The morning after the battle was heavy with grief. The harbingers had been defeated, but not without cost. Bodies of fallen villagers were laid out in the square, their faces pale and still. Survivors moved among them, their eyes hollow, their movements slow.
Alaric stood at the edge of the square, watching as Lera and the other leaders organized the villagers. His body ached, the golden lines on his arms faint but steady. The energy within him was subdued, recovering from the strain of the night's battle.
"You look like you've been through hell," Lera said as she approached, her spear resting against her shoulder.
"I feel worse," Alaric muttered. He gestured to the square. "How are they holding up?"
"Better than I expected," Lera said, her gaze distant. "But this… it's not sustainable. We can't keep losing people like this."
Alaric nodded, his jaw tightening. "That's why we need more. More people, more strength. If we don't expand the alliance, none of us will survive."
Lera frowned. "The others are scared, Alaric. They fought because they had no choice, but now… I don't know if they'll follow you into another fight."
"They don't have to follow me," Alaric said, his voice firm. "They just have to fight."
The village council met that evening, the mood tense and somber. Alaric laid out his plan, detailing the need to recruit other settlements and prepare for the battles to come. The leaders listened in silence, their expressions ranging from skeptical to resigned.
"You're asking us to risk everything," one of the elders said, his voice trembling. "What if the other villages don't agree? What if they see us as a threat?"
"Then we convince them," Alaric replied. "The master is coming for all of us. If we don't unite, we're already dead."
Another leader, a stern woman named Maeren, crossed her arms. "And what if they join us? What happens when the master brings his full force down on us?"
Alaric's gaze hardened. "Then we fight. And we keep fighting until there's nothing left."
The room fell silent. Finally, Lera spoke, her voice steady. "He's right. We can't keep running, and we can't do this alone. If we're going to survive, we need to take this risk."
One by one, the leaders nodded, their fear giving way to determination.
The next morning, Alaric led a small group of villagers toward the next settlement. The journey was grueling, the Blackwood as dangerous as ever, but they moved with purpose. The harbingers had not been idle, and every step brought new challenges—ambushes, traps, and shadowy creatures that moved like smoke.
Alaric fought tirelessly, his powers growing more instinctive with each battle. The golden lines on his arms pulsed with energy, guiding his strikes and shielding him from harm. But the strain was mounting, and he could feel the limits of his strength creeping closer.
By the time they reached the settlement, night had fallen. The village was larger than the others, its walls reinforced with stone and its defenses well-organized. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their weapons sharp and their eyes wary.
Alaric stepped forward, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "We come from Eldrin's Edge," he called. "We need to speak with your leaders."
The guards exchanged glances, their grips tightening on their weapons. "And why should we trust you?" one of them asked.
"Because I've fought the harbingers," Alaric said, his voice steady. "And I know how to stop them."
The guards hesitated, then nodded. "Follow us."
The meeting with the village leaders was tense, their skepticism palpable. Alaric spoke plainly, describing the master's forces, the growing alliance, and the battles he had fought. He didn't sugarcoat the danger—they deserved to know what they were facing.
One of the leaders, a grizzled man named Harik, leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "You're asking us to join a war we didn't start."
"This isn't a war we can ignore," Alaric said. "The master is coming for everyone. You can fight now, on your terms, or wait until it's too late."
Harik frowned, his gaze flicking to the golden lines on Alaric's arms. "And you? What are you in all this?"
"I'm the one standing between him and all of you," Alaric said. "But I can't do it alone."
The decision to join the alliance was not unanimous, but it was made. Over the next few days, Alaric worked with the villagers, training them and strengthening their defenses. Harik proved to be a skilled fighter, his experience invaluable in organizing the militia.
But as the alliance grew, so did the master's response.
The harbingers attacked on the third night, their numbers greater and their tactics more coordinated. Alaric led the defense, his powers blazing as he fought alongside the villagers. The battle was fierce, the harbingers relentless, but the alliance held.
When the last harbinger fell, the villagers cheered, their voices echoing through the night. For a moment, there was hope.
But Alaric stood apart, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The battles were getting harder, the harbingers stronger. And he could feel the master's presence growing closer, like a storm waiting to break.
That night, as the village celebrated, the voice returned, its tone colder than before.
"The master is watching. He will not allow this alliance to grow unchecked."
"Let him try," Alaric said, his voice low. "We'll be ready."
"Will you?" the voice asked. "The bloodline gives you strength, but it is not infinite. If you do not master it, it will consume you."
Alaric clenched his fists, the golden lines flaring briefly. "Then teach me. Show me what I need to do."
The voice was silent for a moment, then replied. "The third seal awaits. But it will demand more than you have ever given."
"I'll give it," Alaric said, his voice resolute. "Whatever it takes."