The air in Frostveil was thick with the scent of burning wood and iron, a grim reminder of the battle that had already begun. Nikos, Ali, and Zara moved through the shadows of the ruined village, their footsteps silent against the frost-laden ground. The towering fortress that once stood as Frostveil's heart was now a charred husk, its walls cracked and scarred from siege.
"We need to find the resistance fighters," Zara murmured, her eyes scanning the dimly lit streets. "Skellith may have taken most of the village, but I know there are still those who refuse to surrender."
Nikos nodded, his grip tightening on his sword. "Then we find them and take back Frostveil. We can't let Skellith establish his foothold here."
Ali let out a low whistle, his ears twitching. "That's a solid plan and all, but I don't like the silence. Feels like we're walking into a trap."
Zara cast him a sidelong glance. "We probably are."
The wind howled through the broken streets as they pressed forward, the night sky overhead painted with the dull glow of distant fires. The looming presence of Skellith's forces felt suffocating, but something else gnawed at Nikos's senses—a deeper presence, like an unseen force watching them from the darkness.
Then, they heard it.
A sharp clash of steel against steel rang out from the village square, followed by the desperate cries of men and women locked in battle. Without hesitation, Nikos broke into a sprint, the others following close behind.
As they neared the square, they saw them—Skellith's soldiers, clad in dark, jagged armor, their weapons slick with blood, pushing back a dwindling group of resistance fighters. At the center of the chaos stood a lone warrior, his blade dancing through the enemy ranks with precise, deadly grace. His dark cloak billowed as he cut down one soldier after another, his movements almost too fast for the eye to follow.
Nikos felt an undeniable pull toward the warrior. There was something different about him—something powerful.
Zara's breath caught. "That's not one of ours."
The warrior's blade clashed against a massive axe wielded by one of Skellith's enforcers, sparks flying into the air. As the enforcer staggered back, the warrior raised his free hand, and in an instant, a pulse of crackling energy surged outward. Lightning arced through the air, striking down three soldiers in an instant.
Voltaris.
Nikos recognized it immediately—the unmistakable power of the Storm Realm. This warrior wasn't just another resistance fighter; he was from another realm.
Before Nikos could react, the warrior turned his head slightly, locking eyes with him. For a moment, time seemed to freeze.
Then, the warrior moved.
With a swift step, he broke away from the battle, his form almost vanishing in a blur of motion. In the next heartbeat, he appeared before Nikos, his blade lowered but his storm-gray eyes sharp with intensity.
"You don't belong here," the warrior said, his voice edged with curiosity.
Nikos straightened. "Neither do you."
The warrior studied him for a moment before nodding slightly. "Fair enough. My name is Vaelin. And if you're here to fight Skellith, then we're on the same side."
Zara's gaze hardened. "You're from Voltaris. What's someone like you doing in Frostveil?"
Vaelin's expression darkened. "I was sent here to track something—or rather, someone. And judging by what I've seen so far, I think I found him."
Nikos frowned. "Who?"
Vaelin's gaze met his again. "You."
A crack of thunder rolled overhead, and the battle in the village square raged on, but Nikos felt an even greater storm gathering—one that had nothing to do with Skellith's army. There was more to this warrior than he was letting on, and something told Nikos that his journey was about to take a turn he hadn't expected.
The real war was just beginning.