The enemy had not moved.
Not a single knight.
Not a single torch.
Not a single sound.
Aric stood on the battered wooden walls of Eldermere, staring out into the valley.
He could feel Kael and Lira behind him, silent. Watching.
But their presence did not ease the weight in his chest.
Because what stood before them was not an army.
It was a shadow.
A silent tide of motionless figures stretched across the valley floor, gleaming under the pale Rift-light.
Hundreds of them.
Thousands.
Each knight clad in blackened steel, their faces hidden behind featureless, expressionless helmets.
They did not sway with the wind.
They did not shuffle their feet.
They simply... stood.
As if waiting.
As if they had all the time in the world.
The only movement came from the banners.
Dark sigils stitched into crimson fabric, fluttering in the wind.
But even that felt wrong.
The fabric did not flap and snap.
It drifted.
Like something moving underwater.
A shiver ran down Aric's spine.
This was not normal.
This was not how armies behaved.
Men grew tired. They coughed. They shifted their weight. They spoke.
But these knights...
They could have been statues.
Or something worse.
Kael exhaled sharply beside him.
"They should've attacked by now."
Aric nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing.
"They're waiting for something."
Lira scoffed. "For what?"
She gestured toward the burned ruins of the noble's first assault.
"We broke them once. If they wanted revenge, they'd take it now while we're weak."
She was right.
And yet—
The army did nothing.
Not even their horses moved.
Then, from the forest beyond the valley—
A figure broke the stillness.
A lone scout stumbled out of the treeline.
Running.
Lira cursed. "Finally, something moving."
Kael frowned.
"That's not one of ours."
The scout was dressed in noble colors.
Blood streaked across his armor.
His helmet was missing, his face pale as death.
And as he ran—
His mouth moved.
But no sound came out.
Aric stiffened.
The Rift hummed at the back of his mind.
Something was wrong.
Lira didn't hesitate.
She turned, barking at the guards near the gates—
"Open it!"
----
The scout collapsed the moment he crossed Eldermere's walls.
His chest heaved violently, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Blood soaked through the plates of his armor, but there was no visible wound.
Just sweat and pale skin.
As if he had been running for hours.
Or as if something had been chasing him.
Lira yanked him to his knees, gripping the back of his tunic.
"Talk."
The man shuddered.
His lips moved.
No sound came out.
Lira shook him.
"What happened out there? Why aren't they moving?"
Nothing.
Just his mouth moving, over and over.
But no voice.
Kael knelt in front of him.
His expression was grim. Careful.
He reached forward, gripping the man's jaw firmly.
Then forced it open.
And what he saw—
Was wrong.
Lira inhaled sharply.
Kael's hand tensed.
And Aric...
For the first time since the battle ended, he felt a chill crawl through his blood.
The man's tongue was gone.
Not cut.
Not ripped out.
It had been sewn shut.
Stitched with dark, thread-like veins.
Veins that moved.
As if they were alive.
The scout let out a shuddering breath.
And for the first time, he made a sound.
A whisper.
Rough.
Raw.
Like something trying to claw its way out of his throat.
"They hear us."
Lira's grip tightened on her blade.
"Who hears us?"
The man began to shake.
Violently.
His eyes rolled back.
And his breath came faster.
More ragged.
More... wrong.
And then—
He laughed.
Not his laugh.
Not a human laugh.
Something deeper.
Something that did not belong in a man's throat.
It came in layers.
Like multiple voices speaking over one another.
Until it wasn't a laugh anymore.
It was a chant.
"Aelthar..."
"Aelthar..."
"Aelthar..."
Aric staggered back.
His veins burned.
The Rift's hum became a roar.
And the man—
The thing in the man's body—
Smiled.
Then—
He stopped breathing.
His body went still.
And the Rift's presence vanished.
Lira cursed, shoving the corpse back.
"F*cking hell."
Kael was already on his feet, backing away.
Aric?
He just stared.
Because he knew.
Because this wasn't the end.
Because whoever had sent this man...
Was only just getting started.
----
Eldermere erupted into chaos.
The moment word spread of what happened at the gate, the village fractured.
People shouted in the streets.
Some wanted to fight.
Some wanted to flee.
Some wanted Aric to leave.
Because if the enemy was calling his name...
Then maybe—
Just maybe—
He was what they were after.
And for the first time—
Aric wondered if they were right.
----
The night was unnaturally quiet.
No wind.
No insects.
Not even the usual rustle of nocturnal animals in the brush.
It was as if the land itself had stopped breathing.
Kael moved silently through the trees, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade.
Behind him, three scouts followed.
All of them tense.
All of them alert.
Because something was wrong.
Hours ago, a small flicker of unnatural light had been spotted deep in the forest.
A strange, pale-blue glow, pulsing faintly between the trees.
And now that Kael was standing here, staring at it himself…
He wished he had never come.
The glow wasn't coming from fire.
It wasn't coming from lanterns, torches, or magic.
It was coming from the trees themselves.
Or rather—
From something inside them.
Kael exhaled, moving forward.
"Stay close. And for the gods' sake, don't touch anything."
One of the scouts, a younger man named Ren, swallowed hard.
"What… what is this?"
Kael didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
They moved cautiously through the thicket, their footsteps muffled by damp earth.
The trees ahead were twisted, wrong.
Their trunks were smooth as glass, shimmering with a faint, unnatural sheen.
Some of the bark peeled back like dead skin, revealing veins of pulsing blue light underneath.
And then—
Kael saw the first body.
It was fused into a tree.
A knight—or what was left of one.
His armor was half-swallowed by the bark, his face frozen in a silent scream.
Veins of blue spread from his mouth, curling up the wood like roots.
His eyes glowed faintly—
Even though he was dead.
Ren gagged.
"What in the f*cking hells…"
Another scout, Joren, stepped closer, gripping his dagger.
"This—this isn't natural. This is Rift work."
Kael nodded, his face grim.
"It's spreading."
He turned to the men.
"We need to leave. Now."
But before they could move—
The body twitched.
The knights froze.
Kael's hand shot to his sword.
But the dead knight—
He didn't move like a man.
He moved like something stuck between life and death.
His fingers flexed, but the bark of the tree held them fast.
His mouth opened—
And from his lips—
Came a voice that was not his own.
"You cannot run."
Kael's breath hitched.
The words were warped, layered—
As if more than one voice was speaking at once.
Ren stumbled back, drawing his blade.
"What the f*ck was that?!"
The knight's eyes locked onto Kael.
And when he spoke again,
It wasn't a threat.
It wasn't a warning.
It was a message.
"Aelthar, the Rift calls you home."
Kael's pulse spiked.
Not because of the name.
Not because of the Rift.
But because this thing wasn't speaking to him.
It was speaking to Aric.
Kael's voice was sharp.
"We're leaving. Now."
He turned, motioning for his men to move.
But behind him—
The trees began to whisper.
The sound rose, building into a soft, unnatural murmur—
A chorus of voices not their own.
And then—
The knight stopped moving.
His glow faded.
And just like that—
He was dead again.
Kael's grip tightened on his blade.
Because this war had just changed.
And he had a very bad feeling that Aric wasn't going to like what came next.
----
Aric was dreaming.
But it was not a dream.
He stood in a great hall of black stone.
The air was thick with incense and firelight.
And at the far end of the room—
A throne rose above the shadows.
Not a throne of gold.
Not a throne of iron.
But of bone.
His.
The room was full of people.
Men bowing before him.
Knights kneeling in silence.
Figures cloaked in Rift-light, whispering his name.
And Aric stood above them all.
Not as a warlord.
Not as a man.
But as a king.
Then—
One by one, they raised their heads.
And he saw their faces.
Not soldiers.
Not warriors.
But the villagers of Eldermere.
And they were weeping.
Not in fear.
But in devotion.
Because in this dream—
They worshipped him.
Aric's breath hitched.
This wasn't real.
This wasn't—
A voice shattered the vision.
"Wake up, Aelthar."
He gasped, staggering upright.
Sweat coated his skin.
The Rift's hum was louder than ever.
And in the distance—
A horn sounded.
----
Aric reached the village walls just in time to see the enemy army begin to move.
Not to attack.
Not to charge.
But to open a path.
And through that path, a single rider emerged.
He was clad in black armor, trimmed with silver.
His helm was absent.
And his face—
His face was too familiar.
Not a noble.
Not a knight.
But someone Aric had seen before.
A memory pressed against his skull.
Flashes of a past war.
A man kneeling before him in a throne room.
A sword sworn to his cause.
And a betrayal written in blood.
The man rode to the base of Eldermere's walls.
Then lifted his gaze.
And the moment his eyes locked onto Aric—
He smiled.
"Aelthar. It's been a long time."