The cold night gripped the village of Brighthollow, a tense silence hanging over the walls. Thomas stood beside Marcus, Elric, and Ava, all of them staring out into the darkness beyond the northern wall. Ava, an archer with a sharp eye and steady hands, kept her bow ready, scanning the treeline.
"Something's coming," she murmured, her voice tight. "I can feel it."
Moments later, a deep, guttural horn echoed through the woods—a sound unmistakably orcish.
"Orcs…" Thomas whispered.
Garrick's voice rang out from the ramparts. "Orcs to the west! All hands to the walls!"
The militia rushed to their positions. Thomas and his group held fast at the north wall, eyes scanning the trees as shadows shifted and flickered.
"There," Ava said, pointing. "Goblins… and orcs."
Sure enough, small, wiry figures darted through the trees. Goblins, followed by towering orcs in crude armor, wielding deadly axes and swords. But even among the orcs, one figure stood taller than the rest. Gorak, the orc general, led the raid, his war axe gleaming in the torchlight as he bellowed orders to his troops.
"They're here," Marcus said, gripping his sword tightly. "We have to hold them."
"We will," Thomas replied, though his heart pounded in his chest.
The orcs and goblins crashed against the western wall with a savage fury. The militia, untrained and ill-prepared for such an overwhelming force, fought bravely, but they were outmatched. Ava loosed arrow after arrow, each one striking true, but the sheer number of enemies made it impossible to hold them all back.
Gorak's forces brought forward a battering ram, slamming it repeatedly against the weakened section of the wall. With a final thunderous crack, the wall buckled, stones crumbling as the orcs poured through.
"We've got a breach!" Garrick shouted, his voice rising above the chaos. "Fall back to the inner defenses!"
Thomas, Marcus, Elric, and Ava were forced to retreat as the orcs surged into the village. The militia was scattered, desperately trying to fend off the attackers. The goblins were everywhere, setting homes ablaze, cutting down anyone in their path.
Amid the chaos, Thomas saw the devastation unfold. Militiamen screamed as they were overwhelmed by the orcs. He watched as one of his comrades, a young man barely older than himself, was struck down by a goblin's blade, his body crumpling to the ground in a pool of blood.
The village itself was in flames. The men, farmers, and tradesmen who had remained behind when the women and children were evacuated to Fairhaven, fought for their lives. A group tried to flee, but the orcs were merciless, cutting them down before they could reach safety.
Ava stood on the wall, firing arrows as fast as she could, but even she knew they were losing the fight.
"They're too many!" Marcus yelled as he slashed at a goblin trying to scale the wall. "We can't hold them!"
Just when it seemed like the village would fall, a horn blared from behind. Lord Aric and his knights charged into the fray from the east, flanking the orcs from the rear. They had been hiding in the forest, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The sound of thundering hooves filled the air as the knights rode down the orcs and goblins. Lord Aric led the charge, his sword flashing in the moonlight as he cut through the enemy ranks with precise, lethal strikes.
Gorak turned to face the new threat, his red eyes narrowing. He raised his war axe and roared, but Lord Aric's knights moved too swiftly, carving through the orcs with brutal efficiency. The goblins, seeing the tide turn, began to retreat into the woods.
"They're falling back!" Elric shouted, his voice filled with hope.
But the victory was hollow. The damage had already been done. The breach in the wall remained, and though Lord Aric and his knights had driven the orcs back, Brighthollow was left in ruins.
As dawn broke over the horizon, the full extent of the destruction became clear. Smoke hung in the air, and the once-vibrant village of Brighthollow now lay in ruin. Homes had been reduced to smoldering heaps, and the cries of the wounded filled the streets.
Thomas, battered and bloodied, walked among the wreckage. Bodies of militia members, farmers, and tradesmen littered the ground. The orc raid had taken a terrible toll. He saw Marcus sitting slumped against a wall, his sword broken and blood staining his tunic. Elric stood nearby, shaken but alive. Ava, her quiver empty, stared at the carnage in silence.
"They… they didn't stand a chance," Ava whispered, her voice thick with grief. "We couldn't protect them."
"We fought hard," Thomas said, though he knew it wasn't enough. "But we lost too many."
Garrick limped toward them, a deep gash running across his shoulder. His face was grim as he surveyed the aftermath. "Brighthollow is on the brink of collapse," he said, his voice hoarse. "We barely held the line, and even that was because of Lord Aric's intervention. If the orcs come again, we won't survive."
Thomas felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach. Garrick was right. Brighthollow had lost so many—too many. The village walls were broken, and the people were scared and demoralized. The orcs would be back, and next time, they might not be so lucky.
Lord Aric rode up to the group, his armor spattered with orc blood. His face was drawn and weary, though his eyes burned with determination. "We've repelled them for now," he said, "but Gorak will return. He's testing us. He'll hit the smaller villages next, take what he can before launching a full assault."
"We need reinforcements," Garrick said, his voice low. "We can't hold this village with what's left of the militia."
Aric nodded. "I'll send word to Fairhaven for aid. But until then, we have to fortify what we can. Get the remaining men to work on the defenses."
Deep in the forest, Gorak seethed with fury. His raid had been successful in causing havoc, but it had fallen short of total victory. Brighthollow had not fallen, though it had been left crippled. He grunted in frustration, his red eyes gleaming in the darkness.
"We retreat for now," Gorak growled to his lieutenants, his voice dripping with rage. "But we will raid the smaller villages next. Brighthollow will fall eventually."
He turned to one of his goblin captains. "Scout the nearby villages. We'll take what we need—supplies, weapons, slaves. And then we'll return for Brighthollow. They won't survive the next assault."
The goblins scurried off to carry out his orders, while Gorak stared back toward the village. His mind churned with plans for the future. He needed to resupply his forces for the coming war with the dwarves of Kaelmar, and Brighthollow was just the first step.
As the sun began to rise, Thomas and his friends helped the remaining villagers pick up the pieces. They worked in silence, the weight of their failure hanging over them like a dark cloud. Brighthollow had survived the night, but it was a hollow victory.
The wall was breached, many of the militia, farmers, and tradesmen had fallen, and the village was on the brink of collapse. Thomas looked out over the ruined landscape, his heart heavy with grief and uncertainty.
Ava stood beside him, her face pale. "What do we do now?"
Thomas didn't have an answer. All he knew was that the next time the orcs came, they might not survive.