Night pressed down over the guild like a heavy hand. Lanterns swung in the courtyards, and watchmen paced the walls with spears catching the light. Riya stirred in her bed, tossing under a quilt, her small hands clutching the blanket. Her dream had come again—same colors, same sense of dread, different faces.
She saw a narrow lane rimmed with mud and smoke, children huddled beneath a low arch. Something huge stepped over the lane—great leathered hands, the stink of blood—and from its throat came a chittering that twisted men's minds. She tried to run, but a small girl—herself in another life, yet somehow her own—was tied to a post, ropes cutting into her wrists. Shadows circled, closing in. She cried out, reaching for Veer and their family.
Veer woke suddenly, heart pounding. Riya stirred beside him, murmuring in fear. He touched her shoulder. "It's just a dream, Riya. Just a dream." But her small hands gripped his arm tightly.
At dawn, Veer found his father, Aditya Roy, in the training yard. His movements were precise, almost serene, as if the chaos of the outside world had no claim on him. Veer approached quietly.
"You look like you've seen ghosts," Aditya said without turning.
"Riya had a dream," Veer said. "Something bad… it felt real."
Aditya's expression softened slightly. "Dreams are warnings, sometimes. Listen, but don't let them control you. We act when the time is right."
The market quarter three streets over carried the city's pulse: traders calling, children chasing a patched ball. Tempest's patrols moved through the streets, steady but not omnipresent. Danger often traveled unseen.
Screams shattered the morning.
Veer ran toward the chaos. The outer gate of a small neighborhood was smashed as if a hammer struck stone. Orcs poured in, stooped, armored, their faces masked with bone and metal, eyes calculating. They moved like hunters, dragging villagers toward a stone pen already erected, ropes and clamps clanking as captives were shoved inside.
Veer acted instinctively. Wind surged from his palms, cutting ropes and knocking aside attackers. Halric and Maren appeared at his side, Maren's gryphon circling overhead. Jiya ran ahead, letting arrows fly with precision. Together, they pushed toward the pen, freeing as many as they could, but the orc leader—a towering figure with a carved bone totem and a spiral tattoo—watched with a calculating calm.
Two orcs dragged a screaming woman toward the pen. Veer's gust shattered the chains, rolling her to safety. But the leader raised his hand, signaling the remaining orcs to retreat into the scrub. The scout who carried the spiral banner met Veer's eyes, spat, and vanished into the wilderness.
Back at Tempest's yard, the wounded were tended, the missing counted. Aditya's hand flattened on a table. "They're gathering, learning. These raids are not random. They value manpower, breeding, and control. That spiral mark… it's a signature. Someone trains them."
That night, Riya pressed herself against Veer on the outer wall, her voice trembling. "I had a dream again… I saw children tied to posts. I saw the light die around them."
Veer held her hand. "Dreams warn us. We'll be ready. We'll protect them."
Far out toward the eastern lowlands, monitors blinked: a pin slightly stronger than yesterday. The orcs' raids had exposed cracks. Scouts would soon be sent to find the spiral-marked training ground. For now, the captured were led to blankets and thin stew, the city breathing cautiously in the quiet.
And Riya's dreams did not fade—they waited, patient as the tide.