Come morning, a sober mood hung over camp as they buried the fallen. Lyra led a brief service, prayers for safe passage to the afterlife, as the dead soldiers were laid to rest by the watchtower ruin. The survivors stood in solidarity; even the gruff ones who might have complained about "babysitting an elf" days earlier now watched Azaël with respect after seeing her fell foes with deadly precision.
As they broke camp to move on, Captain Merek approached the Iron Wolves. He looked at Erik, his veteran's eyes holding a new, profound respect. "I'd say last night proved it: things are worse out here than anyone above likely realizes." He looked at each of them meaningfully. "When you speak to the King's Council or the Guild in Silverkeep, don't let them downplay this. The frontier is under attack , organized attack."
"You have our word," Darius promised solemnly. The chilling behavior of the Uruk-hai warband, far into settled land, was undeniable evidence. Uruk-hai, a notoriously disciplined and brutal breed of Orc, rarely mobilized in such numbers unless some greater power compelled or united them. Their unnatural coordination and the unsettling blankness beneath their savage eyes was clear evidence of a profound, insidious control.
Azaël's keen eyes, possessing the ancient wisdom of her kin, were fixed on the road ahead, her earlier speculation now hardened into grim certainty. "These Uruk-hai were not merely acting on their own will," she stated, her voice quiet but firm. "They are intelligent enemies, yes, but their single-minded focus, the way their will fractured when their Shaman fell… this speaks not of allegiance, but of possession. They were puppets, animated by a will that is not their own. Whoever this Herald is, he is not merely recruiting. He is bending all manner of dark forces, from corrupted beasts to disciplined foes, into his absolute thrall, stripping them of their very essence."
Erik frowned. He remembered the Orc War-Chief's eyes just as his axe descended, a deep, dark mix of sadness and relief had flickered there, a silent revelation of a fate far worse than simple allegiance. Those were not the eyes of a mere mercenary, but of one suffering under a profound, insidious control, a suffering that had been released by death. It told a far more horrifying story than mere coordination, hinting at a power that didn't just command, but consumed souls. "If so," he muttered, "then we're not just fighting an army. We're fighting a master who can break minds."
Finn, though physically recovering, still carried a subtle tension. "I hate puppet masters," he muttered, a faint, almost imperceptible spark sometimes dancing at his fingertips. "I hate being controlled. Can't we just fight enemies who know what they're doing, instead of... this?"
Lyra gave a weary laugh, though her eyes held a profound sadness. "That would be nice. Unfortunately, our foe seems to have more than just brains; it has a grasp on the very will of its minions."
Throughout the journey, the team found themselves discussing the battle and the strange energies at play. Erik, noticing the persistent, small arcs of violet energy around Finn's hands, finally pressed him. "Finn," he asked one afternoon, his voice low enough not to draw attention, "what's going on with you? The way you moved against that Shaman… and now these sparks."
Finn's usual bravado faltered. He looked down at his hands, where a tiny spark jumped from his thumb to his forefinger, making him flinch. "I don't know, Erik. Honestly. Ever since… ever since that necromancer's blast, or maybe that Razorclaw… it's like there's something new under my skin. I can't grab a damn coin without getting a small shock myself. It's just… a weird reaction, I guess. Nothing I can control." He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "It just happens."
Azaël, who had been listening intently, interjected with quiet curiosity. "The energy backlash from the Razorclaw was immense. It must have found a pathway, a resonance within you. It is unusual. My kin have legends of mortals being touched by raw planar energies, sometimes for good, sometimes for ill."
Lyra, too, had been concerned. "Your courage on the bridge was incredible, Finn. But this… this random energy. We need to be careful. The Light offers cleansing and balance, perhaps… once we are in Silverkeep, the High Priest might have insight." Lyra's gaze met Erik's, a silent acknowledgment of the heightened stakes now that their latent powers were beginning to manifest so tangibly, and so unpredictably, in Finn. She knew her own Sunlance had felt like a natural extension, a focused evolution, but Finn's connection felt far more chaotic and alien.
Despite the grim note, they pressed on with urgency. Each passing league toward Silverkeep is one closer to raising the alarm in full. By midday of the following day, the road began to teem with more travelers , pilgrims, merchants, and other adventurers all converging as tributaries into the main artery leading to the capital. Most, seeing the Silverkeep soldiers and Captain Merek, quickly sought to join their ranks, recognizing the safety offered by such a formidable escort in these perilous times. And then, by late afternoon, they saw it: Silverkeep.
The city sprawled ahead in a fertile valley, encircled by high, gleaming white stone walls that promised an impenetrable defense. Banner-topped towers punctuated the perimeter, and beyond the outer defenses, a dizzying array of roofs and spires jutted towards the sky, hinting at a vast metropolis within. This was no mere town; this was Silverkeep, the heart of Astoria, a colossal urban tapestry woven from centuries of history, commerce, and power, one of the largest and most influential cities in all the Five Kingdoms and beyond. But dominating its immense skyline, visible for miles around, was the Tower of Eternum. It rose near the city's heart, an impossibly tall spire that seemed forged from polished obsidian and silver. The upper reaches of the tower disappeared into the clouds, reflecting an unfathomable height. Even from here, Erik felt a strange pull when he looked at it , as though the tower had a presence, watching and waiting.
A hush fell on the now large group as they took in the sight. For many soldiers and some adventurers from small guild branches (and Erik for what' its worth), this was their first time seeing the capital or the legendary tower. Lyra whispered a prayer in awe, Finn muttered something like "Would you look at that...," shaking his head.
Azaël's eyes narrowed at the Tower. "Just like in my vision," she murmured to Erik, who stood beside her. "Beautiful and ominous." He nodded silently. He could almost imagine, high above, at the unseen summit of that spire, some secret or entity lurking that might be tied to their fate.
"Silverkeep awaits," Darius said quietly. He turned to face them all, his expression a mixture of relief and determination. "We made it. We've lost some good people on the way, but we delivered them justice by surviving and bringing word. Now we must ensure their sacrifice isn't in vain. The capital must hear us out."
Captain Merek rode up. "We'll be heading straight to the barracks and then the castle to make our report. I trust you all will be heading to the Guild Hall or the castle as well?" He paused, his gaze assessing the weary but resolute adventurers. "I understand the Guild has its own protocols for receiving new information, but if you find yourselves delayed, you can always gain swift access through me. I will brief the King's Council on your arrival and give a concise summary of your report before you present the full details. It will help to cut through any initial skepticism."
Darius considered Merek's offer. Direct access to the King's Council via the Captain was tempting, but the Guild provided a different kind of legitimacy, a validation within their own ranks that would smooth future interactions. "Thank you, Captain, that's a generous offer and we may well need it," he replied, a respectful nod to the grizzled officer. "But our Guildmaster, Lady Marienne, has a contact in the central chapter here who can secure us swift audience. We will report there first. It is important that our information is verified through Guild channels, and then, with their backing, we can present our full findings to the Crown. We will, of course, accompany you through the gates."
Travelers streaming towards the western city gate parted way as the combined band of soldiers and adventurers approached , their weary but hardened appearance, and the mixed banners, commanded respect. The guards at the gate recognized official business and waved them through after a perfunctory inspection and log entry.
Entering Silverkeep was like stepping into another world for Erik and the others used to frontier towns. Paved avenues thronged with people of all stations: busy merchants calling out wares from colorful stalls, clergymen in flowing robes, armored knights on prancing horses, street urchins weaving between wagons. The clamor of voices and city life was almost overwhelming after the quiet of travel. The air smelled of a mix of fresh bread, horse dung, and a melange of spices from an open-air market nearby. Towering buildings of stone and timber lined the streets, and in the distance, the royal keep's pennants fluttered over castle walls.
Lyra drew closer to Erik as they navigated the crowd, her eyes wide at the bustling capital.
"Stay wary," Azaël advised softly, scanning faces in the crowd. "Cities have eyes and ears. We don't want the wrong ones catching wind of our message before it's delivered."
Indeed, as they made their way toward the Guild Hall district, Erik noticed some heads turn and whispers. Five battle-worn adventurers with a clear purpose , not to mention an elf among them , made a minor spectacle. One passerby exclaimed, "Those must be challengers come early for the Tower Challenge, see how tough they look!" Another suggested they might be returning heroes from some quest. The group ignored the commentary.
Finally, the grand edifice of the Adventurers' Guild Central Chapter came into view , a sprawling marble building adorned with flags bearing the sword-and-torch emblem. Captain Merek and the soldiers peeled off toward the castle barracks with a final wave (they'd coordinate with the Guild after initial debriefings).
At the guild entrance, a harried-looking clerk's eyes bulged as the group stepped in from the street, dusty and bloody. "Can I h-help you, sirs, madam…?" he began, but Darius strode forward, stating their business with calm urgency: "We are the Iron Wolves from Blackstone, bearing urgent information from Lady Marienne and Governor Seraphine regarding a Dungeon Lord threat. We request immediate audience with Guildmaster Reynold."
The mention of Dungeon Lord and the official references made the clerk blanch. Within minutes, they were whisked deeper inside, into a polished antechamber with velvet chairs and given cool water while messengers ran. Erik didn't miss how more than one guild staffer cast wide-eyed looks at them and whispered behind hands , likely news from the frontier had trickled in, but to see the ones at the center of it arriving hammered the point home.
Soon, they were led into a council room where a tall, sharp-eyed man in an embroidered guild doublet awaited with a small retinue of scribes. Guildmaster Reynold, presumably. He wasted no time on pleasantries.
As Darius and Lyra stepped forward to present the necromancer's journal, Lyra's voice, usually soft, took on a new resonance, carrying an urgent weight. She meticulously recounted the events at Graystone, emphasizing the necromancer's ramblings about a "harvest" and the journal's chilling references to the "Lord of Whispers." Finn then stepped forward, his earlier weariness replaced by a grim seriousness as he explained his unsettling theory about the missing bodies and the Orcs' unnatural drive to collect the fallen. He detailed how he'd seen the Orcs attempt to drag away Merek's own men, and how Captain Merek himself confirmed the disturbing pattern of vanished corpses from frontier skirmishes. He spoke of the Orcs' possessed eyes and their loss of will when the Shaman fell, driving home the point that they were not merely foes, but controlled puppets. Darius then summarized the encounter with the corrupted Razorclaw, speaking of its unnerving resilience and the alien nature of its power. He also detailed Azaël's arrival, lending the weight of ancient elven prophecy to underscore the pervasive threat. Erik took a breath, his gaze sweeping the solemn faces of the members of the room. He could feel the pervasive aura of the city, a mixture of ancient power and burgeoning anxiety. The runes on his arm throbbed, resonating with the presence of the Tower looming over them, and Erythrael, at his back, pulsed with a deep, hungry thrum. This was not the end of their involvement, but a new, deeper beginning.
Azaël's hand lightly touched his back for a second, as if in solidarity. He glanced at her and she gave him an encouraging nod before focusing on Lyra's words to the Guildmaster.
By the end of the debriefing, Guildmaster Reynold looked deeply troubled but determined. Plans were already being set in motion to convene the King's Council and allocate resources. As the party was respectfully dismissed to rest and await further instructions, Reynold clasped each of their forearms in turn. "The Iron Wolves and allies , you have done the realm a great service. Take heart and prepare yourselves. I suspect we will need your strength in days to come, perhaps in that very Tower that looms over us."
Walking out of the Guild Hall into the courtyard where dusk was gathering, Erik looked up at the Tower of Eternum once more, its peak lost in twilight clouds. Lyra was at his side, her gaze lost in thoughts, a subtle concern etched on her features. Finn came up on his other side, whistling softly the tune he always did after surviving something harrowing, though his hands remained subtly tucked. Azaël walked ahead, speaking quietly with Darius.
A faint evening breeze carried the sounds of Silverkeep preparing for night , lamps being lit, a distant bell. Erik let out a slow breath. This road had been long and costly, but they had made it, changed and ready for whatever came next. He turned to his companions, his family in this new world, and saw in their faces the same resolve that beat in his chest.