The forest stretched before them like a labyrinth of gnarled trees and tangled undergrowth, every shadow whispering with unseen dangers. Xenric, Darion, and the wounded General Morgan pushed forward, their breaths ragged, their bodies aching from exhaustion. The distant sounds of battle had faded, replaced by the eerie silence of the wilderness, save for the rustling of leaves beneath their hurried steps.
Xenric's instincts screamed at him, like something was wrong. A presence, unseen yet palpable, clung to the air like a ghostly grip on his shoulder. He fought the urge to turn, knowing that any sign of hesitation could put them in greater danger. Instead, he remained alert, scanning the treetops and the shifting darkness between the trunks, waiting for whatever or whoever trailed them to reveal itself.
Darion was silent, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and dread. He carried Morgan's arm over his shoulder, supporting the general's weight as best as he could. The man was barely conscious, his body battered and bloodied, but he clung to life with the stubbornness of a soldier.
The hours bled together as they climbed the steep incline of a hill, their muscles burning with each step. The higher they ascended, the colder the air became, the wind howling between the trees like distant wails of the fallen.
Then, as they reached the peak, the world opened before them.
Aeronberg lay in ruins.
What was once a proud and wealthy kingdom was now a graveyard of smoldering remains. Fires raged across the city, their glow painting the night sky in a sickly orange hue. The towering walls had been breached, their stone foundations crumbled like broken bones. Black smoke billowed into the heavens, carrying with it the scent of death and destruction.
Xenric clenched his fists. His entire body trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of helplessness that settled in his chest.
Darion swallowed hard, his face pale in the dim light. "All those people…" he murmured.
Morgan, barely able to lift his head, exhaled sharply. His kingdom, his home, it was lost.
But Xenric barely heard them. His focus remained on the ruins below… and the uneasy feeling that, despite their escape, they were still being hunted.
The horizon bled hues of crimson and gold as the first light of dawn crept over the desolate land. The wind carried the scent of charred wood and blood, a grim reminder of the devastation that had befallen Aeronberg. Xenric, Darion, and General Morgan had not moved from their vantage point. The exhaustion of their escape clung to their bodies like an iron weight.
Yet, the uneasy feeling never faded.
Then, it happened.
A gust of wind stirred the trees, and from the shadows of the forest emerged a figure cloaked in twilight.
She was tall, her form graceful yet predatory. Her piercing gaze locked onto them, one eye an icy blue, the other a vivid green, glowing in the dim morning light. Strands of silver hair framed her sharp features, her expression unreadable save for the murderous intent radiating from her like a blade unsheathed.
"Let go of him."
Her voice was like a whisper of death, calm yet laced with undeniable malice. Her gaze was fixed on General Morgan, her fingers twitching with restrained power.
Xenric and Darion instantly moved into a defensive stance, though it was laughable given their condition. Wounded, barefoot, and without weapons, they stood little chance against a foe who exuded such raw power.
Darion growled, bracing himself despite the pain in his ribs. "Who the hell are you?"
The elf merely smirked. She raised a hand, and the earth trembled in response.
Without warning, a massive stone erupted from the ground, striking Darion in the chest with brutal force. He gasped as the impact sent him flying, landing hard on the dirt with a choked groan.
Xenric barely had time to react before the very ground beneath him cracked open, sending jagged rock fragments slicing into his skin. He staggered back, blood trickling down his arms and legs, his breath ragged from the sudden pain.
And then she moved.
In a blur of motion, she lunged at him, fire coiling around her fingertips. Xenric's body screamed in protest as he raised his arms in a feeble attempt to defend himself. The flames struck him, searing through his already tattered clothes. Agony spread across his chest as the fire bit into his flesh, leaving behind scorched wounds.
He fell to one knee, barely able to keep himself upright.
The elf towered over him, her expression unreadable. She raised her hand once more, fire crackling ominously in her palm, ready to deliver the final blow.
But before she could strike, a voice, weak but commanding, cut through the chaos.
"Stop!"
All movement ceased.
The elf's eyes widened slightly as she turned toward the source of the voice.
Morgan.
The general, barely able to lift his head, met her gaze with pain-filled eyes. "Khezly… stop."
The fire in her palm flickered, then vanished.
Her expression, once filled with cold hostility, wavered for the first time. "Father…?"
Xenric and Darion, despite their pain, could only stare in shock.
The one who had nearly killed them… was General Morgan's daughter.