we make them bleed for every inch."
The Serpent Court's vanguard entered the gulley at dawn.
Silent. Alert. But not enough.
Ethan waited, heart pounding, lying in the dirt beside Lyra, hidden in tall grass. He could see the enemy's boots passing just a few feet away—could hear their armor clinking.
He whispered the signal.
An arrow shot into the sky—burning at its tip.
A moment later—
Fire!!!
The brush ignited. Screams erupted as tar caught flame, sending waves of heat through the pass. The archers released their volleys, raining iron-tipped death down on the trapped soldiers. The lead wagons burst into flame. Chaos swept through the Serpent ranks.
Then the Ember Guard charged.
Ethan leapt into battle, blade drawn. Earth-forged steel met Avalonian steel. He ducked a halberd, rolled beneath a strike, and countered with a clean cut across his enemy's leg. Blood splattered the rocks.
Beside him, Lyra fought like a tempest—spinning, slicing, using her twin daggers like extensions of her soul. Mira moved like a shadow, targeting commanders, dropping them before they could call orders.
The battle was fierce.
The Serpent Court fought with zeal, but the Ember Guard fought with purpose. They fought for home.
By midday, the Court's forces were broken, retreating down the slope in disarray.
The valley was littered with the dead.
But Ashen's banner still flew.
As the Ember Guard regrouped, Ethan walked among the wounded. He helped carry a boy missing an arm. He whispered comfort to a dying scout who smiled as she saw the Ashen banner waving overhead.
Lyra found him an hour later, her arm bandaged, her eyes grim.
"We won. But they weren't expecting us. Next time, they will."
Ethan nodded. "This was just a test. A warning."
"No," Tavren said, approaching with a blood-streaked scroll taken from a Serpent officer. "It was bait."
He unrolled the parchment.
It bore the seal of the High Serpent Lord.
And the message chilled them to the bone:
"Let the rebel king think he's won his battle. He has not yet met my blade."
That night, the Ember Guard built pyres for their fallen.
Ethan sat alone at the edge of the battlefield, the stars above Avalon bright and uncaring. He held the scroll, reading it again.
They had won a victory—but awakened a greater enemy.
The High Serpent Lord.
The true hand behind the Court's terror.
Ethan closed his eyes. For a moment, he thought of Earth—its noise, its chaos, its safety. But when he opened them, he looked not to the stars, but to the mountain beyond, where the Tree of Realms was said to slumber, hidden, waiting.
The war was just beginning.
And time was moving again.