The watchtower stood victorious, its old stones now a symbol of reclaimed ground. The banners of Aerthas fluttered in the rising wind, but the triumph in the air was tempered by unease. The shattered remnants of the enchanted communication stone lay at Drakar's feet, its fading essence a grim reminder that the Dral'Thar would not relent.
Seris sheathed her daggers, her silver hair catching the last rays of the fading sun. "Do you think they know how much this will cost them?"
Drakar's emberlit eyes flickered as he looked out across the northern expanse. "They do. That's what makes them dangerous."
Emberfang let out a low, rumbling growl and sniffed at the ground where th e shattered stone had been. Kaelen approached, adjusting his quiver. "If we're going to fortify Kaelreach, we'll need to move fast. Whatever they're planning, it's bigger than a single ambush."
Elara Wynvaris's voice cut through the wind as she ascended the watchtower steps. Her crystalline armor gleamed even in the dim light, and her frost-blue eyes held a glint of steel. "We need answers," she said. "Not just guesses. We have to know what they're planning."
Drakar folded his arms. "Then it's time we turned defense into offense."
The Map of Old Paths
Back in the main hall of Kaelreach, the war council gathered once more. The stone table was marked with new maps brought by the scouts—ancient diagrams of forgotten tunnels and mountain passes. Vaelen traced a line across the parchment with his weathered hand.
"This route," he said, "leads deep into the mountains. Old lore says it connects to the Hollow Bastion—the Dral'Thar's citadel. If their high commanders are planning something, they'll be there."
Elara narrowed her eyes. "That's leagues beyond our reach."
Taronis's brow furrowed. "The Hollow Bastion... few who venture near it ever return."
Drakar's gaze remained steady. "If we wait for them to strike again, it'll be worse. We need to take the fight to them."
The room fell silent. The suggestion was bold—perhaps reckless. But it was also their best chance to end the looming threat.
Seris placed a hand on Drakar's arm. "If we do this, we'll need more than steel. We'll need something that can turn the tide."
Vaelen's eyes darkened as he reached for a scroll marked with intricate sigils. "There's a legend of a binding ward—a spell that can weaken the Dral'Thar's warlocks. But it hasn't been attempted in centuries."
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "What's the catch?"
Vaelen sighed. "It requires a powerful conduit... and a willing sacrifice."
The room grew cold.
The Burden of Leadership
Drakar's mind churned with possibilities as he stepped away from the council to clear his thoughts. He walked to the western parapet, where the mountain winds howled over the stone.
Elara followed, her steps light but purposeful. "You can't carry everything on your shoulders," she said.
Drakar exhaled. "If I don't, who will?"
Elara's gaze softened. "We will."
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Then Elara placed a small, frost-etched token in Drakar's hand.
"This belonged to my brother," she said. "He was the only one who ever believed we could rebuild after Eryndral fell. When the time comes, remember that you're not fighting alone."
Drakar nodded, feeling the cold, reassuring weight of the token.
Rallying the Forces
At dawn, the call to arms rang out across Kaelreach. Soldiers, mages, and scouts gathered in the courtyard, their expressions a mix of resolve and trepidation.
Drakar stepped forward, his voice steady despite the storm building in his chest. "Today, we don't march for glory or revenge. We march to ensure that no more lands fall to the shadow. We march to end this war."
The army roared in response, their cries shaking the very foundations of the fortress.
Elara unsheathed her crystalline blade and raised it high. "To victory or to the end!"
The soldiers echoed her words as they formed their ranks.
Emberfang's howl pierced the morning air, and as the gates of Kaelreach opened, the army began its march into the heart of enemy territory.
The Shadowed Pass
The journey through the mountain pass was perilous. The cliffs were narrow, and the path wound like a serpent, surrounded by jagged rocks. The air grew colder, and an unnatural silence settled over the march.
Kaelen walked beside Seris, his bow at the ready. "Feel that? No birds. No wind. Just... nothing."
Seris nodded, her grip tightening on her daggers. "It's too quiet."
Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught Drakar's eye. From the shadows of the cliffs, arrows of dark energy shot toward the column.
"Ambush!" Taronis shouted.
Drakar raised his hand, summoning a barrier of flame that incinerated the nearest projectiles. Warriors raised their shields as the battle erupted.
From the high ledges, shadow-clad Dral'Thar archers loosed volley after volley. Below, specter-like figures with glowing red eyes surged from hidden alcoves.
"Hold the line!" Drakar roared.
Elara leapt into the fray, her blade a blur of frost and steel as she cut down the attackers. Emberfang bounded ahead, tearing through the shadows with devastating precision.
Kaelen's arrows rained death upon the archers above, each shot finding its mark. Vaelen and his mages formed a defensive circle, their spells crackling with power as they unleashed blasts of fire and lightning.
Drakar charged toward the heart of the ambush, his dagger burning bright. He reached a shadow warlock who was channeling a dark spell and struck with a powerful slash. The warlock screamed as emberlight consumed him.
The battle raged for what felt like hours. Blood soaked the ground, and the echoes of clashing steel filled the pass.
Finally, the last of the Dral'Thar fell. The pass was silent once more.
Taronis approached, wiping blood from his blade. "We need to move before more arrive."
Drakar nodded, his chest heaving. "We press on."