REVAMP**
The aftermath of the Harbingers' attack lingered like a bruise on the psyche of Arkaneth. The morning sun filtered weakly through the clouds, casting a pale light over the village. Smoke from hastily repaired barricades hung in the air, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. Villagers moved with a sense of muted urgency, their faces etched with exhaustion and unease.
Thalrik Orenda stood near the village gate, his spear resting against the wall as he surveyed the damage. The wooden gates bore deep scorch marks from the Harbingers' dark energy, and the ground was littered with charred debris and the remains of broken weapons. A few bodies—villagers who had fallen in the defense—were being carried to the burial grounds.
Vesimir approached, his armor dented and blood-streaked. His usually sharp gaze was weary but determined. "The patrols report no further movement near the forest," he said. "It seems the Harbingers retreated for now."
Thalrik nodded, though his expression remained grim. "They'll be back," he said quietly. "And next time, they won't stop at testing our defenses."
Vesimir glanced toward the Orenda household, where the boy's faint glow could still be seen through the window. "The light... what was that?" he asked, his voice tinged with awe. "It wasn't just his wings. It felt... alive."
Thalrik followed his gaze, his thoughts heavy. "Whatever it was, it saved us," he said. "But it also drew them here. The boy is more than just a child, Vesimir. He's a beacon—for both hope and destruction."
---
Inside the Orenda household, Valaith knelt by the fire, her hands trembling slightly as she cradled the boy. Serenya sat beside her, silent for once, her wide eyes fixed on her mother's face. The boy's golden wings were folded neatly against his back, their glow dimmed but still present. His golden eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at Valaith with a calm expression that belied his age.
"He saved us, Mama," Serenya said softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence. "I saw it. His light scared the bad people away."
Valaith smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter's face. "Yes, my love," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. "He saved us."
The boy reached out, his small hand resting on Valaith's cheek. The warmth of his touch was immediate, a soothing balm that eased the tension in her chest. She closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath.
A knock at the door broke the moment. Valaith turned to see Thalrik stepping inside, his expression both relieved and concerned. "How is he?" he asked, his voice low.
Valaith looked down at the boy, who had drifted back to sleep. "He's strong," she said softly. "Stronger than I realized."
Thalrik crossed the room, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We need to talk," he said. "The council is meeting. They're expecting us."
Valaith hesitated, her gaze lingering on the boy. Serenya reached out, placing her small hand over his. "I'll stay with him, Mama," she said. "I'll keep him safe."
Valaith smiled, leaning down to kiss her daughter's forehead. "Thank you, Serenya."
---
The council chamber was filled with tension as the elders took their seats around the weathered wooden table. The faint scent of incense hung in the air, mingling with the crackle of the hearth. Kaelith, the scholar elder, sat with a stack of ancient texts before him, his blue eyes sharp and intent. Lysara, the advocate, leaned forward, her dark eyes scanning the room with a fiery intensity. Dagrim, the strategist, sat with his mechanical arm resting on the table, his expression grim.
Thalrik and Valaith entered together, their presence commanding immediate attention. The room fell silent as Thalrik took his seat at the head of the table. He leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly.
"The Harbingers attacked our gates last night," he began, his voice steady but heavy. "They were after the boy."
Kaelith adjusted his spectacles, his brow furrowing. "Their obsession with extinguishing the light aligns with the prophecy," he said. "But their timing suggests they've been watching us."
Lysara's lips pressed into a thin line. "If they know about the boy, others will, too," she said. "It's only a matter of time before the Order hears of him."
Dagrim leaned forward, his mechanical hand flexing. "We can't wait for them to come to us," he said. "We need to strike first. Take the fight to the Harbingers and wipe them out before they have a chance to regroup."
"That's a reckless plan," Kaelith said sharply. "The Harbingers are not simple raiders. They wield powers we barely understand. Charging into the forest would be suicide."
Lysara's voice cut through the argument like a blade. "We need a plan that ensures the boy's safety above all else," she said. "He is our priority."
Thalrik raised a hand, silencing the debate. "We're not attacking the Harbingers," he said firmly. "Not yet. Our focus is on strengthening our defenses and preparing the villagers. If the Harbingers come again, we'll be ready. But we can't afford to be reckless."
Dagrim grumbled but nodded reluctantly. "And the Order?" he asked. "What do we do if they show up?"
Thalrik's expression hardened. "We'll deal with them when the time comes," he said. "For now, we protect the boy and our people."
---
As the meeting adjourned, Thalrik lingered by the table, his thoughts heavy. Kaelith approached, his expression unreadable.
"There's something you're not saying," Kaelith said quietly. "About the boy."
Thalrik hesitated, then nodded. "His light—it wasn't just power. It was... deliberate. As if he knew exactly what he was doing."
Kaelith's eyes narrowed. "Then he's more than just a beacon," he said. "He's a force. One that could shape the fate of this world."
Thalrik's gaze drifted to the door. "And that's what scares me," he said softly. "Because forces like that... they don't come without a cost."
The golden rays of the morning sun illuminated the village of Arkaneth, casting long shadows across the walls and structures. The quiet of the early hours was deceptive, masking the turmoil simmering within the hearts of the villagers. Though the Harbingers had been repelled, their retreat left more questions than answers—and an uneasy certainty that they would return.
Thalrik Orenda stood in the central square, his voice carrying above the murmur of activity. "I want every warrior armed and ready by dusk," he said, addressing a group of seasoned fighters and eager recruits. "We'll rotate patrols around the clock, and I don't want anyone wandering beyond the walls alone."
The warriors nodded, their expressions solemn. Many of them bore the marks of the previous night's battle—bandaged wounds, singed armor, and haunted eyes. Despite their weariness, they moved with purpose, knowing the safety of the village depended on their vigilance.
Vesimir approached, his steps brisk. "Scouts are ready to head out," he reported. "We'll cover the forest's edge and the southern dunes."
Thalrik gave a curt nod. "Good. Keep them in pairs, and tell them to report back at the first sign of trouble."
As Vesimir left to relay the orders, a voice called out from the smithy. "Chief! Over here!"
Thalrik turned to see Bismarck, the village's blacksmith, standing beside his forge. The burly man waved him over, his face smudged with soot. On the anvil before him lay a new batch of weapons—plasma-tipped spears, reinforced swords, and crossbow bolts designed to pierce even the toughest hides.
"Thought you'd want to see these," Bismarck said, hefting one of the spears. The weapon gleamed in the sunlight, its energy core humming faintly. "Fresh from the forge. Stronger and sharper than anything we've had before."
Thalrik picked up one of the spears, testing its weight. "Impressive," he said, his voice laced with approval. "These will give us an edge."
Bismarck grinned, though his expression quickly turned serious. "They'd better. Something tells me the next fight's going to be worse than the last."
Thalrik placed the spear back on the anvil, his gaze steady. "We'll be ready."
---
In a quiet corner of the village, Kaelith sat hunched over a large, weathered tome in his cluttered study. The room was filled with shelves of ancient texts and relics, their faded inscriptions hinting at the forgotten knowledge of Terra's past. A single candle burned on the desk, casting a warm glow over the pages.
The scholar's hands trembled as he traced the delicate script of the prophecy. "And in the time of great peril," he read aloud, his voice barely above a whisper, "the light shall rise, and with it, the shadow."
He leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. The boy's arrival had sparked hope, but it had also awakened forces that had long lain dormant. The Harbingers' attack was proof of that.
A knock at the door interrupted his musings. "Enter," he called, his voice weary.
The door creaked open, and Lysara stepped inside. Her sharp gaze swept the room before settling on Kaelith. "You look like you've been up all night," she remarked.
"I have," Kaelith replied, gesturing to the tome before him. "The texts speak of a balance between light and shadow. For every force of hope, there is an equal force of destruction. The boy's arrival has tipped that balance."
Lysara crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. "So you're saying he's the cause of all this?"
"No," Kaelith said quickly. "But his presence accelerates it. The Harbingers were drawn to him, and others will follow. We're standing at the edge of something much larger than this village."
Lysara's lips pressed into a thin line. "Then we'd better make sure Arkaneth doesn't get swallowed up."
Kaelith nodded, though his gaze remained distant. "We need to understand him, Lysara. The boy's power isn't just a tool—it's a key. And if we can unlock its potential..."
Lysara held up a hand, cutting him off. "Whatever potential he has, it won't matter if we can't keep him alive."
---
Meanwhile, in the Orenda household, Valaith moved about the small space, her hands busy preparing a simple meal. Serenya sat at the table, her legs swinging idly as she watched her mother work. The boy lay in a small cradle near the hearth, his golden wings tucked neatly against his back.
"Mama," Serenya said, breaking the silence, "why did the bad people want him?"
Valaith paused, her hands hovering over the pot she was stirring. "Because they're afraid of what he represents," she said after a moment. "They fear his light, and they want to snuff it out."
Serenya frowned. "But he's just a baby. How can they be afraid of him?"
Valaith set down the spoon and knelt beside her daughter, taking her small hands in her own. "Sometimes, people fear what they don't understand," she said gently. "And sometimes, that fear makes them do terrible things."
Serenya's eyes filled with determination. "I won't let them hurt him, Mama. I'll protect him."
Valaith smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter's face. "You're very brave, Serenya. But protecting him is something we all have to do—together."
The door opened, and Thalrik stepped inside, his presence filling the room. "How's he doing?" he asked, his gaze flicking to the boy.
"He's resting," Valaith said. "But I worry about what's coming next."
Thalrik crossed the room, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "So do I," he admitted. "But we'll face it. Together."
---
As the day wore on, the village hummed with quiet activity. Warriors sharpened their weapons, villagers reinforced the walls, and scouts prepared to venture into the wilds. Despite the tension, there was a sense of unity—a shared purpose that bound them together.
At the edge of the village, Vesimir stood with a group of scouts, their packs loaded with supplies. He checked his gear one last time before addressing the group. "Stick to the plan," he said. "We cover the perimeter, map out any signs of movement, and report back before nightfall. No unnecessary risks."
The scouts nodded, their faces set with determination. As they filed out through the gates, Vesimir cast a final glance over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on the village.
"Don't worry," Gram said, clapping him on the back. "We've got things covered here."
Vesimir smirked faintly. "I'll hold you to that."
The gates creaked shut behind the scouts, their footsteps fading into the distance. Inside the walls, the villagers carried on, their movements purposeful but tinged with unease. Though they worked tirelessly, a single question lingered in their minds:
How long could they hold out?
Far beyond the walls of Arkaneth, within the depths of the Great Forest, the Harbingers regrouped. The forest here was unnaturally still, its towering trees casting long shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. A clearing served as their temporary base, the ground scorched and warped by the residual energy of their dark magic. The air was heavy, charged with an oppressive presence that seemed to press against the mind.
Five cloaked figures stood in a loose circle, their forms obscured by the swirling black mist that clung to them like a living thing. Their masks, carved with jagged and alien patterns, reflected faintly in the dim light of the clearing.
"The light grows stronger," one of them hissed, their voice distorted and unnatural. "The boy is more powerful than we anticipated."
Another figure stepped forward, their movements fluid and predatory. "It matters not," they said coldly. "He is untrained, unguarded. The mortals can barely comprehend what they harbor. We will strike again—swiftly and decisively."
"And fail again?" a third voice interjected, dripping with scorn. "You saw the power he unleashed. It repelled us, burned us. If we approach without a plan, we risk annihilation."
The leader, marked by the crimson glow of their mask, raised a hand, silencing the others. "Enough," they said, their tone commanding. "The boy's light is a threat to our master's will. If he is allowed to grow, he will become unstoppable. We cannot afford failure."
The Harbingers fell silent, their dark forms shifting uneasily. The leader stepped forward, their voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "We will not attack blindly. Let the mortals cling to their fragile hope. Let them think their walls will protect them. In the shadows, we will grow stronger. And when the time comes, we will not simply extinguish the light—we will consume it."
The other Harbingers nodded in unison, their resolve renewed. As one, they turned and disappeared into the forest, their forms melting into the darkness like smoke on the wind.
---
Back in Arkaneth, the villagers were unaware of the growing storm beyond their walls. The scouts had returned, reporting no immediate threats near the perimeter, but their findings did little to ease the unease that hung over the village like a dark cloud.
Kaelith, the village scholar, worked tirelessly in his study, poring over ancient texts in search of answers. The prophecy had been his guide, but its fragmented nature left much open to interpretation. He muttered to himself as he flipped through pages, his mind racing with possibilities.
"Kaelith?" The voice startled him, and he looked up to see Lysara standing in the doorway. Her arms were crossed, her dark eyes sharp.
"What is it, Lysara?" Kaelith asked, his tone clipped. He was in no mood for interruptions.
Lysara stepped into the room, her expression unreadable. "The villagers are restless," she said. "They're starting to ask questions. Why the Harbingers attacked. Why the boy is here. What we're going to do if the Order finds out."
Kaelith sighed, rubbing his temples. "The answers are not so simple," he said. "The boy is a fulcrum—a point upon which the fate of this world balances. His presence has set events in motion that none of us can fully understand."
Lysara raised an eyebrow. "And you think that will satisfy them? The villagers don't want riddles, Kaelith. They want assurance that their sacrifices mean something."
Kaelith closed the book in front of him with a soft thud, meeting Lysara's gaze. "And what would you have me say? That the boy is a miracle who will save us all? That his light will banish the darkness and bring peace to Terra? I won't lie to them, Lysara. The truth is, we don't know what he is—or what he's capable of."
Lysara's expression softened, though her resolve remained. "Then we figure it out," she said. "Because if we don't, the Harbingers won't stop, and the Order won't hesitate to tear this village apart."
Kaelith nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You're right," he said quietly. "We must understand him—before it's too late."
---
That evening, Thalrik gathered the elders in the council chamber. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across their weary faces. Valaith sat beside her husband, the boy cradled in her arms, his wings faintly glowing in the dim light.
Thalrik addressed the group, his voice steady but grave. "The Harbingers are regrouping," he said. "We've reinforced the walls, trained the warriors, and prepared the villagers as best we can. But we can't keep reacting to every threat. We need to think ahead."
Dagrim leaned forward, his mechanical hand resting on the table. "What do you suggest?" he asked.
Thalrik glanced at Valaith, then at the boy. "We need to understand his power," he said. "It's the only way we'll be able to protect him—and ourselves."
Kaelith nodded. "I've been studying the ancient texts," he said. "There are references to beings of light—angels, saviors, celestial guardians. They are said to draw their power from a divine source, but the details are vague. If the boy truly is one of these beings, his potential could be limitless."
"Or it could destroy us," Lysara said bluntly. "You saw what his light did to the Harbingers. It's powerful, yes, but it's also dangerous. If he loses control—"
"He won't," Valaith interrupted, her voice firm. "He's just a child. He needs guidance, not fear."
Lysara held her gaze for a moment before nodding. "Fine. But guidance won't mean much if the Order shows up and decides he belongs to them."
Thalrik's jaw tightened. "If the Order comes, we'll face them. But until then, we focus on what we can control. Kaelith, I want you to keep studying the texts. Find anything that can help us understand his abilities. Dagrim, oversee the defenses. Lysara, talk to the villagers. Keep them calm. The last thing we need is panic."
The elders nodded, each taking their assignment with quiet determination. As the meeting ended, Thalrik lingered by the fire, his thoughts heavy. Valaith joined him, the boy still asleep in her arms.
"Do you think we're ready?" she asked softly.
Thalrik didn't answer immediately. He stared into the flames, his expression unreadable. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we don't have a choice."
Valaith placed a hand on his arm, her touch grounding him. "We'll figure it out," she said. "We always do."
Thalrik nodded, though the weight of his responsibility remained. The storm was coming, and Arkaneth stood at its center. But no matter what, they would fight—for the boy, for the village, and for the fragile hope he represented.
The air in Arkaneth had grown heavier, carrying the promise of impending conflict. Though the village was calm on the surface, the undercurrents of fear and tension ran deep. The Harbingers' attack had shaken the villagers' sense of security, and now, whispers of their return loomed over every conversation. Despite their preparations, an uneasy question lingered in everyone's mind: Would it be enough?
Thalrik stood at the eastern gate, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the horizon. Beside him, Vesimir leaned against the wooden barricade, his sharp gaze scanning the forest edge. The sun was setting, casting long shadows that crept toward the village like fingers of darkness.
"No movement so far," Vesimir said, breaking the silence. "But it's too quiet out there. Even the wildlife seems spooked."
Thalrik nodded, his expression grim. "The Harbingers aren't the only threat we need to worry about," he said. "If they've caught wind of the boy, it's only a matter of time before others do too."
Vesimir smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it. "You think the Order's already sniffing around?"
Thalrik sighed, his shoulders tensing. "If they're not, they will be soon. The boy's power isn't exactly subtle."
Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of Gram, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He moved quickly, his face set with purpose. "Chief, we've got reports from the southern watch," he said. "One of the patrols spotted tracks leading out of the dunes—large group, heading toward the forest. Could be raiders, but..."
"But it could be the Order," Thalrik finished grimly. He turned to Vesimir. "Double the patrols. Keep the warriors ready, but don't engage unless absolutely necessary. We need to know what we're dealing with."
Vesimir nodded and disappeared into the village to carry out the orders. Gram lingered, his expression troubled. "If it is the Order," he said quietly, "how do we stop them?"
Thalrik didn't answer immediately. He stared out at the darkening horizon, his mind racing. Finally, he said, "We do what we always do, Gram. We protect our own."
---
Elsewhere in the village, Kaelith worked late into the night, his study illuminated by the flickering glow of a single oil lamp. His desk was cluttered with ancient scrolls and fragments of text, each one detailing myths and prophecies of celestial beings. The boy's existence was tied to something far older than Terra's crumbling civilizations, and Kaelith was determined to unravel the mystery.
The scholar paused, his finger tracing a passage in one of the texts. The words were faint, written in a script so old it bordered on illegible.
"When the Light descends, the Veil shall weaken. Shadows shall rise, drawn to its radiance. Yet within the Light lies the power to mend the fractured world—or to destroy it."
Kaelith leaned back, his brow furrowed. The prophecy spoke of balance, of light and shadow locked in an eternal struggle. But it also hinted at choice—an agency that the boy would one day wield.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in," he called, his voice weary.
The door creaked open, and Lysara stepped inside. She was still dressed in her combat gear, her dark eyes sharp and alert. "You look like you're unraveling the secrets of the universe," she said dryly, gesturing to the mess of papers.
Kaelith snorted. "Hardly. The more I read, the less I understand."
Lysara crossed her arms, her gaze falling on one of the scrolls. "What do you make of it?" she asked. "The boy. The light."
Kaelith hesitated, then said, "He's more than just a child. His power—whatever it is—has the potential to reshape the world. But power like that comes at a cost. And I fear the shadows won't be the only ones to demand payment."
Lysara's jaw tightened. "Then we make sure the cost isn't paid by Arkaneth," she said. "Whatever it takes."
Kaelith nodded, though his expression remained troubled. "Whatever it takes," he echoed softly.
---
In the Orenda household, the mood was somber but warm. Valaith sat by the fire, the boy cradled in her arms. His wings were tucked neatly against his back, their glow dim but steady. Serenya sat nearby, her small hands busy weaving another bracelet from strands of dried grass.
"Mama," Serenya said, her voice breaking the quiet, "do you think the bad people will come back?"
Valaith paused, her fingers brushing gently over the boy's golden hair. "I don't know, my love," she said honestly. "But if they do, we'll be ready."
Serenya looked up, her green eyes wide and serious. "I'll fight them, too. Like Papa."
Valaith smiled faintly, though her heart ached at the thought. "You're brave, Serenya. But you don't have to fight. That's why Papa and I are here."
The boy stirred in her arms, his golden eyes opening briefly. He gazed at Serenya, his expression calm and knowing, before closing his eyes again.
Valaith watched him, her thoughts heavy. He was just a child, but the weight of the world already rested on his small shoulders. The light within him was both a gift and a burden, and she feared what it would demand of him—and of them all.
---
At the edge of the forest, hidden among the trees, figures moved in the shadows. They wore the pale robes of the Order of Burning Light, their golden emblems glinting faintly in the moonlight. Among them was High Priestess Elethia Luxora, her silver hair catching the light as she surveyed the village from afar.
Beside her stood Custodes Flammae Teryn Vestra, her bronze armor gleaming even in the dim light. Teryn's hands rested on the hilts of her plasma swords, her stance tense and ready.
"The Savior is here," Elethia said softly, her amber eyes fixed on the village. "His light calls to us."
"And yet we wait," Teryn replied, her tone laced with frustration. "The longer we delay, the more time the shadows have to move."
Elethia placed a hand on Teryn's shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. "Patience," she said. "The Savior must come to us willingly. If we take him by force, we risk extinguishing his light before it can shine."
Teryn's jaw tightened, but she nodded. "And if the shadows strike first?"
"Then we ensure they do not leave this forest alive," Elethia said, her voice hardening. "The light will prevail."
The two women stood in silence, the distant glow of Arkaneth casting faint silhouettes against the darkness. The High Priestess's gaze never wavered, her heart alight with conviction. The Savior was near, and nothing—neither shadow nor mortal resistance—would keep her from fulfilling the prophecy.
The quiet of the night settled over Arkaneth, the village wrapped in an uneasy stillness. The torches along the walls flickered weakly in the breeze, their light barely piercing the encroaching darkness. Inside the Orenda household, the fire had burned low, casting dim shadows that danced across the walls. Valaith sat in her chair, cradling the sleeping boy, while Serenya dozed beside her, her small frame curled beneath a thick woolen blanket.
Thalrik stood near the window, his spear resting against the wall. His sharp green eyes scanned the forest's edge, his body tense. He had sent Vesimir and Gram on a midnight patrol, their orders clear: investigate the tracks reported earlier and confirm whether they posed an immediate threat.
A faint knock at the door broke the silence, and Thalrik's hand instinctively went to his weapon. "Who is it?" he called out, his voice low but firm.
"It's Tara," came the reply, her voice steady but tinged with urgency.
Thalrik opened the door, allowing Tara Caelthara to step inside. Her short black hair was damp with sweat, and her sharp features were set in a grim expression.
"I just returned from the southern outpost," she said, brushing the dust from her cloak. "There's movement in the forest. A group of them—at least a dozen."
Thalrik's jaw tightened. "Harbingers?"
Tara shook her head. "No," she said. "The Order."
---
At the southern perimeter of the village, Vesimir and Gram crouched behind a low ridge, their eyes fixed on the figures moving through the trees. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows over the cloaked forms of the Order's warriors. They moved with precision, their weapons gleaming faintly in the pale light.
"That's not a patrol," Vesimir muttered, his voice barely audible. "They're too organized."
Gram adjusted his rifle, peering through the scope. "Looks like they've got a High Priestess with them," he said. "Fancy robes, glowing runes. Must be Elethia Luxora."
Vesimir's lips curled into a grim smile. "Of course it's her. They wouldn't send anyone less for something like this."
The two men exchanged a look, the unspoken understanding clear: they were outmatched. The Order wasn't just a force of zealots; they were trained, disciplined, and armed with both faith and power. Engaging them head-on would be suicide.
"We need to get back to the village," Vesimir said, his tone sharp. "Warn Thalrik."
Gram nodded, but his eyes lingered on the Order's movements. "They're stopping," he said. "Looks like they're setting up a camp."
Vesimir followed his gaze, his brows furrowing. "They're waiting for something," he said. "Or someone."
---
Inside the council chamber, the elders convened in the dead of night, their faces pale in the lamplight. Thalrik stood at the head of the table, his expression hard as he relayed Tara's report.
"The Order has reached the forest's edge," he said. "They haven't made a move yet, but it's only a matter of time."
Lysara leaned forward, her dark eyes blazing. "We can't let them get to the boy," she said. "If they take him, we lose everything."
"And if we confront them directly?" Dagrim countered, his mechanical hand flexing. "We risk provoking a fight we can't win."
Kaelith stroked his beard thoughtfully, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the table. "The Order is not here to destroy us," he said. "Not yet. Their doctrine demands they secure the boy alive. That gives us leverage."
"Leverage?" Lysara scoffed. "They see us as heretics, Kaelith. Do you really think they'll negotiate?"
"We can't assume they won't," Kaelith replied calmly. "Our priority is to buy time—to understand the boy's power and what it means for Arkaneth. If that means delaying the Order's advance, so be it."
Thalrik raised a hand, silencing the debate. "Enough," he said. "We're not surrendering the boy, and we're not attacking the Order unless we have no other choice. For now, we prepare. Dagrim, double the defenses at the southern gate. Lysara, keep the villagers calm. Tara, coordinate with the scouts. I want to know exactly what the Order is doing."
The elders nodded, their resolve renewed. As the meeting adjourned, Thalrik lingered by the hearth, his thoughts heavy. Valaith approached, the boy in her arms.
"They'll come for him, won't they?" she asked softly.
Thalrik met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Yes," he said. "But they'll have to get through me first."
---
Near the edge of the forest, Elethia Luxora knelt in the center of the Order's camp, her hands clasped in prayer. Around her, the Custodes Flammae stood watch, their golden emblems catching the faint light of the dying embers. Teryn Vestra moved among them, her sharp gaze sweeping the perimeter.
"The villagers won't give him up willingly," Teryn said, her tone matter-of-fact. "You know that."
Elethia opened her eyes, her amber gaze serene but unyielding. "Faith is a powerful force," she said. "It can move mountains—or break them. If they resist, we will show them the light."
"And if they still refuse?" Teryn pressed.
Elethia stood, her movements graceful yet commanding. "Then we do what must be done," she said simply. "The Savior's light belongs to the Divinitarch. No mortal defiance will change that."
Teryn's expression hardened, but she nodded. "Understood."
The High Priestess turned her gaze toward the distant glow of Arkaneth. "The Savior's light will guide us," she said, her voice a quiet promise. "And his power will reshape this world."
---
In the Orenda household, the boy stirred in his sleep, his golden eyes fluttering open. Valaith watched him with a mixture of awe and trepidation, her heart heavy with the weight of what was to come.
"Whatever happens," she whispered, "we'll keep you safe."
But as the boy's wings twitched and his glow intensified, Valaith couldn't shake the feeling that the world was already shifting—and that the storm was only just beginning.