William, Elara, Aurelia, and the bandits trailing them crossed the broken threshold into Renalia, the land stretching before them like the remnants of a dying world. Behind them, Celestria's plains and forests faded into the distance, but there was no relief in what lay ahead. The air was thick—cloying with the scent of burnt wood, blood, and something fouler.
Aurelia pulled the reins of her mare, her ice-blue gaze sweeping over the ruin. "This place looks deserted…" she murmured, but that wasn't quite right. Something had been here—recently. The forest was nothing but skeletal remains, blackened husks with clawed-out wounds in their bark. The earth was scarred, deep gashes in the soil as if something massive had torn through.
William's hand drifted toward Stormrend's hilt, the weight of his sword grounding him in the unnatural stillness. His gaze sharpened at the sight of bodies—some human, some creature, their remains twisted and half-consumed. "What happened here?" he asked, his voice even, but edged with the need for answers.
Elara's fingers trembled against the reins, her breath catching as she took in the devastation. "I—I don't know," she whispered. "It wasn't like this when I left." Her voice held an edge of disbelief, as if saying it aloud might erase the horror in front of them.
The group pressed forward, their horses skittish, ears twitching at every phantom rustle. The ground was slick in places, hooves splashing into pools of dried blood, cracking the brittle bones that lay scattered across the road. Torn banners still fluttered from ruined outposts, half-buried beneath the wreckage. Spears jutted from the earth, their tips dark with old gore.
Then they saw them—the corpses impaled on pikes, their faces frozen in silent screams. Bodies flayed open, ribs gleaming stark beneath the dim light. Others had been mauled, limbs torn, flesh stripped down to the bone, their remains arranged in grotesque patterns as if something had been playing with its prey.
A gust of wind passed through the wasteland, and for a moment, it almost sounded like whispers.
Something had ravaged Renalia. Something hungry.
The group pressed ahead, the oppressive silence broken only by the crunch of hooves over dried bones and scorched earth.
"Did you tell Father?" William asked, his voice steady despite the unease settling in his gut.
"Yes," Aurelia replied, keeping her gaze sharp on the path ahead. "I told him we wouldn't be home for a few weeks—that we were hunting unknown bandits."
Aurelia hated lying to Leofric, but what choice did she have? If she told him the truth—that they were entering Renalia—he would have never allowed them to leave. And she couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had happened here was only the beginning.
As they moved forward, the tension thickened. Their horses grew restless, their unease bleeding into their riders. Nyx, William's black stallion, tossed his head violently, muscles trembling beneath his obsidian coat. William gripped the reins, murmuring in a low, calming voice, but the stallion's distress only worsened.
What's spooking you, boy? William thought, frowning as he patted Nyx's neck. The stallion had never been this skittish before. It wasn't just fear. It was something else. Something deeper.
The smell of death clung to the air, thick and rotting. Bodies lay strewn around them, twisted in unnatural angles, some half-devoured.
A shadow flickered in the distance.
"There seem to be people ahead," one of the bandits muttered, squinting into the murky gloom.
Aurelia's hand went to the dagger strapped to her thigh, her grip firm. Her ice-blue eyes narrowed. "No," she said, voice cold as frost. "They aren't people."
Her stomach churned. She had seen death before—war, assassinations, executions. But this? This was different. This was… unnatural.
The horses refused to move any farther, their fear palpable. Realizing they would only be a hindrance now, the group dismounted, leaving them behind. Steeling themselves, they moved ahead in silence, boots pressing against bloodstained ground.
Then they saw them.
Four grotesque figures hunched over the corpses, their elongated limbs moving with unnatural precision as they tore into flesh. Their faces—human, but wrong—twisted and malformed, as if stretched and distorted by unseen hands. Patches of flesh sloughed from their bodies, revealing sinew beneath. Their jaws opened unnaturally wide as they gorged on the dead, their blackened eyes void of thought—only hunger.
Aurelia felt ice crawl up her spine. What the hell are these things? They weren't just monsters. They were wrong—like something that shouldn't exist, something that had been forced into the world through unnatural means.
William, standing beside her, clenched his jaw. He had fought many things before—bandits, knights, Ogres—but this… this was unlike anything he had ever faced.
Aurelia exhaled slowly, tightening her grip on the dagger.
Whatever these creatures were, they had never seen them before.
William struck before the creatures even noticed, his blade carving through the air like a streak of silver lightning. Two of them fell in an instant, their bodies splitting apart with a sickening squelch.
But then, something was wrong.
Instead of stilling in death, the severed halves twitched—muscles spasming, tendons writhing as if trying to piece themselves back together. William's eyes narrowed. That wasn't natural.
A guttural snarl ripped through the air as the remaining two creatures lunged for him. Their grotesque forms, twisted mockeries of human figures, moved with unnerving speed. William moved, shifting his stance, ready to intercept—
But then the air dropped in temperature.
A burst of frost exploded across the battlefield, ice crawling over the creatures' limbs with unnatural precision. In an instant, both were frozen solid, their twisted, agonized expressions locked beneath crystalline layers of ice.
William let out a breath, glancing at his sister. Aurelia stood with one hand raised, mist curling around her fingertips. Her ice-blue eyes flickered with something unreadable—calculated, assessing, wary.
She had sensed it too—the unnatural way these things moved, the way death refused to claim them.
William clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply. "Looks like normal attacks don't work."
Even as he spoke, movement flickered in his peripheral vision. The creatures he had cut down—what should have been lifeless corpses—began to rise again. Flesh reknit itself in grotesque motions, sinew twisting as if puppetered by some unseen force.
Aurelia's stomach turned. That wasn't regeneration. It was something worse. Something unnatural.
A sharp crackle filled the air as William's hand tightened around Stormrend's hilt. His blade hummed with power, electricity surging through the steel. He didn't hesitate.
Lightning exploded outward in a blinding arc, striking the rising creatures with a deafening clap of thunder. The air reeked of burnt flesh as their bodies convulsed violently before crumbling into nothing but smoldering ash.
Silence fell.
Aurelia exhaled slowly, steadying herself before kneeling beside the two frozen creatures, their bodies still encased in shimmering ice. Her fingers hovered above them, hesitant. They felt… wrong. Not just monstrous, but wholly unnatural—things that should not exist.
"Do you know what these are, Elara?" she asked, her voice quieter now, edged with something cautious.
Elara shook her head, the color drained from her face. "No… I've never seen anything like this before."
William's gaze remained on the ashes at his feet, Stormrend still crackling faintly in his grip. His mind churned. Something had created these things, twisted them into existence.
And he had a feeling he already knew who.
"The cultists you mentioned…" he murmured, lifting his gaze to meet Elara's. "They could be behind this."
Across the ruined expanse of Renalia, two cloaked figures stood atop the skeletal remains of a collapsed watchtower, watching the group below like vultures circling dying prey. Their robes billowed slightly in the wind, but they remained still, their gazes locked onto a singular target.
"There she is," one murmured, voice trembling with barely contained excitement. "The lost Queen of Renalia… Elara Thorne."
The second figure let out a low, eager chuckle. "Should we take her now? Those fools wouldn't even realize until she was long gone."
A third presence arrived, their approach eerily silent. The first two stiffened as if sensing something far greater than themselves. The newcomer was different—the way they carried themselves, the deliberate slowness in their movements. They were in no rush, for time itself seemed to bend in their favor.
"Not yet," the figure said coolly, as if chastising overeager children. "There is still time before we need her. For now, focus—"
Their words faltered.
A shift. A realization.
Their gaze, which had been fixated on Elara, drifted away, drawn elsewhere. Slowly, a smile curled upon their lips—not of amusement, but of recognition. Of curiosity.
"Well, well…" The figure exhaled the words, as if savoring the moment. "There he is."
The first two exchanged glances. "Who?"
"The one who inherited the storm."
Before the breath of the sentence had fully faded, they moved.
A blur. A ripple through space itself.
One moment, the figure stood atop the crumbling ruins—untouched, distant. Next, they were in front of William.
A gloved hand shot forward. A kick, swift and merciless, struck William square in the chest.
The impact was catastrophic.
The force sent him rocketing backward, the world turning into a streak of blurred motion. His body crashed through the desolate landscape, shattering brittle trees and sending debris into the air. Dust and shattered stone erupted around him as he finally skidded to a stop, the trench carved into the earth marking the sheer brutality of the blow.
Stillness settled over the battlefield.