The silver beacon faded as the sky darkened, leaving only the stars and the faint glow of Eryndral's Bastion behind them. The group had been assigned quarters in the Tower of Accord, a structure of marble and starlight that seemed to hum with ancient power. Though the walls were strong, there was an air of fragility—like even the strongest fortresses could crumble under the weight of destiny.
Drakar stood by the open balcony, staring at the silver river winding through the valleys below. Emberfang lay curled near the doorway, one golden eye open, always watchful. Elaria stepped beside Drakar, her cloak fluttering in the wind.
"You're not one for rest, are you?" she asked, her voice soft.
Drakar exhaled slowly. "Not when the storm is already forming. We can't lose focus—not here, not now."
Elaria nodded and leaned on the stone railing. "Do you ever wonder why it has to be you? Why you bear this weight?"
He turned to her, the emberlight in his eyes dim but steady. "Every day. But it doesn't matter why. What matters is what I do with it."
Elaria smiled faintly. "That's what makes you different. Some would run from it. You run toward it."
A Flicker of Shadows
Elsewhere in the bastion, a figure moved silently through the lower halls—a cloaked figure whose presence was barely a whisper in the air. The torches flickered as the shadows bent unnaturally. In the stillness of the Council's chambers, a cold presence lingered.
A soft voice, almost serpentine, murmured. "The winds are shifting. Soon, the council's resolve will splinter. And when it does..."
The shadows deepened, then disappeared entirely.
Memories of the Past
Vaelen sat by the hearth of their assigned chamber, staring into the fire. The flickering flames seemed to stir old memories. Seris noticed his distant gaze and lowered herself into a chair nearby.
"Thinking of home?" she asked.
Vaelen's expression softened. "Home is a distant memory. But the battles—the loss—they never leave. Sometimes, I wonder if victory ever truly feels like victory."
Seris placed a hand on his shoulder, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. "We carry our scars, Vaelen. But it's those scars that remind us we're still alive."
He looked at her, a brief flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "You're wiser than you let on, Seris."
She smirked. "Don't let it spread. I have a reputation to uphold."
A Council Divided
The next morning, the Grand Hall of Accord was filled once more. The High Council gathered around an ethereal table that shimmered with light and displayed projections of distant lands.
The elder elf from the previous night stood, his gaze solemn. "The Myrrhkin's presence is not speculation. Scouts reported seeing their sigils carved into the ruins of the Weeping Expanse. They have returned."
A human councilor leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "If that's true, why now? Why after all these centuries? What could have drawn them back?"
A dwarven emissary spoke, his voice like grinding stone. "Power. The same thing that drives every ancient force. Something in the west has awakened."
Murmurs of unease rippled through the room.
Taronis stood tall, his armor gleaming. "Speculation will not aid us. We need to know what we're walking into. Let us speak plainly—are the alliances of Eryndral still strong? Or have we become so fractured that shadows creep through our gates?"
An awkward silence followed. Finally, the elder elf spoke. "We are not as united as we once were. And that is our weakness. But perhaps it is also our chance to rebuild."
Drakar stepped forward, his voice calm but resonant. "Then let us be the flame that rekindles that unity. Let us lead by example, not by fear."
The councilors exchanged glances. Some nodded in agreement, while others remained skeptical.
A Warning Unheeded
As the meeting concluded, a young scribe rushed into the hall, his face pale with dread. "A message has arrived—from the Ashen Expanse."
The elder elf's expression darkened. "Speak."
The scribe unrolled a scroll and read aloud. "The Ashen Expanse has stirred. The sky above it has turned black, and a tremor was felt as far as the Hollowing Sea. Signs of void sigils have been reported." He hesitated, then added, "And a name was whispered... Vareshka."
The name sent a chill through the room. Seris whispered, "Vareshka... the Harbinger of Dusk. A name from stories meant to frighten children."
Vaelen's jaw tightened. "If the Myrrhkin are invoking that name, then we are already out of time."
A Private Resolve
Later, Drakar stood alone at the edge of the citadel, the wind tousling his hair. The name "Vareshka" echoed in his mind. He clenched his fists, the emberlight flaring briefly.
Elaria approached, her steps quiet but purposeful. "You don't have to bear this burden alone. We're all here. We chose to stand with you."
Drakar's voice was low but resolute. "I know. But I also know that the path ahead might tear us apart. We need to be stronger. We need to be ready."
Elaria placed her hand over his. "Then we'll make sure we are. Together."
Drakar's gaze softened for a moment before the fire returned. "We leave at dawn."
The first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon, casting golden light over the bastion. Below, the lands stretched vast and unknown, promising trials, mysteries, and war.