The morning air was thick with tension as the combined forces of the remaining kingdoms gathered at the edge of the valley. The war council had been convened, but no words were spoken as the commanders took their places, their faces drawn with fatigue and unease. The defeat of the herald's first wave had only provided a brief reprieve; the real storm was still coming.
Selene stood beside the princess, both surveying the assembled army from the high ground. Soldiers moved in organized chaos, preparing weapons, sharpening blades, and tending to the wounded. But there was a quiet despair in the air, a sense that they were preparing for something they didn't fully understand.
"You've managed to keep them together," the princess said, her voice softer than usual. "For now."
Selene gave a short nod, her eyes never leaving the horizon. "It's a fragile peace. One that will shatter at the first sign of weakness."
"And yet, we must hold it." The princess' gaze hardened. "The herald's return is inevitable. We must stand together, or we will fall separately."
A horn sounded from the far side of the valley, its deep, resonant call sending ripples through the camp. The soldiers froze for a moment, listening for any sign of the enemy. But there was only silence, a silence so deep it felt unnatural.
"The herald," Selene murmured. "It's coming."
---
The camp quickly sprang to action as the leaders met in their makeshift war tent. The flickering light from the torches cast long shadows across the room as maps and scrolls were spread out on the table.
"We have no time to waste," one of the generals said, his voice tight with frustration. "The herald has gained strength since the last battle. We must strike first."
"But with what forces?" another general retorted. "Our ranks are thinned, our supply lines are fractured. We can't afford another direct confrontation."
"Then what do you suggest?" the princess demanded, her voice filled with urgency. "Do we simply wait for it to come to us?"
The room fell silent. There was no easy answer.
---
Outside, the wind began to pick up, carrying with it the faintest scent of smoke. The sky, once clear and bright, was now overcast, the clouds swirling unnaturally as though responding to an unseen force.
Selene stepped outside, her gaze sweeping across the valley. She could feel it—the presence of something ancient and powerful stirring on the horizon. The herald was coming.
The child appeared beside her, their glow dim but steady. "It will not be long now," they said, their voice tinged with both warning and sorrow.
Selene turned to them, her expression unreadable. "Is there any hope left?"
"There is always hope," the child replied, their gaze distant. "But hope alone is not enough. Unity is the only true weapon."
Selene's eyes narrowed. "You've been saying that for days. But you don't understand. They can't unite. The hatred runs too deep."
The child said nothing, their eyes meeting Selene's for a long moment.
"Then perhaps the choice is not theirs to make," they finally whispered.
---
The ground trembled as the distant sky darkened, and a low, echoing roar sounded from across the valley. The herald was drawing near, its shape becoming more visible on the horizon—a mass of shifting shadows, twisting and contorting in unnatural shapes.
Selene turned back toward the camp, where the army was already forming ranks. But as she looked out across the battlefield, she noticed something strange.
The soldiers, once divided, now moved as one. There was a flicker of understanding in their eyes, a quiet resolve. The past couldn't be erased, but perhaps, for this moment, it could be set aside.
But Selene knew that hope was a fragile thing. And as the herald approached, so too did the realization that their unity might not be enough.
---
He watched in silence as the armies readied themselves for the coming storm. The threads of fate were twisted, and yet the patterns seemed to shift. The kingdom's leaders, for all their flaws, had managed to find a brief moment of clarity—a fleeting unity that could turn the tide.
But unity alone would not guarantee victory. The herald's presence was like a shadow, ever looming, ever threatening. And the outcome was still unclear.
He remained a silent observer, for now. But somewhere, deep within the unfolding chaos, the first stirrings of a greater change were beginning to take shape.
---
As the herald's form grew larger, the air grew colder, and the first crack of thunder echoed across the valley. The armies were ready—or as ready as they could be. But as the battle loomed, one question remained unanswered:
Would unity be enough to withstand the herald's wrath? Or would the world fracture, as it always had, in the face of inevitable destruction?