While Frank endured the brutal training of Aurenfall, back in his town, a storm was quietly gathering.
Elara had been tending to the wounded from the previous attacks, working late in the small clinic her mentor had left behind. The town was quiet—too quiet—and instinct whispered that danger lingered nearby.
At first, it was subtle: doors creaking, shadows flickering in the corners of alleys, whispers of movement too fast to be human. Elara dismissed it as nerves. She had dealt with threats before… but never this calculated.
Then came the sudden crash.
A group of cloaked figures, not the chaotic pawns Frank had faced, moved silently into the streets. They weren't attacking randomly—they were hunting. Every step measured, every corner checked.
Elara's heart raced. She grabbed her satchel and rushed to barricade the clinic door, but one figure slipped past her.
"Stop!" she shouted, but the figure vanished into the shadows before she could reach him.
Panic struck. Elara knew what this meant. Frank's enemies had followed him—or learned his connections.
She ran to the town square, hoping to warn others, only to find a few guards struggling to hold back more intruders. Her breath hitched. The town was vulnerable.
In that moment, a memory of Frank's words surfaced: "Fear doesn't build anything. Standing does."
Elara steadied herself. She couldn't wait. She wouldn't panic.
Using what she had learned tending the wounded, she set crude traps: overturned crates, pots of water balanced on edges, and ropes tied to bells. It wasn't much, but it could buy time.
One intruder tripped. A bell clanged. Another froze, and the sound spread like wildfire.
By the time the townsfolk realized what was happening, Elara had already directed them into safer areas. Children hidden, elderly escorted indoors, doors locked.
The intruders, seeing the town partially prepared, retreated—vanishing as quickly as they appeared.
Exhausted, bruised, and trembling, Elara sank to the steps of the clinic.
Frank had left to fight a bigger world… and yet the danger had followed home.
She clutched the small cloth band Frank had given her.
You will come back. I know it.
And somewhere beyond the rooftops, in the darkness, the whisper returned—not mocking, not distant, but personal:
"There he stands… but can he protect what he loves?"