The sun had yet to rise, but the Kingdom of Etherion was already awake. In the eastern towers of Solvryn Keep, the capital's highest fortress, a chill ran through the stone walls. Not from cold—but from the silence that came before something terrible.
King Aerion Vale stood alone at the edge of the battlements, Solthorn resting beside him. The morning winds danced around his dark hair and crimson cloak, but his eyes were fixed on the distant horizon—where storm clouds twisted unnaturally, black and thick like smoke. They weren't just storms. They were signs. Warnings.
Behind him, heavy boots echoed.
"Bad omen," said General Kael, voice rough like worn steel. "Storms shouldn't form this early. Not like that."
Aerion didn't turn. "I know. The sky itself trembles." He exhaled slowly. "Malgareth's moving."
Kael cursed under his breath. "Let him come. We'll break his spine and send his generals back in ashes."
Aerion smirked faintly. "Your fire's always ahead of your breath, brother."
From below, a new sound—sharp horns. Not alarms, but calls to gather. Across the courtyards, thousands of soldiers stirred. Etherion's elite lined up in glistening armor: mages, swordsmen, archers, elementalists, even beast-mounted scouts. Their training had become ritual. Their swords, ready prayers.
In the war hall, the Vale siblings convened.
Elira, dressed in hunter's leathers and silver trims, leaned against a table map. Her fingers traced marked points along the coastline. "Shadowspawn sightings increased here and here. Close to the southern watchposts."
Zeke leaned back in his chair, flipping one of his twin blades. "I say we shadow-jump past their little swarm and take out their anchor. They're moving under command—somebody's pulling strings."
Orion, flipping pages of his enchanted chronobook, muttered, "Zynex. Probably him. There's been a pattern—swift kills, silent corpses, no magic traces. Classic Umbrosian assassin work."
Lyra frowned, her hand glowing faintly as she healed a cracked training crystal. "Then we need stronger wards on our outer barriers. If they get too close to the towns…"
Kael slammed his fist on the table. "Enough talk. We strike."
"No," Aerion said firmly. All eyes turned. "Not yet."
He pointed at the map. "We'll wait for the Frostwolf scouts. Jarl Havor promised reports before the full moon. If we move without knowing the north's safety, we expose Lunethra. And my wife is there."
Kael grunted, stepping back. Personal ties always tangled decisions—but strategy was strategy.
A silence fell. Until Elira broke it. "So we wait… but prepare."
"Exactly," Aerion nodded. "Summon the allied messengers. Call the tribal champions. Activate the Corsair skyships."
He picked up Solthorn, its core pulsing faintly.
"Tonight, we light the signal pyres across Etherion. If Umbrosia wants war… we give them a dawn they'll never forget."
Outside the keep, clouds churned faster.
Far away, in the poisoned realm of Umbrosia, General Veyra stood at the edge of a black cliff, whispering to her blood-soaked altar. Her red eyes opened.
"They know we're coming."
She smiled.
"Good."