Four hours before the summoning…
The sun dipped beneath the edge of the forest, casting long shadows over the crumbling stone walls that barely surrounded Eldenthyr Village. Chickens roamed freely. A few barefoot children chased each other with sticks. No one looked ready for war.
Yet in three days, war would come.
"Orcs," the messenger had said. "A warband, five hundred strong, spotted near the Cliff of Echo. Three nights out... maybe less."
Inside the village hall a little more than a large barn with stone pillars and timber beams Lyssa, the eighteen-year-old village chief, slammed her fist against a cracked table.
Her golden hair flowed freely down her back, slightly damp from sweat. Her skin was white and smooth, like fresh snow under moonlight—a fair complexion inherited from high-elf ancestry.
She wore a deep-blue sleeveless overdress, cinched tight with a corset-like waist wrap, paired with a split skirt that revealed high leather boots and just enough thigh to draw glances. Her modest blouse clung lightly to her figure, with lace-trimmed edges teasing the outline of her chest. It was not the attire of a noble—but it carried a quiet, provocative elegance. Functional, alluring, and confidently worn.
"We have twenty able-bodied men," she muttered. "And three bows."
The room fell into a tense, speechless pause.
Then came a knock.
It wasn't urgent. Not fearful. Just… tap-tap. Then the door creaked open.
She entered like a shadow dressed in perfume and secrets—Granda Maevra, the traveling merchant whose name was known in every forest trail and border in this village.
She was tall, her silhouette long and smooth like sculpted velvet. Busty, but carried herself with elegance rather than flaunting. Her outfit was a burgundy high-slit traveling dress, embroidered with gold thread and secured by a leather corset that accentuated her ample chest without exposing it crudely. A cloak rested on her shoulders, the inner lining shimmered faintly with protective runes.
Her silver-white hair was swept into a high twist, pinned with metal clasps shaped like thorns. Long pointed ears, each decorated with chains of tiny bells and gemstones, twitched slightly as she smiled.
Eyes like clouded quartz scanned the room—wise, cunning, and dangerous.
Behind her, her wagon creaked with heavy crates, scroll cases, odd trinkets, and caged animals—each item whispering stories of strange places and stranger deals.
"I heard you've got a pest problem," Maevra said, her voice smooth and smoky, like old wine poured through gravel.
Lyssa turned, arms crossed over her chest—not to shield, but to stand her ground.
"What do you want from us? Either you bring fighters, or we're not interested. We are in a crisis here."
Maevra chuckled, her full lips curving with quiet amusement.
"Oh, child… yes. I have warriors. Plenty of them. But I don't think you can afford them."She stepped forward slowly, her boot heels echoing softly on the old wood.
"Eldenthyr's bought salt, dried plums, and leather from me for years... but soldiers?" She scoffed gently. "You'd need the purse of a baron for that."
Lyssa said nothing... but her eyes hardened.
Maevra's expression shifted. Her tone dropped, conspiratorial.
"However... I do have something else. Something far more interesting. A summoning scroll. Just what you need."
Lyssa tilted her head. "A scroll?"
"A summoning scroll," Maevra said, reaching into the folds of her cloak.
Lyssa's brow lifted. "A scroll that summons warriors?"
"No, no," Maevra said, wagging a bony finger. "There's no point summoning warriors if there's no one to lead them. They'll fall apart in minutes."
Lyssa's Voice Shifted "Then what does it summon?"
"A commander," Maevra said with a knowing smile. "A strategist. A general. Someone who can shape an army out of whatever you've got—peasants, hunters, even children with sticks. They bring their own troops and know how to use them. Armies follow minds, not muscles. That's the difference between a slaughter and a victory."
Lyssa paused. That made sense. They had twenty strong guards, stone masons, hunters, fishers but no one trained to lead them into war. No formation. No plan. Just panic.
"A commander... with an army," Lyssa murmured.
Maevra nodded. "You can summon one with the right scroll. I've got a few tiers... gold, silver, bronze depends on your coin. Each brings a commander of a different caliber, and the army they bring reflects that. But even the weakest among them? Far better than a village charging in blind."
"…Show me."
She reached into her sleeve and drew out three glowing papers—gold, silver, and bronze, each pulsing with arcane light.
"Gold summons a general and their elite army. Think: conqueror of empires. Silver? A battle-hardened veteran. Bronze… less impressive, but still experienced. Prices?" Maevra smiled. "Astronomical."
Lyssa's hopeful expression crumbled.
"We have wheat. Twenty sacks."
"Gold would cost you two royal vaults. Maevra laugh Silver? Maybe three warhorses. Bronze…" Maevra cackled. "One hundred sacks of grain."
Silence.
Then: "Nothing for twenty sacks?" Lyssa whispered.
Maevra raised a brow. "Since this Village has been a business partner for me there is... the Stone Scroll."
From inside of her breast, she pulled a tattered gray scroll, dull and weathered like discarded parchment. It had no glow. No power. Only a small rune on its surface that blinked slowly, like it was asleep.
"A lottery scroll," Maevra explained. "Low chance. May summon a genius, may summon a farmer. Could be alone or with an army of ten thousand. The odds? Abysmal."
Lyssa narrowed her eyes. "What's the catch?"
"There is no catch," Maevra replied. "But… you can only use it during a full moon. It must be given a mission to remain in this world. Otherwise, it vanishes. It binds to the summoner's soul until death or completion. If you fail to assign a mission, it… loses its purpose."
Lyssa muttered under her breath, "Ow, ow… I remember. Just like the famed general in those storybooks right? General Ae."
"General Ae? The great unifier of Gaia?" a villager whispered as silence spread through the hall.
"The great womanizer too," another added, earning a few nervous chuckles.
"And a deserter after the unification," a third murmured. "Vanished without a trace."
Lyssa could only nod. The tales matched what she'd read in history books, and the stories passed down from generation to generation.
Maevra, who had been walking like a cat then spoke "a great possibility that you could summon him" as she neared Lyssa. She leaned close too close and whispered something in Lyssa's ear.
Whatever it was, it made Lyssa's ears twitch and her cheeks bloom a furious red.
"Y-You pervert!" she yelped, pulling away. "So there is a catch!"
Maevra just smirked, unbothered, and held up two fingers like scales. "The village… or yourself. You decide which one you're offering."
Lyssa fell silent. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her eyes lost focus drawn inward, into memory.
There was a time not long ago when the village was peaceful. Children played barefoot along the streams. Markets bustled with handmade goods and morning laughter. The only worries were crops and the festival dance.
Then the raids began.
Like a storm creeping over the horizon, the orcs came at first sporadically, then relentlessly. Her sister had left leading the eastern expedition, hoping to cripple the enemy before they regrouped.
But now… now they are coming from the west.
"All that effort," she whispered. "All that hope. And it's still not enough."
Her hand clenched into a fist over her chest.
If this was the only way to protect them… then maybe it was time she stopped watching from the edge.
Lyssa walked slowly, her steps echoing against the wooden floor as she turned to the window. Beyond the glass, the twin moons had already risen, one a deep crimson, the other a pale silver casting their mingled glow across the hills. Her lips parted softly.
"Tonight… it's the full moon."
"Yes," Maevra replied, her voice as smooth as silk. "So decide now."
Lyssa hesitated. "And… the price?"
"Twenty sacks of wheat." The merchant's grin widened, sharp and merciless. "I'll take it. Out of pity."
A low laugh spilled from Maevra's throat as she extended the scroll, its parchment whispering like it carried a curse. Lyssa's hand trembled as she accepted it.
By the time she lifted her gaze, Maevra was gone. No footsteps, no lingering presence, only the vanished stacks of wheat bore witness that the merchant had ever stood there at all.
*****
Far from the village, Maevra sat beneath her cart, sipping from a flask.
A Servant girl—barefoot, eyes wide—watched the distant lights from the summoning.
"Will it work?" the Eldenthyr women in red hair asked.
"Maybe," Maevra said, lips curling into a slow, wicked smirk. "That scroll is tied to the user's deepest obsession… the kind of desire you wouldn't admit even in a confessional booth."
She leaned on the edge of the altar, casually toying with the strange scroll's ribbon like it was lingerie. "The Stone Scroll doesn't summon the strongest."
Her eyes gleamed like a cat watching prey.
"Her ancestor was able to feed it, why can't the descendant do it too but this time real flesh and blood"
The girl swallowed nervously. "General Ae…?"
"Maybe," Maevra purred. "War. Glory. Flesh. Praise. Attention. Worship. One bite at a time. And as he devours everything…"
She tapped the scroll twice.
"Why won't he devour it this time again.. the entire world one more time and moan while doing it so."
She looked up as a shooting star crossed the moons.
She raised her flask. "Let's hope this time he won't run away again".