Kael Thornwind awoke to a sky streaked with saffron and rose, the first light of dawn glinting off pale marble pillars. The courtyard of the Moon Temple lay quiet, save for the soft rustle of silver vines and the distant croon of nightbirds retreating to their nests. He rose from the bench where he had slept, shoulders still aching from the Moon's trial, and strapped the Windblade to his back. Marla and Rorin stirred at his side; Ryker was already gone, likely scouting the path to the Celestial Observatory.
Kael drank deep of the cool morning air, tasting jasmine and dew. Four Pillars pulsed within him now—Star, Ember, Wind, Moon—and each whispered their counsel in harmony. Yet beneath their voices lay an undercurrent of unease, a warning that the Obsidian Council had stirred its agents in darkness. He pressed a hand to the star-shard's pouch, seeking its steady heartbeat, and felt once more the tremors of fate shifting beneath the world.
He found Ryker near the temple's edge, studying a rough-hewn path that snaked upward toward a hill crowned by broken statues. The young knight's storm-dark hair was wind-tousled, and his brows were drawn with concern. "Kael," Ryker said as he spotted him, voice low. "We have trouble."
Kael approached swiftly. "What is it?"
Ryker pointed toward the horizon. Beyond where the forest ended lay a plume of black smoke rising like an ominous sentinel. "To the east, a village burns. I scouted at first light—Embervale's old neighbor, Brightgrove."
Marla gasped. "But that village was neutral in the king's war. Why would the Obsidian Council target them?"
Rorin wrapped his staff with aged hands. "They send terror where light gathers, to shatter hope. We cannot ignore this."
Kael's jaw tightened. Brightgrove lay just beyond Embervale, a farming community that had sheltered Kael's kin in darker days. He recalled its winding lanes and cobbled well, the laughter of children splashing in its stream. To see it ablaze would be to witness dreams consumed by darkness. He closed his eyes, letting the Moon's calm and the Star's courage merge. "Gather supplies," he said. "We ride now."
Moments later, Kael, Ryker, Marla, and Rorin stood at the temple's stables, saddling the griffin steeds that had borne them from Zephyrus. The beasts snorted and blew steam into the chill air, wings flicking as though eager for flight. Kael climbed atop his griffin, its white feathers ruffled by the breeze, and turned to face his friends. "Remain close. The winds shift unpredictably above Umbra."
Ryker vaulted into his saddle and nodded. "I'll scout ahead."
Marla mounted with a determined frown, and Rorin settled onto the third griffin with surprising agility. In a heartbeat, they were airborne, wings beating in unison as they rose over the Moon Vale's silvered trees. Below, the haze of smoke darkened the horizon's edge.
They circled Brightgrove once before descending onto a ridge overlooking the village. From above, they could see plumes of charcoal smoke billowing from shattered rooftops, flames devouring thatch and timber. Soldiers or mercenaries—clad in black and crimson—patrolled the streets, herding villagers into a rough pen near the burned-out town square. The captives' faces were streaked with soot and tears, hopelessness written in their bowed shoulders.
A single rider in ebony robes rode at the head of the patrol, hood thrown back to reveal the pale features of a woman with staring, violet eyes. Around her neck hung a silver starburst emblem that glinted with malignant intent. She raised a slender staff—the top crowned with a jagged obsidian shard—and spoke in a clear voice, carried on the wind: "Let this be a lesson: serve the Obsidian Council, or perish in darkness."
A chill gripped Kael's spine. He had heard stories of the Council's envoys—mages who spoke for the corrupt high mages themselves, meting out terror to force compliance. But to see it with his own eyes… he ground his teeth. Turning to Ryker, he nodded. "We strike now."
**Winds carved razor-sharp currents as the griffins plunged toward Brightgrove, beaks snapping and talons extended in warning. Soldiers saw them too late: Ryker led the charge, wind whipping his white cape into a banner of defiance. Marla and Rorin followed, staffs and humble weapons raised, while Kael drew Lyric—his Windblade—and ignited its runes with a breath of starlight.
Below them, the patrol scattered in surprise. The ebony-robed envoy screamed a word of power, and the earth at her riders' feet erupted in jagged axes of obsidian, forcing the griffins to wheel back. Sparks flew as Kael met the envoy's magic with a counterblast: he called the Moon's silver calm to still the axes, then the Ember's fire to sear them into harmless slag. The wards at his feet glowed with white-hot energy, then shattered.
Kael landed amidst the melee, griffin's wings folding in a thunder of feathers. Soldiers charged. He met them head-on, Windblade humming as it cleaved at metal and bone. Each strike bore the precision of Star, the heat of Ember, the force of Wind, the clarity of Moon. Sparks scattered like fireflies. A volley of arrows hissed toward him, but Kael summoned a gale to redirect them into the air, where they fell like harmless rain.
At the pen's edge, Marla and Rorin fended off the patrol's flanks. Marla's improvised charms—flasks of blinding powder and wire snares—hampered enemies, while Rorin's staff felled two before them. His deep voice called invocations Kael barely understood, yet his blows landed true.
Ryker confronted the robed envoy. He leaped from his griffin, drawing his storm-forged blade, and spun into a gale-assisted slash. The envoy raised her staff, and an eldritch wave of darkness rolled outward like oil on water. The wind-crowned sword met it, sending windstorms screaming around the black tide, tearing it apart in a spray of raven-black motes.
Kael charged to aid Ryker. He leapt, discharging a bolt of starlight from his palm. The bolt struck the envoy's staff, shattering its crystal orb. She faltered, arms flailing as her magic unravelled. Ryker's blade found purchase on her pauldron, and he spun her aside.
The soldiers, leaderless, dropped their weapons and fled. In minutes, the courtyard lay littered with unconscious bodies and scorched earth. Kael knelt by the pen, opening the gate. Villagers stumbled out, blinking in daze, hands raised in gratitude and fear. He helped the elderly and guided the children out, each face a reminder of what he fought to protect.
Rorin approached, helping an old woman to her feet. "The worst is done," he said. "But many souls tremble still."
The old woman pressed her hand to Kael's cheek, trembling. "Gods bless you," she whispered. "You saved us."
Kael nodded, heart heavy. "We saved you from one peril. But the Council's darkness spreads like a plague." He sheathed the Windblade and rose. "We must leave soon—more villagers are at risk where they took the grain: Embervale."
Marla handed him a small bundle. "A message from the council envoy?" Kael unwrapped it to reveal a scroll bearing the Obsidian sigil: a black sun bisected by a jagged eclipse line. He broke the seal and read:
"Yield the Pillar relics—or watch every settlement from Terra to Umbra burn beneath our shadow. The Aetheric Sovereign will not rise."
A hush fell. Ryker's jaw clenched; Rorin's eyes narrowed; Marla's lips pressed tight. A threat broad as the world itself.
Kael rolled the scroll and tucked it into his belt. "They fear us," he said quietly, voice firm despite the echo of dread in his chest. "But we will stand. Gather what you can carry, and mount the griffins. We ride for Embervale—there we will make our stand."
As the survivors of Brightgrove gathered hope—and supplies—around them, Kael Thornwind looked eastward toward Embervale's farmland. The smoke had faded by dawn, but the ember of conflict remained. Beside him, Ryker flexed his gauntleted fingers, eyes bright. Marla and Rorin readied the griffin saddles. And somewhere, the Obsidian Council stirred in shadow, watching.
Kael lifted his gaze to the sky. The pale sun rose over the vale's edge, illuminating roaring wings overhead: griffins, eager and faithful, ready to carry champions into battle. Beneath him, four Pillars' echoes thrummed in unity.
"Let them come," Kael whispered to the wind. "We will greet them with all the light of the stars."
And with that vow echoing in his heart, the griffins launched into the sky, wings beating a thunderous promise of defiance and hope—a promise that in the face of prophecy and darkness, the Aetheric Sovereign's chosen would stand unbowed.