Sylas and Alira traveled with urgency, their steps quick but purposeful as they moved through the dense woods that separated them from the City of Dawn. The air was thick with the scent of rain, though the sky above remained stubbornly clear. It was as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for something.
Alira had remained quiet since they left the ruins of Tharion. The weight of their victory, the knowledge that they had averted one disaster, was tempered by the realization that the true battle was far from over. The enemies they had made, the forces lurking in the shadows, and the storm that continued to build—everything pointed toward an uncertain and perilous future.
"Do you think they'll be ready?" Alira's voice broke the silence, quiet but filled with concern.
Sylas glanced over at her. Her eyes were focused ahead, her brow furrowed in thought. "I don't know. The City of Dawn has always been a place of great importance, but the world has changed since we last saw it. I hope they're ready. I hope we're not too late."
Alira nodded but didn't say anything more. Both of them knew that time was their greatest enemy now. Every hour that passed, the storm in the distance grew closer. The power that had once been contained, the remnants of the Veins, was beginning to stir once more. And with it, the ancient forces that sought to control it were making their moves.
As they pushed forward through the forest, the ground beneath them seemed to tremble slightly, the first signs of the storm's impending arrival. Sylas' instincts flared. It was subtle, but it was unmistakable. A ripple in the fabric of reality, a tremor that felt like the world itself was on edge.
"We should pick up the pace," Sylas said, his voice low but urgent.
Alira nodded in agreement, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword. They had been on the move for hours, but now the air felt thicker, heavier. A distant rumble of thunder echoed from the horizon, though the sky remained clear. It was the calm before the storm.
As they approached the edge of the forest, the first signs of the City of Dawn came into view. The tall, gleaming spires of the city's outer walls stood like sentinels against the backdrop of the forest. But as they drew closer, a sense of unease settled over Sylas.
The city was quiet.
Too quiet.
"I don't like this," Alira muttered, her sharp eyes scanning the walls of the city. "Where is everyone?"
Sylas could feel it too. The City of Dawn, once a bustling hub of magic and knowledge, now appeared eerily still. No guards patrolled the outer gates, and the usual hum of energy that had once filled the air was absent. It was as if the city had been abandoned overnight.
"Something's wrong," Sylas said, his voice tight. "Stay alert."
They moved closer, the silence around them pressing down like a physical weight. The gates to the city, once grand and imposing, now stood slightly ajar, as though they had been hastily abandoned. Sylas and Alira exchanged a quick glance, their hands instinctively moving to their weapons.
They stepped through the gates cautiously, entering the city's heart. The streets were empty, save for the occasional flutter of banners caught by a breeze that had no right to be as cold as it was. The air had taken on a heavy, almost oppressive quality, as though the city itself was holding its breath.
"Where is everyone?" Alira whispered, her voice barely audible.
Sylas didn't answer. He was too busy scanning their surroundings, his senses heightened. He could feel the remnants of magic in the air, but it was scattered, broken. It wasn't the same kind of concentrated power they had once felt here. Something had disrupted the city's flow, something dark and unnatural.
They continued moving deeper into the city, their footsteps the only sound in the silence. As they reached the central square, they saw the first signs of what had happened.
The statues that once stood proudly in the plaza had been toppled, their shattered forms lying scattered across the ground. The once-beautiful fountains had dried up, the stones cracked and crumbling. The walls of the central hall, where the ruling council had once met, were now covered in strange, dark symbols—arcane marks that Sylas recognized only too well. They were the same marks that had appeared in the ruins of Tharion, signs of an ancient, forgotten power.
"Who would do this?" Alira's voice trembled with disbelief.
Sylas didn't answer immediately. He was too focused on the symbols, tracing them with his eyes. These were not just the marks of an enemy—they were the marks of something older, something far more dangerous.
"We need to find out what happened here," Sylas said, his tone grim. "But we need to be careful. Whoever did this... they're still here."
As if on cue, a low, guttural growl echoed from the shadows, a sound that sent chills down Sylas's spine. The darkness seemed to move, coiling and twisting, as figures emerged from the alleyways.
They were cloaked in shadow, their forms indistinct, but their eyes glowed with an unnatural light. Their presence radiated a palpable malevolence, the very air around them rippling with dark magic. There was no mistaking it now.
They were not just remnants of the storm. They were its heralds.
Sylas's grip tightened on his sword as he and Alira prepared for what was coming. The storm had reached the City of Dawn—and with it, the forces that would stop at nothing to see the world consumed by its power.
The rising storm was not just a force of nature—it was a force of destruction, and it had come to claim everything.