The night felt thick and heavy over Telmar. A strange silence blanketed the village, the kind that made even the bravest hunters grip their spears a little tighter. Kael stood near the gate with Lira and his grandfather, his heart pounding as the horn sounded again—this time, closer.
From the mist, glowing red eyes began to appear. Dark, twisted figures crawled out from the shadows of the mountains—the demon raiders of the Dark Valley of Sorrow. Their armor looked like shards of obsidians, and their claws dragged across the ground, leaving trails of sparks.
"Archers! To the walls!" shouted one of the guards.
Kael's grip tightened the silver dragon's necklace. "I can stop them," he muttered.
His grandfather's hand rested firmly on his shoulder. "Not yet. Your time will come, Kael. But you must know the weight of that choice."
The demons roared, and the first wave charged. Flaming arrows streaked across the night sky, clashing against the wooden barricades. Villagers screamed as the raiders broke through the outer fields, setting hay and wagons to ablaze.
Kael and Lira rushed to help pull a fallen child from the path of the flames. "They're too strong!" Lira cried.
Kael felt something stir deep within him—heat, like molten silver, pulsing through his veins. The necklace around his neck glimmered faintly, as if it too could sense the danger.
High above, the full moon lit the chaos, and for a moment, Kael thought he saw a massive silver shape coiling in the clouds—a dragon's shadow watching, waiting.
The first battle for Telmar had begun.