The mist was gone—but it left behind a silence that clung like frost to the bones.
On the blackstone walls, Valtor's claws gripped the battlements, his eyes sweeping the treeline with slow, brutal precision. No movement. No sound. Only the ragged breathing of his soldiers and the faint hiss of torches reigniting, their flames weak against the lingering dread.
"Hold your lines," he barked, voice hoarse but firm. "No one moves until I say."
Below, the men obeyed without question, shields raised, eyes darting between one another as if waiting for the mist to return.
Kaela crouched lower, golden eyes narrowed to slits. Her daggers were still slick with black blood, but her body had gone unnaturally still—like a predator frozen mid-stalk.
"It's too quiet," she whispered.
Lilith stepped forward, her boots silent on the stone, cloak trailing like smoke. Her crimson gaze roved the edges of the warding runes, lips tightening as she traced the cracks spidering through their glow.
"They hit the wards hard," she muttered. "Stronger than before. The next time… they may not hold."
Angela's voice rose, small and uncertain, from behind. "What… what was that thing? The one with the eyes?"
Lilith didn't answer immediately. Her fingers hovered over a rune, tracing the scorch marks left by dark magic. Finally, she murmured, "Not a beast. Not a soldier. A message."
Valtor's tail lashed the air once, sharp and agitated. "And the message is clear. They're coming again."
Lysanthir appeared from the stairwell below, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade through silk. He said nothing at first, only scanning the horizon with that same, unreadable calm.
Kaela spoke softly but sharp. "Master… the herald. It said Morveth's name."
Lysanthir's gaze flicked to her, then to Lilith. His voice was iron and ice.
"We expected her hand. Now we've seen her weapon."
Lilith's eyes burned crimson. "We need time to repair the wards."
"You'll have it," Lysanthir said quietly. "But make no mistake: this was only their first breath. We are the pause between it—and the storm."
He turned his gaze downward, toward the longhouse at the village's heart. His voice dropped lower, a whisper meant only for them.
"And beneath us… something else watched."
Lilith stiffened. Her eyes slid to the floor beneath her boots, as if she could feel the faintest tremor through the stone.
"The demon," she breathed. "It felt it too."
Valtor's fists clenched around his blade, his scales twitching with rising tension. "Then we keep watch. Over the walls—and below."
Lysanthir nodded once, his eyes gleaming faintly in the torchlight.
"Prepare," he said, voice cutting like a cold wind. "The night is not over."
And as they stood there, staring into the darkened forest—no more monsters in sight, no more voices to taunt them—the weight of the battle pressed heavier than ever.
Because every one of them knew:
This was no victory.
It was a warning.
And somewhere, deep below, the demon stirred—listening.
Hours had passed, but no one truly relaxed.
The walls were manned in shifts now—soldiers moving with stiff, silent discipline, their eyes sunken but sharp. No one spoke unless necessary. Even laughter, once common among the recruits, had vanished—swallowed by the weight of what they'd faced.
Inside the longhouse, a map lay sprawled across the main table, marked with fresh ink and small carved stones. Lilith stood over it, her cloak draped carelessly over one shoulder, eyes cold and calculating. A thin streak of dried blood still stained her palm, though she seemed not to notice.
Valtor paced near the far wall, his tail slicing the air in measured arcs. His armor was streaked with soot and claw-marks, but he moved like a creature made of pure tension—coiled and ready.
Kaela sat cross-legged on the edge of a beam above them, silent, her golden eyes flicking between the two.
Lysanthir stood apart from them all, near the heavy iron doors, gazing out into the night. His expression hadn't changed, but there was something colder about him now—something that made even the torchlight seem hesitant to touch him.
"They've retreated for now," Valtor growled, breaking the silence. "But they'll come back stronger."
Lilith nodded, her finger sliding along the edge of the map. "The wards are weakened here." She tapped near the northern ridge. "And along the east wall—hairline fractures. Small now, but next time…"
"They'll know," Kaela finished from above, her voice quiet but sharp.
Valtor's claws flexed against his arms. "We can't hold if they hit with full force."
Lysanthir's voice cut through the room, smooth and low. "We will hold."
They all looked at him.
He stepped forward slowly, eyes locking on Lilith's. "You have until dawn to reinforce the wards. Valtor—triple the watch. Kaela, sweep the perimeter again. Nothing unseen enters."
"And if they strike before dawn?" Valtor asked, brow furrowing.
Lysanthir's gaze didn't waver. "Then we meet them at the walls. And we do not falter."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Lilith's lips curved into the faintest smile—a smile not of comfort, but of hunger.
"They'll regret testing us," she whispered.
Kaela slipped down from the beam, landing in a crouch, already turning toward the door.
Valtor slammed a fist to his chest in salute. "As you command."
Lysanthir let his gaze linger on each of them—steady, hard, unbreakable.
"This night was a warning," he said, his voice like stone. "But so was our answer."
And outside, as the torches hissed and the mist slithered once more along the forest floor, the village stood—scarred, shaken…
But still unbroken.
Far below the same sky—but in a place where no light touched—Luceris pressed his back against the damp stone wall, breath shallow, eyes fixed on nothing.
The echoes of battle still haunted the air, faint but unmistakable. Even here, buried beneath thick walls and chained by silence, he had felt it—the tremor of something vast shaking the earth. The distant clash of blades. The shrieks. The strange, suffocating weight that had pressed down on his chest for what felt like hours.
It had faded now.
But the dread lingered.
Vaerion shifted nearby, his chains rattling softly in the gloom. His voice—hoarse, frayed—broke the heavy quiet. "It's over?"
Luceris didn't answer at once. His eyes drifted toward the slit of a window high above them—a thin line of black where no moonlight dared linger.
"Yes," he said finally, his tone hollow. "For now."
Vaerion exhaled shakily and leaned his head back against the stone. "We heard it. Felt it. Like the world was splitting open…"
Luceris's jaw clenched. His mind reeled—not from the noise, but from the memory:The twisted creatures, the war drums of magic, the eerie stillness before something... other appeared. He had only caught fragments, felt tremors, but even that had been enough to send a chill through his veins.
And then—those words. Spoken from beyond the walls, yet echoing in his skull like a curse:Lady Morveth remembers you.
He shivered.
"They're strong," Vaerion whispered, his voice trembling. "Too strong. And we… we're rotting down here. Forgotten."
Luceris shook his head slowly. "No." His voice hardened, low but resolute. "Not forgotten."
Vaerion looked at him, frowning. "Then why hasn't your father—"
Luceris's eyes flashed, cutting through the dark. "Because this… whatever's happening out there… it's bigger than him now."
Silence stretched between them.
Vaerion's voice broke it again, quieter this time. "Do you think… it's over for us?"
Luceris didn't answer right away. He leaned his head back, staring up at that thin line of empty sky.
And in his mind—against his will—he saw her face: Lilith. Her eyes. Her smile like sharpened glass. Her voice, whispering in his dreams, weaving through every memory until he no longer knew where his thoughts ended and hers began.
He closed his eyes tightly.
"No," he muttered at last. "It's not over."
And in the silence that followed, he could almost hear her voice again, faint but unmistakable—as if she were standing right there beside him:
Soon, my little pawn. Very soon.