The capital burned.
Smoke curled into the sky, Screams echoed through the streets, bouncing off shattered walls, carried by the wind like the city itself was wailing.
Destruction flowed in waves, each tremor tearing through stone and steel.
Homes crumbled, streets buckled, and terrified citizens were caught beneath falling debris, their cries lost in the chaos.
From the barracks, three battalions surged forward, disciplined and relentless.
Spears glinted, shields locked, and every soldier moved with a purpose beyond fear.
They carved paths through the ruins, lifting the trapped, guiding the fleeing, and pushing against the tide of panic.
In the eastern districts, Captain Darius led his men through streets cracked open by Obryxis's titanic fists.
They lifted fallen beams, pulled citizens from rubble, and pressed onward despite the shaking earth beneath them.
To the west, Aelina's contingent raced against Cryoveth's icy storm.
Blades slashed through frozen debris, wind howling as she cleared lanes for families to escape.
Her soldiers moved like a single living force, bending the frozen chaos to their will.
From the south, Commander William glided silently through the shadows of Morvane's devastation.
The stench of decay and rot hung heavy, yet he and his men moved with deadly precision, lifting the trapped from under toppled structures, herding the panicked into safety corridors, and striking down hazards before they could strike again.
Through every street, every alley, the army pushed forward, a wall of discipline against an unstoppable tide of calamity.
Amid fire, ice, and writhing roots, they became the fragile line between life and oblivion.
From the balconies of noble homes and the crowded streets, citizens watched their kingdom burn.
Towers toppled as Obryxis's fists shattered foundations.
Bridges froze solid before collapsing under their own weight as Cryoveth's frost spread unchecked.
Morvane's presence alone sent panic through the streets men collapsed clutching their chests, their blood boiling with unnatural rhythm.
Mothers clutched children.
Nobles ran through alleys, jewels and silks left behind.
The once-proud city of the Air Kingdom was turning into a graveyard in mere moments.
The army fought valiantly, but to the people, it looked like gods had descended to destroy them.
In the ruined courtyard, Kael stood unshaken.
Viridion erupted from the earth, his massive form blotting out the sky.
Yet unlike the other calamities, his steps faltered.
Sap and ichor gushed from the trident wound Kael had carved into him in their last clash.
Roots as thick as towers whipped across the ground, crushing walls and choking soldiers who strayed too close.
"You… dare… strike me, child?"
Viridion's thunderous voice cracked with pain, though fury still burned in his eyes.
Kael's gaze hardened.
His hand pressed downward, gravity surging like an ocean.
The roots buckled under the crushing force, groaning as if mountains themselves were being dragged into the abyss.
Viridion roared and fought back, his rage feeding his faltering strength.
Kael lifted his blade, cloak flaring in the storm.
Wind coiled around his weapon, lightning crowning it in light.
"This ends now," he declared.
Viridion lunged, roots thrashing in one last frenzy.
Kael descended in a single, devastating strike.
Lightning split the heavens as his blade cleaved through the calamity's chest.
The courtyard erupted in a blinding flash.
Viridion's form convulsed, the death cry of an ancient god shaking the capital.
His colossal body split, then collapsed into the earth, vanishing into a broken grave of roots and stone.
Viridion was no more.
Far from the battlefield, the war council chamber trembled with each distant roar.
Kael's mother stood opposite King Aerion of the Air Kingdom, her eyes sharp with urgency.
"Lord Aerion," she said, voice cutting through the din.
"If my son falls tonight, we all fall with him. If the Great Tree falls, your kingdom dies.
You must decide now protect the capital, or protect the Tree where the Prime Relic lies."
Aerion's fists clenched at his sides.
He looked out toward the fires consuming his city, the screams carried on the wind.
"My people burn," Aerion whispered.
"And if the Relic is taken," Kael's mother pressed, "your people will burn for generations.
Move your armies.
Now."
The chamber shook again, dust falling from the vaulted ceiling.
Aerion closed his eyes, the weight of his crown pressing heavier than ever.
Back in the courtyard, the storm raged.
Charles and Kael clashed in a tempest of power, their battle drawing all eyes to the sky.
Soldiers and mages scrambled to regroup, unaware of the shadow moving among them.
From the rubble of a collapsed spire, a cloaked figure emerged.
Lean, agile, steps as silent as a whisper.
The shadow slipped into the hollow beneath the Great Tree, unseen, unfelt.
There it was.
The Prime Relic.
Its glow pulsed like a heartbeat, ancient and terrible, a godly weapon capable of shifting the fate of kingdoms.
The shadows lips curled into a thin smile.
"Balance belongs to my master."
Gloved fingers reached forward and tore the Relic free.
The tree shuddered, its glow dimming, its roots trembling as if in mourning.
By the time Aelina and Darius's battalions stormed into the courtyard, the thief was already gone vanished into smoke and shadow.
High above, Kael faltered for just a breath, his storm breaking for the smallest instant.
He felt it, as though a chain had coiled around his chest.
The Prime Relic was gone.
The calamity was slain, but the true disaster had only just begun.
To be continued.....