A cold wind swept down from the mountains, scattering the ashes of a dying fire. The group had barely survived the trials of the Forbidden Peaks, and exhaustion marked every face. Yet before they could savor their first true victory, grim tidings reached them.
A caravan of wounded travelers arrived from the south. Their words painted a picture of villages burned to the ground, and black banners bearing the sigil of a two-headed serpent rising over shattered towers. Everyone knew whose mark that was: the Dark Emperor.
The Silent Sorceress, her gaze deeper than the others, whispered:
"He seeks the Path of Glory as well… and if he reaches it before us, the world will kneel in chains."
Arin clenched his fists. The image of his burned village still haunted him, but now he understood. The army that destroyed his home had not been nameless. Behind all that ruin stood the shadow of the Emperor.
The Runaway Prince's expression darkened.
"I lived in his palace for years. I know him well. Nothing can quench his hunger for power. Not even death itself."
The Exiled Warrior placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword and stared toward the mountains.
"Then we must prepare. This is no longer a simple journey. This is war."
Arin drew a deep breath. Fear lingered in his heart, but stronger still was the fire of resolve.
"If the Emperor walks in darkness… then we must be the light that cuts through it."
And for the first time, the weight of their enemy truly settled upon them. A shadow vast enough to challenge even their hard-won hope.