The wind howled through the morning mist, carrying the scent of smoke and the whisper of something darker—change.
Kael stood at the edge of Bravestone's eastern cliff, the village barely stirring behind him. His armor felt heavier than usual, like it knew what was coming.
Arien's words from the night before echoed in his mind.
"There's a storm coming."
He'd spent his life facing storms—on the battlefield, in the cold courts of the capital—but never one like this. This storm was not outside him. It was inside.
"Kael," came a breathless voice from behind.
It was Teren, the young scout from the northern watch. Mud caked his boots and panic clung to his face. "They're here."
Kael turned slowly. "Who?"
"The Enforcers. A full host. They're moving toward the valley. Banners of House Draeven fly among them."
Kael cursed under his breath. House Draeven. The king's bloodhounds. If they were here, it wasn't a patrol. It was a purge.
"Tell the village elders. And wake the fire mages." His voice was ice.
"But Kael…" Teren hesitated. "There are whispers… that they're not just hunting mages this time. They're looking for her."
Kael's blood went cold.
Arien was in the forest, gathering dry roots near the whispering stream. She needed something to focus on. Anything to quiet the dread that throbbed under her skin.
The flames inside her had always been restless, but today, they burned differently. Hungrier. Uneasy.
She looked up just as a gust of wind kicked up a flurry of red leaves, and in it—a vision.
A flicker of iron. A banner with a chained phoenix. A sword dripping flame.
Blood in the snow.
She staggered back, hand gripping her chest. "No, not yet. It's too soon."
The forest seemed to lean in around her.
Then she heard it.
The rhythmic clink of armored boots on stone.
They had come.
Kael met her at the treeline, sword drawn.
"They're moving fast. We have maybe an hour before the first squad reaches the gate," he said.
Arien didn't answer. Her eyes glowed faintly, as if the flame within her had seen something he hadn't.
"We don't have to run," Kael offered, voice low. "We fight. We protect the village. Together."
She looked at him, surprised. "You'd fight your own?"
Kael tightened his grip on his blade. "I took an oath to protect the innocent. Not to burn them."
Arien's gaze softened. "Then let me show you what it means to burn for something."
She stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. A warmth bloomed beneath his armor—not fire, not pain—but something else. Trust. Maybe even… hope.
Then the village bell rang—three times.
The signal.
They were here.
Arien stepped back, her fingers trailing down his gauntlet. "Time to see if oaths mean more than crests."
Kael nodded, face steel. "Let them come."
Together, they walked toward the village—embers rising around them, ready to meet the storm.