The valley trembled beneath the weight of the sky.
From the west and eastern ridges, they came—hundreds of wyverns, their wings blotting out the light, casting the ground below into a premature dusk. The villagers were paralyzed by the enormity of what they're seeing. Mothers clutched their children, pulling them close as the air thickened with dread. Elderly men and women stood frozen, eyes wide, mouths agape, as if the very fabric of their world was unraveling before them.
"By the gods," whispered an old woman, her voice trembling. "Is this the end?"
But others stood still, their faces etched with resignation. They had seen too much, endured too much. Another catastrophe was but another chapter in their long tale of suffering.
The wyverns descended in a coordinated frenzy, their talons slicing through the air as they dove toward the central lake. The once serene waters churned as massive fish leaped in vain to escape the onslaught. The lake, the lifeblood of the valley, was now a feeding ground for the invaders.
Some wyverns veered off course, landing amidst the devastated village. Their eyes gleamed with hunger as they picked through the wreckage, preying upon the wounded and the weak. Screams echoed through the air, mingling with the shrieks of the beasts.
Belligarde and Fen moved like shadows, their footsteps silent on the broken ground. They avoided the main paths, slipping through alleys and behind collapsed structures, ever watchful of the wyverns above. Their destination was clear, the Long Hall, where Nerissa awaited.
As they crouched behind a toppled stone wall, a new sound reached their ears—a low, slithering hiss. From the forest's edge emerged a horde of long, slender lizards, their scales glistening in the dim light. They moved in unison, feasting upon the fallen, undeterred by the aerial threat above.
Fen's eyes narrowed. "What are they?"
"Scavengers," Belligarde muttered. "They've come with the wyverns."
The creatures' presence added another layer of danger to their already perilous journey. They would have to be even more cautious, for the valley was no longer just under siege from the skies but from the ground as well.
In front of the Long Hall, Maelhan moved among the villagers, urging them to seek shelter inside. His voice was hoarse, his hands trembling as he guided the frightened souls toward safety. Then, from behind, a figure approached—a woman dressed in the village's traditional garb. He hadn't noticed her at first, so consumed was he with the task at hand. But when she whispered in his ear, the words struck him like a blow.
He spun around, anger flaring, his hand raised as if to strike. But before he could act, she caught his arm, her grip firm and unyielding. "Hear him out," she said, her voice calm amidst the storm.
Nevun, riding swiftly atop his mount, made his way back to the other scouts. The valley was a warzone, and every moment counted. As he neared the rendezvous point, a wyvern swooped down, its massive wings cutting through the air with terrifying speed. Nevun urged his mount forward, its agile form weaving between the trees. The wyvern, unable to adjust in time, crashed into the ground. Its screech echoing through the valley.
Meanwhile, Khoren and his men hurried back to the den. The wyverns were relentless, their numbers overwhelming. Some of Khoren's soldiers limped, their injuries slowing them, but their determination kept them moving. They had to reach the inner chamber, where their strange device lay dormant. If they could get it working again, it might offer them a chance at survival.
Inside the Long Hall, Nerissa awoke with a start. The air was thick with the scent of dust and fear. She called out for her parents, her voice trembling. But the chaos around her drowned out her cries. Children ran past her, their faces streaked with tears, their eyes wide with terror. She stumbled to her feet, her legs unsteady and tried to make her way through the throng.
But then it hit her—the memories, the sensations, the overwhelming grief. Her mother's death. The loss. She collapsed to her knees, her sobs lost amidst the turmoil.
Maelhan arrived back at the Long Hall, his breath ragged, his face drawn with exhaustion and fear. He knocked frantically on the doors.
"It's me—open up!" he called, his voice strained. Shouting to be let in.
When they opened, he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. The chaos was palpable. People were shouting, crying, running in all directions.
He took a moment, gathering himself, then raised his voice.
"Everyone," he began, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "We have to leave. Now!"
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some faces showed confusion, others fear. But all understood the gravity of his words.
Maelhan's gaze softened as he whispered to himself, "Leave the valley behind."
The decision was made. The valley that had been their home, their sanctuary, was no longer safe.