The battle raged on.
Smoke thickened the air, curling in dense tendrils above the burning rooftops. Shadows twisted in the firelight, cast by figures locked in a brutal struggle for survival. The streets of Ignisia, once filled with the hum of daily life, had become a war zone.
Nariel stood at the castle gates, armor scorched, blade gleaming with divine energy. Residual heat from the last fire spell she deflected pulsed in the air around her.
Ahead, the cult's forces surged forward, their ember-colored robes flickering like ghostly apparitions in the inferno. Their torches blazed, their weapons glowed red-hot, their fanatic chants drowned beneath the chaos of battle.
Beyond the gates, civilians poured into the castle, stumbling in terror as town guards and knights of the Morning Flame struggled to hold the last defensive line.
Nariel exhaled sharply, tightening her grip on her sword. They had no reinforcements. No outside aid. This was all they had, a dozen and a half of her own knights and less than 200 guards. Maybe less, most likely less. No one knew the exact number of casualties
Adventurers, warriors, mages—anyone who could wield a weapon—fought for survival, for their families, for their homes.
Still, the enemy pressed forward.
A fireball streaked toward her, its heat distorting the air.
Nariel barely raised her light shield in time. The impact slammed into her, the force sending her skidding backward across the cobblestones. The sheer heat of it burned against her gauntlets even through the magic.
To her left, a knight cried out, falling beneath the weight of her injuries. Nariel pushed herself up, rushing to her side, and yanking her to her feet.
No one else dies here. Not tonight.
"Get to the castle!" she ordered, pushing her toward the gates before turning back to the fray.
Flames roared all around, but her voice cut through the chaos, unwavering:
"Hold the line! Protect the civilians! Evacuate to the castle!"
She threw herself back into the fight, her blade flashing as it carved through a cultist's staff, breaking the fiery spell before it could form. Another charged at her—she pivoted, raising her light shield, deflecting his blade before driving her sword into his chest.
But it wasn't enough.
For every cultist that fell, three more took their place.
They were losing ground.
Then—a flicker of magic caught her eye.
At the edge of the battlefield, in a burning alley, a group of cultists knelt. They carved fiery sigils into the ground, their lips moving in unison, their hands raised toward the smoke-choked sky.
A summoning ritual.
Nariel's breath caught.
Summoning magic was rare. Few possessed the talent for it. Even among scholars, true summoners were nearly unheard of.
And yet, the cult had gathered many. Far too many.
Heat distorted reality around them. The air rippled like a mirage, shimmering with the unstable energy of fire elementals waiting to manifest.
If they succeeded, Ignisia wouldn't just burn. It would be erased.
Nariel didn't hesitate.
She charged, blade igniting with holy light.
One of the summoners turned at the last second, eyes widening in panic—
Too late.
Nariel's sword slashed through the sigil, disrupting the spell. The fiery glyphs flickered, then vanished into the night.
The cultist barely had time to cry out before her blade struck again, carving through his defenses, sending him crumpling to the ground.
Another cultist lunged at her with a flaming dagger—
She twisted, sidestepped the attack, then slammed her shield forward, her magic radiating outward in a concussive blast.
The cultist was launched backward, colliding into a stone wall. He crumpled, unmoving.
One ritual was gone.
But how many more were there?
Even with her leadership, they were losing ground.
The cult's numbers swelled—they poured in from side streets, rooftops, hidden passageways.
A knight shouted a warning.
Enemy reinforcements surged forward, flooding the battlefield.
Nariel turned—her heart pounded as she saw them.
Another wave of cultists pouring in from the eastern district.
They just kept coming.
Her hands tightened around her sword.
They weren't just here to burn Ignisia.
They were here for something.
And she knew exactly what.
Nariel scanned the battlefield.
The castle gates held—for now. But they couldn't protect everyone.
The town was collapsing.
They couldn't fight and evacuate at the same time.
And the cult wasn't stopping.
Her jaw clenched.
We can't hold forever.
She needed a miracle—
Or reinforcements.
The forge rang with the steady clang of hammer on steel, rhythmic and unshaken. Heat coiled through the air, the glow of molten metal casting shifting shadows along the stone walls. The night beyond was peaceful, save for the distant hum of Ignisia winding down, its people settling into the lull of routine.
Then—
Boom.
The walls trembled. The tools on Thalric's workbench rattled, and the embers in the forge flared unnaturally bright. He paused mid-swing, gripping the still-hot blade he had been crafting.
A second explosion followed, this time closer.
He set his tools aside, his expression hardening.
The door burst open, nearly torn off its hinges.
A young apprentice stumbled inside, soot clinging to his face, his breathing ragged.
"Master Emberforge—the town—fire—"
Thalric didn't hesitate. He strode toward the entrance, pushing past the boy.
The moment he stepped outside, the heat slammed into him.
The sky burned.
Thick, dark smoke coiled above the rooftops, illuminated by the roaring inferno consuming the western district. The streets echoed with screams, the chaos stretching far beyond what he could see. Shadows moved within the flames, figures weaving through the fire-lit streets, some running—others hunting.
Ignisia was under attack and he needed to prepare, he wouldn't allow his home to be reduced to ashes without putting up a fight.
Figures in ember-colored robes poured into the forge courtyard, moving with grim purpose. Their hands clutched weapons—some freshly drawn, others scavenged from the ruins of nearby forges. But their real prize wasn't steel.
They were here for the weapons inside his forge.
A cultist ran a gloved hand over a newly-forged blade, the runes along its surface pulsing faintly with unbound magic. He tilted it in the firelight, smirking.
Thalric crossed his arms, unimpressed.
"You lot don't know what you're touching. But go ahead—try it. See what happens."
The cultist's smirk widened.
He gripped the sword tightly.
Bad choice.
A violent shockwave erupted from the blade, hurling him backward. He slammed into the stone wall, his body convulsing as the enchantment burned through his veins before finally leaving him unconscious.
The sword clattered uselessly to the ground.
Silence stretched through the courtyard.
Then—
Thalric stepped forward, lifting his warhammer.
"Told you."
The first cultist recovered quickly, anger flashing in his eyes. He lunged forward, sword raised.
Thalric sidestepped, swinging his warhammer in a brutal arc—
CRACK.
The cultist's knee shattered beneath the impact, his scream lost in the roar of the flames as he collapsed.
Another cultist, a fire-wielding mage, raised a glowing hand, the air around his fingers distorting with heatwaves.
Thalric snatched a shield from a nearby rack, raising it just in time. Flames surged forward, licking against the reinforced metal, but his grip held steady.
More cultists rushed him from both sides.
He reached for a throwing axe.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, the weapon spun through the air—
The axe buried itself deep into a cultist's chest, their body slumping to the ground.
The second swung a blade at him—
Thalric blocked with his shield, the impact reverberating up his arm.
Then, with a grunt of effort, he swung his warhammer low, slamming it into the cultist's ribs.
A sickening crunch.
The man crumpled.
"They were being overwhelmed.
More were closing in. Too many.
Then—
The street rumbled.
The cultists staggered back, some grinning in triumph, others watching in reverence.
From the roaring inferno, something shifted.
Something massive.
A towering figure emerged, wreathed in fire and smoke.
Its body shifted between solid molten rock and living shadow, constantly flickering between corporeal and ethereal.
Its eyes burned like miniature suns.
Its clawed hands dragged across the stone, leaving molten streaks in their wake.
A Lesser Fire Djinn.
Thalric exhaled sharply.
"By my beard, you've got to be joking."
The Djinn raised a clawed hand.
The heat around it intensified, fire coiling at its palm, forming a fireball as large as a boulder.
Then—
It hurled it forward.
Straight at Thalric.
He braced himself—
But the fireball never reached him.
A barrier of golden light erupted between them, deflecting the attack in a blinding explosion of sparks and radiance.
As the flames cleared, a figure stood beside him, sword raised, shield glowing.
Nariel.
She turned her gaze to Thalric, smirking despite the exhaustion in her eyes.
"You look like you could use some help, blacksmith."
Thalric rolled his shoulder, shaking out the tension in his arm.
"Took your time, knight."
The Djinn let out a deafening roar, its molten body pulsing as it gathered more power.
Thalric adjusted his grip on his warhammer.
Nariel raised her sword.
The fight had just begun.