As the first rays of dawn broke across the horizon, Elara stood on the ridge overlooking the battlefield. Below, her forces moved into position, the quiet hum of preparation filling the air. The plan had been set. They had one shot at this, and failure was not an option.
The pass stretched out before them, narrow and treacherous, its jagged cliffs looming on either side. It was the perfect place for an ambush—a trap they hoped to spring on the Ancients' commanders. But it was also a place that could just as easily turn against them if things went wrong.
Garrick and his small strike team were already on the move, slipping into the shadows of the pass. Elara's heart clenched as she watched them disappear into the rocks. She trusted him—she had to—but the risk weighed heavily on her. They were about to engage the most dangerous of the Ancients' forces, the commanders who wielded dark magic and controlled their vast armies. One misstep could mean disaster.
"Elara," Marcus' voice broke through her thoughts, steady as always. He stood beside her, his eyes scanning the horizon. "It's time."
She nodded, pushing aside her doubts. There was no room for hesitation now. She had to lead, had to be the symbol of hope her people needed. She turned to face her army—battle-hardened soldiers, mages, and archers—all standing ready, waiting for her signal.
"We've come a long way," she began, her voice carrying over the crowd. "We've fought through trials that tested our strength, our will, and our unity. And now, we face our greatest challenge yet."
The soldiers stood silent, their faces a mix of determination and fear.
"But we are more than just a group of warriors. We are a force bound by a common purpose—to protect our world, to save our people. And today, we fight not just for victory, but for survival."
She raised her sword high, the morning sun catching the blade. "Fight with everything you have. For Velarys, for our future!"
A cheer rose up from the army, their spirits lifting with her words. She could feel the tension break, replaced with a fierce resolve. They were ready.
With a final nod to Marcus, Elara mounted her horse and led the charge forward. Her forces moved as one, surging down the ridge toward the open plains where the bulk of the enemy's army waited. The Ancients' soldiers were already in formation, their black armor gleaming ominously in the morning light.
As they approached, the ground rumbled beneath their feet, and Elara could feel the magic in the air thickening. The Ancients' dark power pulsed across the battlefield, warping the landscape. But she did not falter. She held tightly to the artifact of fire, its warmth grounding her as they neared the enemy line.
The clash came swiftly. Swords met shields with a deafening crash, and the battlefield erupted into chaos. Fire and ice shot through the air as the mages unleashed their spells, the ground trembling beneath the force of their combined power. Elara fought her way through the fray, her sword cutting down enemy after enemy as she moved toward the heart of the battle.
Beside her, Marcus fought with precision and strength, his every move calculated and deadly. Together, they pushed forward, carving a path toward the enemy's commanders. But it was slow going—the Ancients' forces were relentless, their dark magic creating barriers that blocked their advance.
"Keep pushing!" Elara shouted, her voice barely audible over the roar of battle. "We have to break through!"
The air crackled with energy as one of the enemy mages unleashed a bolt of dark lightning, narrowly missing Elara as it struck the ground beside her. She gritted her teeth, summoning the power of the fire artifact. Flames erupted around her, forming a protective barrier as she advanced.
But even as they fought their way forward, Elara couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Garrick should have made contact by now. His strike team was supposed to take out the commanders, disrupting the enemy's control over their army. But there had been no sign of him, no signal that the plan was working.
Suddenly, a deafening roar echoed across the battlefield. Elara's heart froze as she looked up to see a massive shadow descending from the sky—a dragon, its scales black as night, its eyes glowing with dark magic.
"No…" Elara breathed, watching in horror as the beast swooped low, its massive wings stirring up dust and debris. The Ancients had unleashed their greatest weapon.
The dragon landed with a thunderous crash, its claws digging into the earth as it let out another terrifying roar. Its rider, one of the Ancients' commanders, sat tall in the saddle, his dark armor gleaming as he surveyed the battlefield with cold, calculating eyes.
"We're out of time," Marcus said, his voice grim as he stepped beside her. "We need to take out that commander, or we're finished."
Elara nodded, her mind racing. The plan had gone off course, but they couldn't retreat now. The fate of Velarys depended on this battle, on their ability to stop the Ancients here and now.
"Gather the mages," she ordered, her voice steady despite the chaos swirling around them. "We need to bring that beast down."
Marcus nodded and sprinted off to rally the mages. Elara turned her attention back to the dragon, her heart pounding in her chest. She had faced many challenges on this journey, but nothing compared to this. If they didn't stop that dragon, it would be the end of everything they had fought for.
With a deep breath, she raised the artifact of fire, feeling its power surge through her. The flames burned brighter, hotter, as she prepared for what would be the most difficult battle of her life.
This was the turning point.