A cool wind blew across the rolling plains as Kaelen Rehn and Alyssia Verdante crested the final ridge before reaching the fortress city that countless refugees called their haven. For hours, they had trudged under the pale sun, the sting of ash and the memory of monstrous Summons still fresh in their minds. The wounded traveler they'd rescued in Karradin's Pass had parted ways earlier that morning, insisting he could manage alone now that the city gates were in sight.
The fortress rose before them like a proud sentinel of stone, perched atop a gentle slope. High walls ringed the settlement, punctuated by sturdy towers topped with fluttering banners. The city itself spread outward in concentric circles, a testament to how its population had swelled with those fleeing warlord depredations. Beyond the walls, Kaelen could see farmland that had been hastily tilled and a scattering of tents around the perimeter—new arrivals, too many to be accommodated inside.
Kaelen paused at a bend in the dirt road, shoulders tense. "It's bigger than I expected," he murmured, eyeing the gates, which were flanked by armed guards.
Alyssia stood beside him, her staff gripped tightly, dark hair braided behind her head. "The more people come here for protection, the more rumors spread. Some say this fortress was never meant to hold so many."
Kaelen exhaled. The city was undeniably imposing, but he remembered all too well how Harborough's walls—once similarly deemed "unbreakable"—had fallen to the masked warlord's onslaught in a single morning. How long can even these high walls stand if that same warlord arrives? he wondered. A pang of grief for Harborough seized him, but he forced himself to focus on the present.
He and Alyssia continued down the slope, joining a loose stream of refugees carrying belongings on their backs or in squeaking carts. Tired-faced families trudged forward, some with tear-stained cheeks, others with grim, determined gazes. The guards at the gates scrutinized everyone's approach, occasionally detaining those who looked especially suspicious. Kaelen felt a surge of anxiety. I hope they don't ask too many questions about Harborough. He glanced sidelong at Alyssia, who seemed equally unsettled.
When they finally reached the imposing double doors of reinforced timber and iron, a guard dressed in battered plate armor raised a hand. "Halt there, travelers. State your names and business."
Alyssia gave a polite nod. "Alyssia Verdante. This is Kaelen Rehn. We've come seeking refuge—and training if possible."
The guard's gaze flicked to Kaelen's side, where the half-forged sword Soul Focus rested in a scabbard. "You two look capable of more than just hiding behind these walls. Where are you from?"
Kaelen swallowed. "Harborough," he said softly, noticing the guard's slight recoil at the mention of the once-secure riverside town. "It was... overrun."
The guard winced. "We'd heard rumors. You've got my condolences." He waved them through and gave them directions. "Report to the main plaza. There's a registration station for refugees, then a few city officials or teachers might point you where to go. Don't cause trouble, or the city watch will have you out on the street."
With that, the gate groaned open, and Kaelen and Alyssia stepped into the fortress city—Fenmarch, as a weathered sign declared. Inside, the city bustled with noise: street hawkers calling out wares, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer, children darting between carts piled high with fresh produce. Narrow alleys and wide cobblestone roads branched off in a maze, each lined with squat stone buildings and makeshift wooden shelters. The refugees' presence was impossible to miss—groups huddled in corners, some telling hushed stories of terror, others simply resting after long journeys.
Alyssia surveyed the crowds. "I can't imagine how many towns have fallen to that warlord and others like him," she whispered. "All these people… they're just trying to survive."
Kaelen's gaze landed on a weary-faced father comforting two young children near a shuttered shop. Scenes like that rekindled his anger. So much suffering, and that masked man remains at large. He felt Alyssia's hand on his elbow—a silent reassurance that they were in this together.
They followed the guard's directions until they reached the city's expansive main plaza. The space was cobblestoned and ringed by tall, somewhat grander buildings—likely administrative offices, a courthouse, and a large hall with a carved emblem of a shield on its facade. In the center stood a raised platform where a handful of volunteers managed a long line of newly arrived refugees. One volunteer, a stocky woman with short-cropped hair, was handing out small wooden tokens, presumably ID markers that allowed entry to certain parts of the city.
Kaelen and Alyssia queued up. As they waited, they caught snippets of conversations: rumors of the masked warlord's unstoppable conjurations, whispered stories of Summon Pacts gone awry, and warnings that parts of the countryside were now infested with twisted beasts. Kaelen's stomach twisted. Every rumor echoed what he'd already lived.
When they reached the front, the stocky woman blinked tiredly at them. "Names and reason for entry?"
Again, Alyssia introduced them both. The woman nodded. "So many from Harborough recently…" She rummaged behind the desk and handed them wooden tokens etched with a crude symbol of a castle. "That's for your bunk assignment in the outer wards. There's a training guild in the second ring if you want to sharpen your skills. We also have a small group of defenders—some call them the 'resistance'—who train volunteers to keep the city safe. If you're serious about defending yourselves, you may want to speak with them." She shuffled through papers, then handed Kaelen a slip with a date scrawled on it. "You'll need to register with the city watch by tomorrow morning. Check in at the Hall of Records."
Alyssia accepted the slip, dipping her head. "Thank you."
"That's all," the woman said wearily, gesturing for them to move along.
Kaelen slipped the wooden token into his pocket. "Seems easy enough. Let's find this bunkhouse first."
Alyssia nodded, but a flicker of apprehension crossed her eyes. "We should be cautious, though. If the warlord's power is growing, I doubt this city is as safe as everyone hopes."
He couldn't argue. So they wove through winding streets, guided by painted signs that indicated the "outer wards." The city's architecture changed as they neared the outer ring: older, more cramped buildings gave way to hastily constructed barracks and multi-level bunkhouses intended for the influx of refugees. A pervasive smell of sweat, boiled turnips, and damp straw hung in the air. Though loud and chaotic, there was a feeling of camaraderie—these people were united by the horrors they fled.
Eventually, they arrived at a large wooden structure labeled Ward Six Bunkhouse. Inside, cots were arranged in rows, each separated by thin cloth partitions. A handful of men and women milled about, either returning from errands or resting after long journeys. The small windows let in little light, leaving the interior dim.
A bored-looking attendant handed Kaelen and Alyssia thin blankets and pointed them toward two adjacent cots in the corner. "You want privacy, you can hang a curtain," he grunted, waving vaguely at a roll of tattered cloth.
Alyssia set her staff against the wall, eyeing the surroundings. "Not exactly comfortable, but better than sleeping outside." She glanced at Kaelen. "Now what? We didn't come here just to hide."
He shook his head. "No. We need training—someone who understands the complexities of the Astral Flow system. I need more control of my Fire Affinity, and… I'd like to see if there's any local lore about Ascended Forms."
Alyssia lowered her voice. "And I need to learn more about Summon Pacts. My family's Summon is stirring. The temple runes we found spoke of these gates the warlord seeks—probably more secrets to unlocking advanced abilities. We can't let him have them."
Kaelen set his father's satchel on the cot. "Let's see if we can find that training guild. Or maybe the defenders. We can at least pick their brains. We should also watch for any mention of this masked warlord. Word travels fast."
Alyssia nodded. "Alright, let's not linger."
They stowed their meager belongings, freshened up at a communal washbasin, then headed out. The city's winding roads eventually led them to a stone building that stood a bit apart from the rest. A carved sign above the entrance read: "Fenmarch Combat & Flow Academy." Well-worn training dummies lined an adjacent courtyard, where a few novices practiced basic strikes under a stern instructor's watchful eye.
As they entered, the clang of swords and the thump of staff strikes filled the air. A half-dozen sparring pairs occupied the main hall, each guided by an older fighter wearing a simple gray-and-red tunic. On the far side, an open door led to a smaller library, where stacks of scrolls and tomes revealed the academy's more scholarly pursuits.
Before Kaelen and Alyssia could explore further, a tall, slender man with graying hair approached them. He walked with a faint limp and wore the same gray-and-red attire as the instructors. A faint aura of Astral Flow shimmered around him—subtle, but refined. Kaelen guessed he was an experienced wielder.
"Newcomers?" the man asked, voice low and composed. "I'm Master Gainan. I manage the Flow Academy here in Fenmarch. You look like you've seen battle, if your injuries and posture mean anything."
Alyssia inclined her head. "We have. I'm Alyssia Verdante, Earth Affinity. This is Kaelen Rehn, Fire Affinity."
Gainan's sharp gaze flicked over Kaelen's sword hilt. "Hmm. Fire, is it? And I sense you're not fully aligned with your Soul Focus. That blade—unusual, half-forged?"
Kaelen felt a flash of self-consciousness. "I… inherited it. It's never been completed. My father said the blacksmith forging it died before finishing. But I've been able to channel a bit of Fire Astral Flow through it."
Gainan nodded slowly, then turned to Alyssia. "Earth Affinity. You stand a bit guarded, as though… you carry more than your own power. Summon Pact?"
Alyssia's breath caught, and she glanced at Kaelen. "Yes, but it's… complicated. I'd rather not discuss it openly. I'm looking for guidance on how to control or break it."
Gainan studied her for a moment. "You'll find many Summon Pact stories here, especially with so many refugees. But controlling a Summon that isn't truly your own… that's dangerous territory." His gaze softened, and he gestured to the library door. "We have records of different Summon rituals and techniques. Some might be relevant. You're welcome to study them, provided you also participate in the academy's duties—helping guard the city, for instance."
Kaelen's pulse quickened. This might be where we can learn more about advanced Soul Focus forms. He exchanged a glance with Alyssia, who gave a barely perceptible nod. "We'll do whatever's required," Kaelen said. "We want to help defend Fenmarch. We're not here just to hide."
A ghost of a smile touched Gainan's lips. "Commendable. The city can use all the help it can get. Very well. Report here tomorrow at sunrise for basic proficiency tests. We'll gauge your Astral Flow control, then place you in appropriate training groups. In the meantime—" He gestured at a notice board cluttered with announcements. "Check if the city watch or the resistance faction has posted anything new. If you really want to protect Fenmarch, they're the ones to speak to."
"Resistance faction?" Alyssia asked.
Gainan's expression turned grim. "A loose coalition of warriors and scholars who believe Fenmarch's leadership is too passive. They're determined to strike back against the warlords roaming these lands, not just wait behind walls. They train here sometimes, but they keep their own counsel."
Kaelen's heart stuttered. This might be exactly who we need—people who will actually fight that masked warlord. "Where can we find them?"
"The old watchtower near the western ramparts," Gainan replied. "You can't miss it. But do remember—they don't trust easily."
Alyssia and Kaelen thanked him and stepped away. They spent the next half-hour scanning the notice board: pleas for lost relatives, requests for help in the outer farms, warnings about Summon beasts, and recruitment flyers from both the city watch and the so-called "resistance."
One worn parchment read:
"Defenders of Fenmarch Seek Brave Souls – Dare to Challenge the Warlords' Terror? Come to the Western Watchtower. Ask for Captain Iyana."
Alyssia traced the bold letters with her fingertips. "Captain Iyana. She might be part of this resistance."
Kaelen glanced around the hall. "Let's see if we can speak with her. Maybe she knows more about Summon Pacts… or about that masked warlord."
They set off again, winding through side streets until they reached the western edge of Fenmarch, where the walls overlooked a stretch of farmland and rolling hills. An older stone watchtower, partially crumbling in places, stood near the ramparts. Armed men and women moved in and out, some sporting mismatched armor, others carrying battered but functional weapons.
As Kaelen and Alyssia approached the tower entrance, a wary guard blocked their path. "State your business."
"We're here to find Captain Iyana," Kaelen said politely, showing the parchment from the notice board.
The guard gave them an appraising look. "Wait here." He ducked inside, leaving them under the watchful gaze of another lookout perched on the tower's parapet.
A moment later, a tall woman with cropped auburn hair and a commanding presence emerged. She wore sturdy leathers reinforced at the shoulders and a worn short sword strapped at her hip. Her gaze swept over Kaelen and Alyssia with practiced efficiency. "I'm Captain Iyana. You're new. Why are you looking for me?"
Alyssia inclined her head. "We're refugees from Harborough. We heard this city might face trouble soon, and we want to help. We have some skill with Astral Flow and… we're motivated."
Iyana folded her arms across her chest. "Harborough, eh? That town was rumored to have fallen to a masked warlord recently." Her keen eyes flicked to Kaelen. "Did you see him?"
A leaden ball sank in Kaelen's stomach, but he forced himself to hold her gaze. "I did. He's strong—Manifested Soul Focus, with Fire and possibly Shadow as well. He leveled our walls in hours."
A murmur passed through the few assembled fighters within earshot. Iyana's jaw tightened. "So the rumors were true. People say he's forging Summon Pacts left and right, stirring up monstrous creatures across the countryside. We've had our share of run-ins with lesser warlords, but none have displayed power like that." She let out a slow breath, as though containing her anger. "We need all the skilled fighters we can get. The city watch focuses on defense, but we—the resistance—want to hit back."
Kaelen and Alyssia exchanged a glance. Alyssia nodded encouragingly, prompting Kaelen to speak. "We want to stop him too. He… took everything from me. My father—" His throat constricted, and he couldn't finish the sentence. "We're not the strongest, but we'll fight. We came here to learn and help."
Iyana studied them for a long moment, her expression tempered by a flicker of empathy. "Harborough, hm. I heard it was a good town." She exhaled. "We can use your resolve. Still, I don't take on novices who might break at the first real test. Are you prepared to follow orders, risk your life for the city, and not run off seeking personal revenge at the worst moment?"
Alyssia spoke up, voice firm. "We're prepared. We know the risk."
The captain's gaze fell on the staff strapped to Alyssia's back and Kaelen's incomplete sword. A faint smirk crossed her lips. "Then we can talk. First, though, if you want to join our maneuvers or scouting runs, you need to pass a simple test to prove you won't die the moment real danger hits. Meet us at dawn tomorrow at the West Field outside the gates. We run a small drill there with those who want to volunteer."
Kaelen nodded, a spark of determination lighting his chest. "We'll be there."
Iyana gave a brisk nod, then her demeanor shifted to something more serious. "And there's something else. We recently got word of a possible Summon beast sighting just a half-day's ride from here. They say it's big—like a twisted hound made of embers. Remind you of anything?"
A cold shiver ran down Kaelen's spine. That description echoed the monstrous creature he and Alyssia had fought in the meadow. "We encountered something similar."
A slow nod from Iyana. "We suspect the masked warlord is testing smaller Summons before unleashing something bigger. If we confirm this sighting, we may have to mobilize. The city's council is too slow, so the resistance is preparing to dispatch a scouting party. If you prove yourselves tomorrow, I might let you tag along."
Alyssia shared a glance with Kaelen, her face reflecting his own resolve. "We understand."
"Good." Iyana motioned to a scribe nearby, who made a quick note on a scroll. "Tomorrow at dawn, West Field. Don't be late."
With that, the captain turned and disappeared inside the watchtower, her presence replaced by the murmur of other fighters who returned to their preparations. It was clear that Fenmarch was no stranger to war, and the next wave of conflict was right at its doorstep.
The sun hung low by the time Kaelen and Alyssia returned to the bunkhouse. Refuse-smelling water trickled through gutters along the roads, and the day's heat clung to the stone walls. Alyssia looked exhausted, tension etched around her eyes.
"You alright?" Kaelen asked softly as they navigated the cramped corridor of Ward Six Bunkhouse.
Alyssia's gaze flicked to her staff, then to the floor. "This Summon in me… I can feel it stirring. The more we fight, the more I draw on Earth Flow, the louder it gets. It's like a voice at the back of my mind, waiting for a chance to break free."
Kaelen recalled the moment in Karradin's Pass when he'd seen Alyssia's mastery slip—the vines and roots bursting forth in a way that seemed to surprise even her. "We'll handle it," he assured her, though he wasn't entirely sure how. "You heard Master Gainan. We can search their records or talk to others who've dealt with Summon Pacts. Maybe there's a fix."
Alyssia forced a small smile. "We'll see. For now, let's just rest and be ready for tomorrow."
They reached their cots. Kaelen rummaged through his father's satchel, retrieving a worn journal. He flipped through pages scribbled with notes on Astral Flow theory, references to "Base → Manifest → Ascended," and half-drawn diagrams of swords. Though the text felt dense and incomplete, Kaelen sensed a glimmer of hope in every line. Father, I will figure this out.
Alyssia unrolled a small bedmat on her cot. As she sat, she absentmindedly traced the runes on her bracer—a family heirloom that anchored her Summon. "Kaelen," she murmured, voice soft, "thank you for sticking by me. It's been… chaotic. We only met days ago."
He looked up, the candlelight flickering across her face. "We're in this together now. The warlord took my home, and you're trying to protect yours. We're not so different."
For a moment, a quiet understanding passed between them, a subtle closeness forged by shared danger and mutual purpose. But it was fleeting—broken when the bunkhouse door banged open, and a breathless man stumbled inside. His clothes were dusty, and he clutched a sealed scroll.
"I need Captain Iyana!" he rasped, barely pausing to catch his breath. "Or the city watch. Urgent message—warlord sightings near the northern farmland!"
Kaelen and Alyssia sprang to their feet. A handful of other refugees crowded around as the frantic messenger brandished the scroll. "I rode all day to get here," he gasped. "I saw them from a distance—armored soldiers wearing black and red, and something else, a monstrous shape behind them. They're headed this way!"
A chill coursed through Kaelen. So soon? He glanced at Alyssia, whose eyes reflected his alarm.
"Give me that," barked the bunkhouse attendant, who snatched the scroll and scanned its contents with a furrowed brow. Moments later, he looked up, face pale as death. "By the Flow… They're not far. The warlord's vanguard could be here in days."
Fear rippled through the gathered refugees. Worried murmurs filled the bunkhouse, and some began packing belongings in panic. Has our chance to prepare already run out? Kaelen wondered, heart pounding.
"How many men did you see?" demanded another occupant, a burly farmer. "Could the city watch handle them?"
The messenger shook his head. "Hard to say. I only saw a few dozen up close, but the farmland was burning behind them. And that monstrous shape—like a beast wreathed in black flames. I fled before they spotted me."
Alyssia's grip on her staff tightened. "This could be the Summon Iyana mentioned. Or something even worse."
Kaelen's mind raced. If Fenmarch faced an imminent assault, would tomorrow's drill even matter? Or would they be thrust into battle before they'd even had a chance to train? I'm not ready. Our Soul Focuses aren't strong enough. But he could almost hear his father's voice urging him onward: Never turn your back on those who need you.
The bunkhouse attendant grimaced, pushing through the agitated refugees. "I'll take this message to the city watch. All of you, remain calm. Fenmarch is still secure." Yet even as he spoke, lines of worry etched across his brow betrayed his uncertainty.
Kaelen and Alyssia exchanged a knowing look. The warlord was on the move, just as they feared. "We need to warn Captain Iyana too," Kaelen said under his breath. "If the watch is slow to act, the resistance might be the city's best defense."
Alyssia nodded. "Agreed."
But before they could follow, the messenger called out, "Wait—you two. You look like fighters. Take this second copy of the scroll. Make sure it reaches your Captain Iyana. We need all the defenders working together."
He thrust a duplicate parchment into Kaelen's hands. Kaelen read it in a single sweeping glance: Enemy force spotted north of Fenmarch. Warlord's insignia unconfirmed, but dark Summons reported. Casualties among local farms…
His jaw clenched. It's happening again. Another city, about to be ground under that masked man's heel. He squeezed the parchment, meeting Alyssia's gaze. "We have to go," he said.
She shouldered her staff, eyes fierce. "Then let's not waste a moment." They rushed to the bunkhouse door, parchment in hand, already envisioning the flames and devastation that might soon befall Fenmarch. The frightened whispers of nearby refugees followed them into the evening air. A single question reverberated in Kaelen's mind: Will we be ready this time—or will this fortress fall just like Harborough?