Keiran stood silently beside Greon and Agwil, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon as the two shared the information they had gathered.
The air was thick with tension, and the faint scent of smoke lingered, carried by the wind from distant fires.
The tribe of Harheim was in turmoil, and the weight of the news they had just received hung heavily in the air.
The sky above was a dull gray, heavy with clouds that seemed to mirror the unease settling over the land.
The once-bustling streets near the third wall were now eerily quiet, save for the occasional hurried footsteps of those preparing for the inevitable conflict.
"The tribe of Harheim is gathering all their forces," Greon began, his voice low and steady. He shifted his weight. "They're rallying near the third wall. Every non-Harengon is being ordered to leave the premises immediately. This time, it's not a request—it's mandatory."
Agwil nodded, his expression grim. "There's a rumor that a high-ranking demon is joining the war. If that's true, this battle will be unlike anything they've faced before. The Tenebros alone are bad enough, but a high-ranking demon…" He trailed off, his voice heavy with unspoken dread.
Keiran listened intently, his face unreadable. His mind was already racing, piecing together the implications of what they had just learned.
The third wall, a massive structure of stone and reinforced timber, loomed in the distance. It had always been a symbol of Harheim's strength, but now it felt more like a fragile barrier against an unstoppable force.
The faint hum of activity behind the walls—shouts, the clanging of weapons, the hurried footsteps of soldiers—reached his ears, but his attention was elsewhere.
Before he could respond, a sudden, overwhelming sensation washed over him. It was as if the ground itself had come alive, trembling with an unseen force.
His eyes narrowed, and his body tensed. Beneath them, something was moving—something massive.
It was a gathering of entities, countless in number, surging forward with terrifying speed.
Keiran's senses, usually sharp and unerring, had failed to detect their mana signature until they were almost upon them. This was no ordinary force. They had been hidden, cloaked in a way that defied detection.
Keiran stood abruptly, his voice calm but firm. "The report said they were days away, correct?"
Greon frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "Yes. They're still far from here. And they're said to have ten Tenebros with them."
Keiran's expression didn't change. "They're already here."
As if on cue, the sound of sirens erupted, piercing the air and echoing across the vicinity of the third wall. The shrill noise was followed by a booming voice that reverberated through the streets and alleys.
"Emergency! A massive army is approaching the tribe at high speed. Evacuate immediately. This is not a drill!"
Chaos erupted. Citizens scrambled in every direction, their faces etched with panic. Children cried, clinging to their parents, while the elderly struggled to keep up with the frantic crowd.
Merchants abandoned their stalls, leaving behind goods that spilled onto the cobblestone streets. The air was filled with the sounds of shouting, crying, and the distant rumble of something far more sinister.
Keiran watched the scene unfold. He turned to Greon and Agwil, his voice steady. "Help with the evacuation."
Greon's eyes widened in surprise. "We're not going to fight?"
Keiran shook his head. "We have no right to. This territory isn't under our jurisdiction. If we interfere without their consent, it will be seen as a sign of disrespect."
Agwil nodded in agreement, his tone somber. "It would cause a huge political uproar. We can't afford that."
Without another word, Greon and Agwil moved to assist the evacuating citizens, guiding them to safety and offering reassurance where they could.
Greon helped a young mother carry her crying child, while Agwil directed a group of elderly Harengons toward a safer path.
Keiran, however, remained still, his eyes fixed on the ground beneath him. He began to count down under his breath.
"Five… four… three… two… one…"
In an instant, he sprang into action. With a burst of speed, he flew toward two beastkin who were struggling to keep up with the fleeing crowd.
One was a young wolfkin, his fur matted with sweat, and the other a feline woman, her eyes wide with fear.
Keiran grabbed them by their arms and soared into the air, just as the ground beneath where they had been standing erupted in a shower of dirt and debris.
A massive machine burst forth from the earth, its metallic body gleaming in the dim light. It had the head of a shark, its jaws lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth, and a colossal compartment that served as its body.
The machine was unlike anything Keiran had ever seen—its design was both grotesque and awe-inspiring. It had been invisible, undetectable by mana observation, until it was too late.
The ground around it cracked and splintered, forming a crater as the machine fully emerged, its massive drill-like appendages still spinning.
The compartments of the machine opened, and out poured an army of demons.
Their black armor glinted menacingly as they surged forward, their eyes glowing with malice. The Harengon combatants, caught off guard by the sudden attack, rushed to meet them, but the demons' numbers and ferocity quickly overwhelmed them.
Swords clashed, and the air was filled with the sounds of battle—grunts, cries, and the sickening thud of metal meeting flesh.
The battle was fierce and chaotic. The Harengons fought valiantly, their determination unwavering, but the surprise attack had left them at a severe disadvantage.
The demons advanced relentlessly, their sheer numbers pushing the defenders back. The third wall, once a symbol of safety, now felt like a trap as the demons closed in from all sides.
But the worst was yet to come. More of the giant machines emerged, drilling through the ground near the second and first walls.
Each one unleashed another wave of demons, flooding the tribe's defenses.
The sky above Harheim darkened as demonic forces took to the air, their wings blotting out the sun.
The once-proud banners of Harheim, fluttering in the wind, were now tattered and stained with soot.
Keiran's eyes scanned the battlefield, his mind calculating the odds. He knew this was a fight the Harengons couldn't win—not like this.
As he flew above the chaos, his gaze fell on a familiar figure below. It was Felicia, her sword flashing as she fought off a group of demons.
She was protecting a small group of children, her movements swift and precise despite the overwhelming odds.
Her silver armor was dented and scratched, and her face was streaked with dirt and sweat, but her determination was unwavering.
Without hesitation, Keiran descended. Just as a demon raised its sword to strike Felicia from behind, Keiran grabbed her collar and pulled her out of harm's way. Felicia gasped, her eyes wide with shock as she recognized him.
"You?" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and disbelief.
"This tribe is in grave danger," Keiran said, his tone calm but urgent.
Felicia nodded, her expression hardening. "My brother—I mean, Lord Ismael—is already on his way. He's leading a powerful army to fight the demons."
Keiran's gaze was steady. "They won't be enough."