The sun cast golden rays across the jagged peaks surrounding Kaelreach, its warmth a sharp contrast to the smoldering ruins left behind by the battle. The army of Aerthas stood ready beneath the fortress's towering gates, their armor and banners gleaming despite the soot-stained walls. Drakar stood at the front, Emberfang by his side, the wolf-dragon's breath forming faint plumes in the cool mountain air.
Seris approached, her silver hair catching the light. She held her twin daggers loosely in her hands, her eyes flicking to the horizon. "Scouts have reported movement along the north pass. The Dral'Thar are regrouping."
Drakar nodded. "They're not going to give us time to fortify without a fight."
Elara Wynvaris appeared at the war table, her crystalline blade sheathed at her hip. Her gaze was as cold and sharp as ever, though there was a quiet respect in her eyes when they met Drakar's.
"We need to strike before they regain their momentum," she said, tracing her finger along the map. "There's an old watchtower near the base of the ridge—abandoned, but strategically vital. If we secure it, we'll control the only route they can use to send reinforcements."
Kaelen, standing nearby, tightened the string of his bow. "A watchtower means high ground. We could rain arrows on them before they even reach our frontlines."
Taronis folded his arms. "But if they've already fortified it, we could be walking into an ambush."
Drakar's emberlit eyes narrowed as he studied the map. "Then we'll need a small, fast team. A strike force that can move unseen and disable their defenses."
Elara nodded. "Agreed. But who will lead it?"
Drakar met her gaze. "I will."
A Quiet MarchThe wind carried whispers through the trees as Drakar, Seris, Kaelen, and a small contingent of elite warriors made their way along the narrow mountain trail. The underbrush was thick, and the shadows stretched long as the day waned.
Seris moved silently at Drakar's side, her eyes scanning the treeline. "I don't like how quiet it is."
Kaelen adjusted his bow, his fingers brushing the runic carvings on the wood. "The Dral'Thar aren't known for subtlety. If they're here, we'll know soon enough."
Drakar's grip tightened on the hilt of his dagger, the shard of Eryndral's Heart now reforged into the blade's core. The weapon hummed with quiet power, a steady pulse that matched his heartbeat.
The group reached a clearing where the remnants of an ancient stone bridge stretched across a ravine. Drakar raised a hand, signaling the group to stop.
"The watchtower is just beyond this point," he whispered. "We move fast and silent. No mistakes."
Seris nodded, her daggers gleaming faintly in the dim light. "We're with you."
The Watchtower Assault
The watchtower loomed ahead, its silhouette stark against the twilight sky. Vines coiled around its stone walls, but faint torchlight flickered from within.
Drakar signaled for Kaelen to take position along a nearby ridge. The archer moved swiftly, blending into the shadows. Seris and the others followed Drakar as they crept toward the base of the tower.
A low growl rumbled from Emberfang as his keen eyes caught movement near the entrance. Two Dral'Thar sentinels stood guard, their armor dark and jagged.
Drakar motioned to Seris. She nodded, disappearing into the shadows. Moments later, there was a soft, almost imperceptible sound—a whisper of movement—and one of the sentinels crumpled silently to the ground.
The second sentinel turned, alarm flashing in his eyes, but before he could raise the alarm, Kaelen's arrow struck true, burying itself in the base of the sentinel's neck.
Drakar surged forward, his dagger drawn. The tower door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a narrow spiral staircase that led to the upper levels.
The Heart of the Watchtower
The air inside was thick with the scent of old stone and damp wood. Drakar's boots barely made a sound as he ascended, Emberfang close behind. The group moved as one—silent, precise.
At the top of the tower, a group of Dral'Thar soldiers gathered around a makeshift war table. Maps and enchanted communication stones lay scattered across its surface.
Seris whispered, "They're planning their next move."
Drakar's eyes narrowed. "Then we'll end their plans here."
With a sharp gesture, Drakar led the charge. Emberfang let out a deafening roar, and the room erupted into chaos. The Dral'Thar scrambled for their weapons, but the strike force was already upon them.
Kaelen's arrows whistled through the air, precise and deadly. Seris moved like a shadow, her daggers flashing as she dispatched two soldiers in rapid succession.
A Dral'Thar commander—tall, broad-shouldered, and wielding a massive war axe—stepped forward to block Drakar's path. His armor shimmered with protective wards.
The commander swung his axe in a brutal arc, but Drakar sidestepped, his dagger slashing toward the exposed joints of the armor. Sparks flew as the blade made contact, and the wards flickered.
The commander roared and raised his weapon for another strike, but Emberfang lunged, his powerful jaws clamping down on the commander's arm. The war axe fell with a resounding thud.
Drakar seized the moment, driving his dagger into the commander's chest. The wards shattered like glass, and the commander collapsed.
Victory and Warning
The remaining Dral'Thar soldiers faltered, their resolve breaking. Seris's voice rang out. "Surrender or fall!"
Several of the soldiers dropped their weapons, their eyes wide with fear.
Drakar exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow. He surveyed the room, his gaze landing on the enchanted communication stones. A faint, eerie glow pulsed from one of them.
Elara's voice echoed in his mind from their earlier conversation. They will retaliate.
He picked up the stone and felt the cold hum of dark magic. Seris stepped forward, her brow furrowed. "What is it?"
Drakar's eyes darkened. "A warning—and a challenge." He crushed the stone in his hand, the shards dissolving into ash.