Chapter 42 - The Call of Aerthas

The sun rose slowly above the horizon, casting a soft, amber glow over the dense forest below. The first day of the Veil's Dawn—equivalent to the start of a new season—marked a time of renewal after long trials. It had been nearly two full Veil Cycles—the span of two human months—since Drakar and his companions claimed the Veil's Heart and restored balance to the Bastion.

Drakar stood near the cliffside, the crisp morning air brushing against his face. His gaze swept across the distant treetops, where mist clung like a shimmering silver veil. The sun's warmth, however slight, settled the lingering tension in his chest.

Taronis approached silently, his boots crunching softly against the dew-laden grass. "It still doesn't feel real, does it?"

Drakar's eyes flickered with emberlight as he nodded. "We've spent so much time within stone halls and shadows that the open sky feels strange." He turned slightly. "How long until we leave?"

Taronis adjusted the straps of his sword sheath. "By the next Solar Span—by sunset."

Kaelen called out from the camp behind them. "Good! I'm getting restless."

The archer strode toward them, his cloak billowing slightly behind him. "We've stayed in one place long enough. The Kingdom of Aerthas didn't send an envoy just to wait on us." He squinted toward the forest path where their mounts were tied. "And speaking of envoys—where's Seris?"

Drakar smirked faintly. "Tending to her steed. She said the journey will be harsh, and she doesn't want us caught unprepared."

Kaelen scoffed, though his tone held a hint of admiration. "She's got more grit than I expected."

As the sun reached its zenith, the companions gathered their supplies. Seris Lior, the envoy of Aerthas, emerged from the treeline, her silver hair catching the light like spun moonlight. She had exchanged her formal envoy attire for reinforced leather and plated gauntlets—a clear sign that she expected danger.

She adjusted the saddle on her mount and addressed the group. "We follow the river trail for two Moon Drifts—roughly fourteen human days—until we reach Aerthas's border. After that, the landscape becomes treacherous."

Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "What kind of 'treacherous' are we talking about?"

Seris's expression darkened. "Stormlands. Shifting cliffs. And..." She hesitated, then added, "wild remnants of the Dral'Thar."

Taronis's brow furrowed. "You mentioned them before—the remnants of the titans."

Seris nodded. "Most are long-dead echoes of the celestial war, but some... linger. They are half-forgotten entities bound to ancient places."

Drakar fastened the last strap of his gear and rested a hand on Emberfang, the wolf-dragon hybrid that had become his loyal companion. Emberfang huffed softly, sensing the tension.

"We've faced worse," Drakar said, his voice steady. "We're ready."

The group rode along the narrow forest trail, the sound of hooves muffled by the thick bed of leaves beneath them. The sun climbed higher as they followed the river's winding path, its surface shimmering like molten gold in the afternoon light.

Seris rode ahead, her posture rigid and vigilant. Despite her composed demeanor, her eyes betrayed a sense of urgency.

Kaelen guided his mount closer to hers. "You've been quiet since we left. What else aren't you telling us?"

Seris hesitated before replying. "Aerthas is strong, but it's isolated. My people have kept their borders sealed for centuries. Many will not trust outsiders—especially now."

Drakar's voice cut through the quiet. "Why now?"

Seris's gaze softened, though her expression remained tense. "Because the restoration of the Veil was like a beacon. Old alliances, rivalries, and grudges are stirring. Some see the return of balance as a threat. Others see it as an opportunity."

Taronis's eyes hardened. "Which are we walking into?"

Seris sighed. "Both."

As dusk settled, they made camp beneath an ancient grove where the trees' gnarled branches intertwined like outstretched hands. A fire crackled in the center of their circle, casting long shadows that danced across the grass.

Drakar sat by the fire, absentmindedly tracing the lines of his tattoos. Emberfang lay curled nearby, its violet eyes half-closed.

Seris joined him, her silver hair gleaming in the firelight. "You don't ask many questions."

Drakar shrugged. "I've learned that the truth finds you eventually—whether you want it or not."

Seris's expression softened. "That's a wise answer... though rare for an orc."

Drakar chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. "I'm not most orcs."

The moment hung between them, quiet and contemplative.

Kaelen interrupted by dropping a bundle of firewood near the flames. "If you two are done brooding, I found enough wood to last the night."

Taronis looked up from sharpening his sword. "Good. Tomorrow will be longer than today."

Seris nodded. "We'll reach the edge of the Stormlands by the next Solar Span."

Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is the Stormlands?"

Seris's eyes darkened. "It's where the sky itself shifts, torn by lingering fragments of the Fracture. The storms there are alive—and they don't forgive."

Drakar's gaze remained calm. "Then we'll face it together."