he first light of dawn filtered through the towering spires of Eryndral's Bastion, casting long rays of gold and silver across the marble streets. The city hummed with life, but beneath the surface, there was a tension that no morning sun could ease.
Drakar woke before the others, the emberlight in his veins warm but calm. Emberfang stirred at his side, blinking lazily as the morning breeze brushed through his fur. Drakar ran a hand along the beast's mane, his gaze distant.
"Another day," he murmured.
Emberfang let out a low rumble, half acknowledgment, half concern.
The Call to Council
The Council Hall was already filling as Drakar, Elaria, and the rest of their company approached its grand entrance. The towering doors, carved with the constellations of the ancient realms, opened with a low groan.
Inside, the councilors gathered in hushed discussion. Their faces ranged from wary to resolute. The air itself seemed to hum with unspoken questions.
The elder elf councilor, Elrendil, rose as they entered. His silver hair caught the morning light, giving him an almost ethereal glow.
"We thank you for coming," Elrendil began. His voice carried an odd mixture of relief and gravity. "We have much to discuss. The events in the Ashen Expanse and the name Vareshka have shaken us all."
Drakar stepped forward, his footsteps echoing through the chamber. "Then let's not waste time with formalities. If the Myrrhkin have returned, we need to know everything—no secrets."
Elrendil's eyes softened as he nodded. "Agreed. What you need to know... begins with the age before the realms knew war."
A Tale of Serpents and Stars
Elrendil gestured toward the center of the room, where a pool of silvery water shimmered. Ancient runes pulsed around its edges, and as he chanted softly, an image formed above the surface—a vision of a world long forgotten.
"The Myrrhkin were once seers of fate," Elrendil explained. "Serpent-like beings who could read the threads of time and glimpse the paths of creation. They were not conquerors by nature, but they were dangerous in their knowledge."
The vision shifted, showing coiling shapes of silver and amethyst, their eyes glowing like twin moons.
"What changed?" Taronis asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Elrendil's expression darkened. "They witnessed something—a future so dire that it drove them to madness. Their prophecies turned to omens of destruction, and in their desperation, they sought to reshape the world to avert their doom. That is when they became the Harbingers of Dusk."
Seris folded her arms. "So they became the very calamity they feared. Typical of beings who meddle too much with fate."
Vaelen's eyes remained locked on the vision. "And Vareshka... what is he?"
Elrendil sighed. "Vareshka was their greatest oracle—and their greatest failure. When the Myrrhkin shattered under the weight of their visions, Vareshka rose as their leader. He is said to possess the power to rewrite fate itself, bending time's threads to his will. If he has returned, the realms stand at the edge of ruin."
Rising Tensions
The chamber fell into silence as the vision faded. Kaelen broke the quiet with a low whistle. "So... no pressure. Just an ancient doom-bringer who can bend fate to his will. Sounds like a fair fight."
Elrendil's gaze hardened. "Do not take this lightly, archer. The Myrrhkin are unlike anything you have faced. Their magic is ancient and terrible. The void sigils in the Ashen Expanse are proof enough that they have begun to move again."
Drakar nodded, his mind piecing together the puzzle. "Then we need to move first. If they're gathering strength, we need to strike before they regain their full power."
A dwarven emissary, broad-shouldered and scarred, leaned forward. "And you think you can lead this charge alone? The west is vast, and we are fractured. How do you intend to unite us, orc?"
Drakar's emberlit tattoos flared faintly. "Not alone. Together. We've already shown that the impossible can be done when we fight side by side. The Hollow Bastion fell because we didn't fight as nations—we fought as one. That's how we win."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the council. Some nodded in agreement; others remained skeptical.
A Voice of Dissent
Suddenly, a cold voice cut through the hall. "Unity is a fine dream, but dreams won't save you from shadows."
A figure stepped forward—a man cloaked in black and silver, his face half-hidden by a mask of dark metal. His eyes glimmered like embers.
"Who are you?" Taronis demanded, stepping protectively beside Drakar.
The man inclined his head. "An emissary of a forgotten pact. My name is Kelvros. I bring a warning—and an offer."
The councilors bristled at the stranger's sudden appearance, but Drakar raised a hand, signaling for calm.
"Speak, Kelvros. But know this—if your words are poison, we will not hesitate."
Kelvros's voice was calm, yet it carried a weight that silenced the room. "The Myrrhkin are not the only threat in the west. There are powers older than prophecy—powers that even fate itself cannot bind. You seek to fight the Myrrhkin, but you must understand: some battles cannot be won by might alone."
Elaria's eyes narrowed. "And what is your offer?"
Kelvros removed his mask, revealing a face marked with ancient glyphs that shimmered faintly. "Knowledge. Guidance. And a path that will not lead you into ruin. But only if you're willing to listen."
Drakar stared into Kelvros's eyes, searching for lies but finding only the cold truth.
"Then speak," Drakar said. "We're listening."
Kelvros's expression remained inscrutable, but there was a flicker of something—perhaps hope.