The night air was sharp as broken glass. A thin wind scraped across the encampment, whistling through torn canvas and rattling the few banners left standing. The soldiers gathered in silence, their faces half‑lit by the unsteady glow of firepits. It was not the silence of peace, but of dread, the heavy pause before a storm no man could turn aside.
Seraphine stood at the center. Her cloak was ragged, her armor scarred, yet her eyes burned with a defiance that could not be extinguished. She raised her hand, and the murmurs died down. Even the fire seemed to settle, as if listening.
"We all know what waits for us," she said, her voice carrying across the circle. "Every scout who has returned—and too many who have not—tells the same tale. The enemy is countless, their shadows stretching farther than the horizon. The ritual they prepare will tear open the sky and call forth fire enough to drown kingdoms. You've heard it whispered: the world will burn."
Her words struck like hammer blows. Men shifted uneasily, women bowed their heads, the weight of inevitability pressing down upon them. Seraphine's voice only grew firmer.
"I will not lie to you. Many of us standing here will not see another dawn. We are mortal flesh, and they wield a power older than mountains. Yet ask yourselves: is there a life worth living if all we do is bow and cower? If we stand aside, if we watch the world burn from the safety of shadows, what kind of people are we then?"
The crowd stirred, a spark lit among them.
"I would rather fall fighting than live crawling," Seraphine declared. "Better to be ash in the wind than slaves choking on smoke. The choice is ours: surrender and watch the end come, or rise and strike at the heart of the fire."
For a moment, silence reclaimed the night. Then Zeke stepped forward. Dust clung to his coat, and the brim of his hat shadowed his eyes. He chewed a sliver of wood like it was the last taste of calm he'd ever get. When he spoke, his drawl cut through the fear like a knife through rope.
"Now, I ain't a preacher," he said slowly, "and I sure ain't no king. But I been ridin' long enough to know one thing: the devil always looks bigger when you're sittin' in the dirt. Stand up, though, and you'll find he bleeds just the same as any man."
A ripple of nervous laughter broke out. Zeke tipped his hat back and spat the sliver aside.
"Folks, I've seen what happens when you don't fight. I've watched towns burn 'cause good people thought they couldn't stand against the tide. You know what I learned? A man with a rifle and the will to pull the trigger can change the whole damn story. A woman with steel in her heart can turn back an army. We ain't ridin' to our deaths—we're ridin' to make sure death knows our names."
He swept his gaze across them, steady and unflinching. "Now you can walk away. Nobody here will hold it against you. But if you stay, if you saddle up for this fight, then you're takin' an oath. You're swearin' not just to each other, but to the world itself: that we won't let it burn without a fight."
The men and women straightened, as if his words had pulled invisible strings inside their spines. A hush fell once more, but this time it was charged, alive with a raw, dangerous hope.
Seraphine drew her sword. The firelight painted the blade red. "Then swear it now," she said. "Swear with me. Fire may take us, but it will never take our will."
One by one, weapons were lifted. Swords, rifles, axes, spears—the battered tools of the desperate, raised as if they were holy relics. The oath was silent but thunderous, sealed in the set jaws and burning eyes of every fighter present.
Zeke gave a single nod. "That's enough words. Time to let the steel do the talkin'."
The company dispersed, not in fear but in grim determination. Horses were saddled, blades sharpened, rifles loaded. They knew the odds. They knew what waited beyond the dark hills. Still, not one hand trembled.
As midnight drew close, the first tremors shook the earth. Far across the valley, the enemy began their work. The ritual circle blazed to life, lines of fire etching the ground like veins of molten stone. Chanting rose, low at first, then swelling into a roar that made the mountains groan. The very air warped, heavy with the stink of brimstone.
Seraphine mounted her horse and looked to the sky. It had turned a shade too dark, too red, as though the stars themselves had been drowned in blood. She whispered a prayer, not to gods, but to the stubborn flame of mankind that refused to be snuffed out.
Then the heavens split. A rift opened, jagged and blazing, bleeding crimson light across the land. Out of it poured fire that writhed like serpents, coiling and hissing, eager to consume. The ground cracked, rivers boiled, and the ritual circle pulsed like a living heart.
Zeke tightened the grip on his rifle. "Well," he muttered, "reckon that's our cue."
The small army assembled, their oath heavy in their chests, their fear hammered into resolve. Before them, the sky burned. Behind them, there was no road left to run.
And above it all, the ritual of the dragon began.
The night was red with blood and fire.