Night had fallen over the summit like a heavy shroud, cloaking the stone walkways in shadow. The lanterns, strung along the carved paths, had dimmed to soft glows, casting pale halos that flickered against the ancient rock. The final echoes of laughter and conversation from the mess hall had long since faded, swallowed by the mountainside's vast silence. The summit, perched high above the cursed lands below, stood as a sentinel in the darkness, its towering structures etched with runes that pulsed faintly under the starlight.
Raven rose from the simple cot in his quarters, his movements quiet and deliberate, as if each action were a ritual. The air in the small chamber was cool, tinged with the faint scent of iron and leather. He reached for his helmet—cold, imposing, and unyielding, its surface a seamless expanse of black steel that seemed to devour the light. As he slid it over his head, the world darkened. The helm's interior was a void, its weight settling over him like a second skin. His face was gone, lost to the shadows beneath the steel, leaving only the presence of the armor—an entity in black plate that consumed the faint glow of the Crystals and lanterns outside.
He stepped into the open air, his boots striking the stone with a muted thud. A breeze whispered across the summit, tugging faintly at the tattered banner that fluttered above the main gate, its sigil worn but proud. The compound was quiet now, save for the occasional murmur of the night wind and the distant shuffle of guards making their final rounds. The stars above burned coldly, their light sharp against the velvet sky, and Raven's gaze lingered on them for a moment, as if searching for something he'd long since stopped expecting to find.
He was the leader of the Vanguards now, a title earned through countless battles and missions—a weight he bore with quiet pride...Just like how it was back in...where was it again? he didn't know remembering things from that time felt odd and...impossible. The Vanguards were the summit's first line of defense, warriors forged in the crucible of the cursed lands, bound by duty to protect the fragile civilization carved into the mountain. Raven had climbed their ranks not through words or charisma, but through action—through blood, Black steel, and an unyielding will that had become legend among the summit's inhabitants.
As he crossed the compound, his armor clinked softly, a low rhythm that echoed in the stillness. The day guard, an older soldier with a trimmed beard and a bright gaze, stood at his post near the main gate. He offered Raven a nod and a grin, reaching out to pat his armored shoulder with a familiarity few dared.
"Stay safe, Steelward," the guard said, his voice warm with camaraderie.
That name again.
Steelward. A strange nickname, one that had spread like wildfire among the guards and residents. It had started as a jest, born from the way his armor seemed to repel light and hope alike, but it had stuck, fitting in a way Raven couldn't deny. He hadn't asked for the title, but he didn't reject it either. It was a mantle, like the helm, that he wore without question.
Raven paused at the edge of the cliffside wall, his eyes scanning the blackened horizon. Below, the valley town's lights flickered faintly, like dying embers scattered across a sea of shadow. The summit stood above it all, unyielding, its stone walls a testament to the resilience of those who called it home. Most of the soldiers were allowed to sleep through the night now, their duties eased by the relative calm of recent weeks. Only a few were required to remain awake, stationed beside Raven at the summit's edge. In truth, he would've preferred to stand watch alone—not out of pride, but certainty.
He was enough.
That belief burned in him, stubborn and silent, a fire kindled in the ashes of battles long past. But Shun had been insistent—two guards, minimum. "Precaution," he had called it, his voice firm, his arms crossed, his gaze sharp enough to cut through Raven's protests. "Just in case." Raven had argued, his voice low and measured, but Shun's resolve was unbreakable. In the end, Raven relented, though begrudgingly, the weight of leadership forcing him to concede.
His companions were already waiting by the lower barricade, their silhouettes stark against the fire pit's faint orange glow. Two beastmen, tall and broad, their presence as formidable as the mountain itself. Habari stood to the left, his thick, natural shell curving over his back and shoulders like armor forged from the earth's core. The shell gleamed dully, its surface pitted from battles, a living testament to his endurance. Beside him stood Bahari, wilder and more jagged, bone protrusions spiking down his arms and along his spine like the remnants of some ancient, primal creature. His eyes glinted with a restless energy, and faint sparks crackled along his claws as he shifted his weight.
They were brothers, Raven had learned, hailing from the beast realm—a land of dense jungles and tribal warfare, where survival was a language spoken in blood and instinct. Both were warriors, forged in the heat of their homeland's unrelenting trials, their discipline as unyielding as their strength. They weren't quiet but they were capable, and fiercely loyal, qualities Raven respected, though he rarely spoke of it.
Habari grunted a greeting, his voice a low rumble that seemed to rise from the earth itself. Bahari simply nodded, his eyes narrowing as they scanned the darkness beyond the summit's walls.
The three took their positions without a word. Habari stationed himself on the north path, his shield—a massive slab of reinforced bone held at the ready. Bahari moved to the cliffs, his claws flexing, sparks glinting faintly to his side. Raven took the central stairs leading to the summit's lower grounds, his hand securing his gauntlets. The fire pit crackled nearby, its warmth a fleeting comfort against the cool mountain air. The night was still, the only sounds the rhythmic pacing of armored feet and the distant chirp of night creatures in the valley below.
The first few hours passed in silence. No wind stirred the banners. No shadows moved beyond the walls. The summit seemed to bathe in stillness, as if waiting for something unseen. Raven stood motionless, his helm tilted slightly, his senses honed to the faint vibrations of the night. He had stood watch countless times before, alone or with others, and the quiet had become a companion of sorts—a canvas for his thoughts, though he rarely let them wander far.
Then the sky began to scream.
It was a sudden sound, sharp and violent, like steel tearing through silk. The shriek echoed down from the clouds, neither human nor animal, but something wrong, something that clawed at the edges of reason. The air shifted, a heavy pressure pressing against Raven's chest, as if the night itself had grown denser. His grip creaking under his gauntlet.
Both Beastmen turned to him, their eyes wide and alert, their postures tense. Habari's shell seemed to bristle, and Bahari's claws sparked brighter, casting fleeting shadows on the stone. They had heard it too.
From the northern ridge, a flicker of light red and sickly burst behind the clouds. It pulsed once, then vanished, leaving an afterimage burned into the night. Then came the second sound, a roar, high and guttural, ancient as the mountain itself. It rolled across the summit, vibrating through the stone, stirring something primal in Raven's blood.
"Positions!" Raven barked.
The guards snapped into action. Habari's shield slid into place, covering his frame like a mobile wall, his stance unyielding. Bahari's spikes crackled with energy, his claws extended, ready to tear through whatever emerged from the darkness.