Three days later, at noon. The sun hung high in the sky, spilling sun rays through the forest canopy. Eryndor walked silently through the dense woods, his bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows slung over his back. His sword was strapped to his side, dangling at every step he took, though he hoped he wouldn't need it. Hunting was one of the few activities that gave him peace. Out here, away from thoughts of magic, nightmares, and dark prophecies, life felt normal—almost.
The wind whispered softly as Eryndor stepped carefully over broken branches and dry leaves. Ahead, he spotted movement: a deer. Its coat shimmered in the sunlight as it grazed in a small clearing, unaware of his presence. Eryndor crouched, nocking an arrow to his bowstring. He held his breath and pulled back, steadying his aim.
"Just one clean shot," he whispered to himself.
His muscles tensed, ready to release the arrow when the ground trembled. The deer raised its head, its large eyes wide with alarm. Suddenly, the earth erupted with a sickening crack. Skeletal hands burst through the soil, clawing their way upward. The deer bolted into the woods, but Eryndor froze as he watched in horror.
One by one, the dead rose. The skeletons shook off stumps of dirt, their empty eye sockets glowing faintly with a malevolent light. Some still wore tattered remnants of ancient clothing and rusted armor, while others were little more than bones and decay. They stood tall, creaking as they moved, their jagged fingers flexing as if eager for violence.
Eryndor stumbled back, his bow lowering. This can't be happening.
The first skeleton lurched forward, its bony limbs rattling as it closed the distance between them. Eryndor's instincts kicked in. He loosed his arrow, the sharp tip striking the skull cleanly, shattering it into splinters. The creature crumpled to the ground, but before Eryndor could exhale, two more skeletons emerged to take its place.
From all around him, the ground cracked and split open. Dozens of skeletons clawed their way to the surface. Soon, there were too many to count, a horde of undead creatures, their numbers growing with each passing moment.
Eryndor's heart pounded as he backed away, his mind racing. He slung his bow across his back and drew his sword. "Come on, then!" he shouted, trying to summon some courage.
The nearest skeleton lunged at him with bared teeth, but Eryndor swung his blade, shattering its ribcage and skull in one clean motion. Another creature came at him from the side, and he sidestepped, slashing through its legs and sending it collapsing into the dirt.But for every skeleton he destroyed, more kept coming. The horde surrounded him like a tide of death, pressing closer and closer.
Sweat dripped down Eryndor's face as his arms ached from swinging his sword. He grunted as a bony fist struck him in the shoulder, sending him staggering backward. He could hear the clicking and creaking of their movements, a dreadful sound that made his skin crawl.
"This isn't normal," he panted. "What is happening?!"
Suddenly, one skeleton leapt forward, its jagged claws raking across his chest. Eryndor cried out, stumbling and falling to one knee. Blood seeped through his tunic, and his breathing grew ragged. He gripped his sword tightly, but his strength was fading.
He can't fight them all…
The horde pressed in, skeletal hands reaching for him. Panic surged through Eryndor as he felt himself drowning in their sheer numbers. The air grew heavy, the ground beneath him trembling as if mocking his defeat.
No, he thought. Not like this. I won't die here!
Summoning every ounce of willpower, Eryndor raised his free hand. He closed his eyes and focused, reaching deep into himself, into the magic he had long avoided. The familiar hum of power stirred within him, and the wind around him began to swirl violently.
"Astrum ignis, eximius furor, descendo in tenebris!" he roared.
The earth trembled, and his voice echoed like thunder. With a shout, he released the magic. Energy surged from his body, rippling outward. Rocks, twigs, and leaves shot into the air, swirling like a deadly storm of fire. A wave of force shattered the skeletons nearest to him, their bones flying apart in a cloud of dust.
But the effort cost him. Eryndor dropped to his knees, panting, his vision blurring at the edges. His magic had destroyed a third of the horde, but the remaining skeletons were undeterred. They regrouped, their glowing eyes fixed on him with renewed purpose.
Eryndor's chest heaved as he tried to stand, but his body was spent. He gritted his teeth and whispered, "Astra descendit, terra aperi,
Aerius suscipio, ignis excito.
Asvarion, draco magnus, adsum!
Per crystallum purum, te invoco.
Veni, Asvarion, et ostende potentiam tuam!"
The air grew still. A low, distant hum vibrated through the ground, and the sky darkened.
A fiery light blazed above, and suddenly, Asvarion appeared. The firebird descended from the heavens, its wings spreading wide, casting an enormous shadow over the battlefield. Its feathers crackled with flames, its talons glowing white-hot.
The skeletons froze, as if they too sensed the firebird's power.
The firebird opened its beak, and a torrent of fire erupted. The flames roared like a great storm, engulfing the skeletons in a blazing inferno. Their screeches filled the air as they burned to ash, the dark energy that had animated them disintegrating under the sheer heat of Asvarion's power.
The flames died down as quickly as they had come, leaving nothing but scorched earth and smouldering embers. The air was still again, the forest eerily quiet.
Eryndor looked up from where he knelt, his body trembling. The firebird hovered above him, its gaze sharp but reassuring.
"You called," Asvarion said.
Eryndor managed to stand, though his legs felt like lead. He stared at the charred remains of the skeletons, his voice hoarse. "What were they? Why did they come for me?"
Asvarion landed beside him, its radiant form dimming slightly. "The dead have begun to stir, summoned by forces far darker than you have yet seen. Your sisters' power grows, Eryndor, and they will send worse against you."
Eryndor swallowed hard. "I wasn't ready," he admitted. "I couldn't handle them on my own."
"That is because you have yet to embrace your full potential," Asvarion said. "Your magic is strong, but it remains untamed. You cannot keep running from it."
Eryndor glanced down at his hands, which still faintly tingled with residual energy. He remembered the sensation of releasing his magic—a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
"How do I stop this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You must train hard and well," Asvarion replied. "You must prepare for the battles to come. Your sisters will not stop, and neither will the dark forces they command."
Eryndor clenched his fists, determination hardening in his chest. He had spent years running from his magic, from his destiny. But he could not ignore the truth any longer.
"I'll do it," he said finally. "I'll train more with your assistance, I'll fight. Whatever it takes."
Asvarion nodded approvingly. "Good. The path ahead will be perilous, but you are not alone."
With that, the firebird spread its wings and soared into the sky, its form disappearing into the sunlight. Eryndor stood alone in the quiet clearing, the scorched earth a stark reminder of the battle he had survived.