The lanterns from the Moonfire Festival still floated high above Hearthvale when the first wards flickered.
A cold wind swept through the village.
Not the usual northern chill—but something hollow. Heavy. Ancient.
In the woods surrounding the town, shadows gathered. Not from trees, but cloaked men with blood-red
sigils etched across their arms and necks. At their head stood a figure in blackened armor, his twin blades
humming with pulsing dark aura.
Knight Rank 6.
His name was Caldren Voss, a butcher of border towns and officer of the Veilborn Cult. The villagers
wouldn't know him by name, but they would remember the gleam of his blades and the silence that
followed his footsteps.
He raised a single gloved hand, and the wardstone overlooking Hearthvale's west gate dimmed.
The First Strike
The protective barrier failed without sound—its light flickering out like a candle's death.
Captain Dain Valerius was at the training yard when the shift in the air struck him. He straightened. His
eyes flicked toward the tower ward. Then he ran.
Elra met him at the door. Her face was pale, but her hands were steady.
"Something's coming," she said. "I can feel it."
He nodded. "Stay with the children. Take the cellar key."
Outside, the square grew quiet.
And then—
"Twin Fangs: Crescent Rend!"
Caldren Voss moved with brutal elegance. His dual blades hissed through the night, sending twin arcs of
dark energy into the nearest watchtower. It exploded in flame and stone.
The night burst open.
Dain was already in motion.
"Blazing Edge: Ember Drive!"
His fire-infused blade clashed against Caldren's left-hand dagger, igniting the space between them.
"Dain!" a voice called. Sergeant Bren of the Hearthvale watch ran up with two others. "Who are they?!"
"Cultists," Dain spat. "Form up!"
Villagers screamed as shadowy figures poured into the square—fifty at least. Some with blades, others with
spellbrands glowing red across their arms.
"Protect the east line!" Dain roared. "Move civilians to the chapel!"
The militia answered with steel and grit—but it wasn't enough.
One by one, Hearthvale's defenders fell.
The Heart of the Flame
Inside their home, Elra gathered Alaric, Mira, Lina, Torren, and the others.
"Where's Papa?" Mira whimpered.
"He's protecting us," Elra said softly. "And now I need you to do the same. Be brave for me. Just for a little
while."
She pressed a soft kiss to Mira's forehead and hugged Alaric tightly.
"You remember what we talked about?"
Alaric nodded. "If the ward fails, we hide. Then run."
Elra's hand trembled as she reached for the hidden hatch.
"I love you," she whispered.
She left without another word.
Outside, the bakery burned. The church had fallen. Only Dain stood now, surrounded by fire and the bodies
of both invaders and defenders.
Caldren strode forward, a smirk on his face.
"You fought well, Captain. I'll give you that."
"You're not leaving this village alive," Dain growled.
"No," Caldren agreed. "I won't need to. But your wife will come to me."
At that, Elra stepped forward, her steps even, her aura flaring dark and silver.
"You've already lost," she said.
Final Stand
Dain reached her, bloodied but upright. "Together," he said.
She nodded.
They stood back to back.
Caldren narrowed his eyes. "Two broken flames can't stop the night."
Dain charged. "Flame Arc: Northwind Blaze!"
His sword ignited into a whirl of fire.
Elra raised her hand. The Equinox Flame flared once.
"Verdict of Midnight."
A burst of dark light collided with Caldren's barrier spell. He grunted, staggered—but remained upright.
"Black Spiral: Daggerfall!"
Caldren struck. Dain stepped into the blades.
His sword pierced Caldren's shoulder.
Caldren's dagger pierced Dain's heart.
Elra screamed. Fire and shadow surged outward—but the flame faltered.
"Where is it?" Caldren demanded, bleeding but smiling.
Elra's voice was quiet, broken and proud. "Gone."
Escape
Below, the children wept.
"We have to go," Lina said.
"Not without Mama," Alaric said.
But Old Mara opened the tunnel. "She gave you a chance. Don't waste it."
They ran.
Through ash and snow and tears.
And behind them, Hearthvale died.
But within one boy, a spark lived.
Dark. Divine. Undying.
The Equinox Flame.