The cold came first.
Not the natural chill of the north, but a deep, unnatural cold that crept beneath the skin and whispered warnings to the bones. Alaric stirred before dawn, his breath clouding the air in thick puffs. Around him, the others were still asleep—Jorin curled into a ball, Lira's fingers clenched over her staff, and Malric snoring softly, sword leaning against the wall.
Then, the scream.
A guttural, animal cry pierced the predawn silence, followed by the clash of steel and a sudden explosion of magic.
"Up!" shouted a voice. "They're here!"
Alaric shot up and grabbed his sword, heart pounding. The camp was already in motion—knights rushing to the barricades, mages activating wardstones, healers scrambling to their stations.
The monsters had struck first.
The First Wave
Shadow beasts poured through the eastern treeline, more than a hundred strong. They were larger now—twisted by dark magic—horns extended, claws glinting, eyes burning with a malevolent red hue. Some had fragments of old armor fused into their hides, like they had devoured and become part of the knights they had killed.
"Defensive lines! Mages behind the wall!" shouted Captain Virel, already cleaving down a beast with her twin axes.
The children stood in shock for a moment, until Knight Elrik, their assigned protector, grabbed Alaric's shoulder.
"Support unit, with me! Stay back and observe unless I say otherwise!"
Alaric nodded, eyes wide.
The battle unfolded with ferocity. The frontline knights clashed with the monsters head-on, their auras flaring in waves of light and force. Shield formations absorbed the brunt of the assault while mages from the second line launched counterspells—walls of fire and lightning nets that crackled through the snowy air.
High above, the sky began to dim unnaturally.
Velkran was near.
Into the Fray
From their protected post near the chapel, the children watched as the chaos raged. Lira's hands trembled as she channeled a small earth barrier to shield a fallen soldier. Malric stood ready with sword drawn, Jorin trying to help direct the smoke away with his cloak, his eyes squinting through the haze.
"Behind us!" someone yelled.
A smaller pack of monsters had bypassed the barricade through a collapsed section. Three beasts, snarling and fast.
"Get back!" Elrik roared, stepping forward.
He engaged the first two, blade moving like lightning, parrying and slashing.
The third lunged for Jorin—only to be knocked aside by a blast of water.
Lira stood, eyes glowing faintly.
Jorin scrambled behind her. "T-Thanks."
Alaric stepped up. One of the beasts circled back, growling. He met its gaze.
He felt it then—his aura.
A small flicker, rising like embers in his chest. He stepped forward, heart racing, and blocked the creature's charge with his sword.
The impact knocked him back—but he held his ground.
Elrik finished off the final beast and glanced at him.
"Good. You're not just watching anymore."
Velkran's Arrival
As the sun finally began to rise, a low rumble echoed across the valley.
The ground shook.
From the ridge above the eastern forest, a massive shape emerged.
Velkran the Hollowback.
It was a nightmare stitched into flesh—over forty feet long, its serpentine body slithered with unnatural grace. Its scales were cracked obsidian, jagged and glistening with dark oil. Glowing red runes pulsated across its body like living veins. From its shoulders jutted half-formed limbs—twisted, bone-armored things that scraped and twitched as it moved.
Its head was worst of all: a skeletal visage framed by a swirling mane of shadow, hollow eye sockets glowing with crimson fire, and a mouth lined with uneven, jagged fangs. Antler-like horns curved back and forked into fractal spikes, dripping with black mist that hissed upon touching the snow.
The sheer presence of it made the air heavier. Several knights stumbled back involuntarily, others dropped their weapons momentarily, gasping from the pressure. Even the most seasoned warriors looked shaken.
The children stood frozen. Jorin was pale, his mouth trembling open in shock. Malric gripped his sword tighter, sweat trickling despite the cold. Lira looked as though she wanted to speak but couldn't form the words.
It was not just monstrous—it was despair made flesh.
The battlefield fell silent for a heartbeat.
Velkran opened its maw—and released a deafening roar that shattered nearby windows and sent weaker soldiers to their knees.
"Hold the line!" Lireya shouted from the front, aura blazing around her like a white flame. "Mages, prepare suppression spells! Tharyn, with me!"
Knight-Commander Tharyn leapt to her side, blade drawn, aura crackling.
The children stared in awe and fear.
"This… this is what corrupted a whole village?" Jorin whispered.
"It's worse than I imagined," Malric said.
"We have to trust them," Lira whispered. "This isn't our fight. Not yet."
But Alaric kept his gaze fixed on Velkran.
The creature looked at him.
Only him.
And whispered—into his mind.
"Valerius… your fire still lives. Let it burn."
Alaric staggered.
But he stood.
Because this was no longer just a battle for Erenshade.
This was the beginning.
High above, Velkran's mane flared, its runes pulsing brighter as the serpent's massive chest expanded.
Magic began to swirl unnaturally—snow rising into the air, wind sucked into its core.
Velkran was preparing something.
A massive, catastrophic spell—or perhaps a breath attack of pure corruption.
Lireya's expression darkened.
"Brace yourselves!" she shouted.
The air crackled.
And the storm had only just begun.