He woke to screaming.

It was pitch black. The stench of smoke consumed him, and he was bombarded with erratic coughing.

"Carrion! Wake up!" Came a middle-aged woman's voice, a door swung open with the arrival of candlelight. "Grab your things, we're leaving!"

Carrion stood still, wiping his eyes, with the roar of flames beyond the room.

She grunted, yanking him past the room, and bolted through the door --- greeted by the decor of flames on walls and furniture.

"Where's the others?" Carrion's voice strangled, already parched.

"Dead." The woman muttered as they the night air.

He trembled to process what that meant, and his heart sank.

"Keep moving." She coughed, a strangle to her voice.

They rushed past the building, turning back to see a tavern burning to the ground. With locked eyes, she was frozen --- with a sunken heart.

The screams gathered closer, and Carrion pulled her away.

Flickers marked the distance, dots of flames moving at great speeds, carried by the cries of people set ablaze. The air was strong with burning flesh, but he forsook what it meant. He had to believe they were alive.

The woman rushed on, but the flickers grew closer, and the stallions louder, until all that surrounded them was a blinding light and a heat that made them tremble.

"I thought the rebels left years ago." Carrion struggled to breathe.

"It isn't them," the woman returned, pulling him again, "and what did I say? Quit stalling!"

"What do you mean it isn't them?" He panted, but as they met the borders of the town, his question was answered.

There, before them, were uniforms they've not seen before, faces that lacked color, and an aura that lacked soul. They carried cloaks of grey, chain-mail armor, and an emblem of thrice black lines, and they were moving closer.

The two hid behind a building, hearts racing at their attempts to quiet their breath, breath that was eager to shout as the smoke consumed them.

The woman peaked past the building, much to Carrion's protests, and was shot in the head, an arrow delving past the locks of her golden hair.

He jolted back, seeing her mangled face strike the wall, lifeless eyes facing her killer, seeping a black liquid.

The sight caused him to gag, but what stood beyond was nearly enough to give away his position.

There stood what appeared to be man in a shroud of black, holding no aura about them, yet upon their head stood the face of an angel. Ethereal in their gaze, it consumed the field with an overwhelming weight; a soothing whisper, a cheerful lie, promising peace in a plain of death. They called to him, and somehow..he felt he knew their name, and if not for the cold touch of his fallen friend, he was prepared to meet them.

With as much force as he could muster, he pulled himself away, dragging the side of a building until he faced the edge of town, only to find it blocked off by a palisade. His heart was strangling him, with a clearing by the wall as his only comfort, catching his breath.

There was a snap in the distance, like footsteps over charred debris. His heart sank again, and he ducked for cover, but there was no cover to be found.

"Carrion?" Came a girl's voice, soft, pure, but familiar.

His eyes grew teary, and he was shaking.

"Valora!" He rushed to embrace her, hand cupping her soft brunette hair.

"I feared Ria wouldn't find you." Valora smiled, but then paled as she looked behind him. "Where is she?"

"I'm sorry." He held her tighter while she stiffened. "I'm just glad you're alright."

If not for their embrace, they would be toppling to the ground, but no matter their attempts to remain, the enemy drew near. As their hearts sunk at the thought of being trapped, a gust of wind came roaring in, clearing a shroud of smoke...to a clearing forged by palisade rubble.
______________________________________

They were running out of time.

The gallop of horses marked the city's streets with echoes, the sky a faded eve. Past the market's horse dung, past the eager peasants at the sight of the army banner, until the scorn of guards became the very merit of their arrival: the fortress gates.

"You're late." Clanked the boots of a high commander's garb, brow and voice laid heavy. "Again."

"Pardon, Sir Malrick." A young, petite, and sheepish man named Zoran, bowed with a huff, relieving his helm to display the sweat of his trimmed brunette hair, cascading on his tanned pale skin.

Beside him was the tap of a giant's fist, a lion among men, bearing a golden mane as they released their own helm, with a dirt-ridden face and the pale of a northerner: his brother Theodren.

"Why so formal? He's only a rank above you."Theodren jabbed Zoran's shoulder in a whisper.

"I heard that!" The commander growled.

He held a..particular face. It was as old and foreboding as an elder, but with the expressions of a toddler. His scalp was a skin cloaked moon, with the ever slight tinge of hair stumps in the shade of his hazel eyes. The sun baked the rest a royal red; freckles and wrinkles proudly displayed on his forehead, an expression that... seemed to be heightening.

"Quit staring!" He tensed, fist gripped, and Zoran quickly glanced away.

"Would you prefer we turn back?" Theodren smirked, crossing his arms, keeping his gaze.

"Is that an attempt to be callous?" He tightened on his horse's lead, by then barely held together.

"Does it matter?" Theodren remarked with a grin. "There's more to fret about than a barren scalp with a pole up its rear."

The man's forehead was soaked a fiery red, and Zoran swore their lead had snapped.

"Your disrespect will be well met! I swear to Verikia and my forebears that upon our next meet, I will be twice your rank, and on the horizon will be a spire with your head mounted on it!"

"Remember, Armand." Theodren pointed to his chest with a bow. "We are the King's pupils. We indulge because we choose to. See it as an honor."

The man gaped to speak, but Theodren halted him with a raised hand. "Don't babble. As generous as you are, it's your reputation to uphold, not mine."

It was then that the commander understood that his soldiers were cackling under their breath. With a sigh, he dragged himself to his tent.

Zoran sighed, then whispered, "I hope you know his threats weren't idle."

Their mounts strolled beside the scattered crowd of soldiers, all in different banners, shrouded by the stone walls surrounding the chiseled courtyard.

Theodren's eyes were locked to the tent the commander departed to. "It's been eight years. What's one more?"

"Well, as long as my head isn't involved, I'd wager two more." Zoran grinned, tapping his side.

Theodren cackled, then swayed glances to the crowd. "Now, where are our men?"
______________________________________

Five days and nights had passed, and the air was thick in sweat.

It was clear the sun reveled in the scent of soldiers, a reality no less familiar as Theodren approached the leader tent.

"Ah, you arrived!" A comically joyous host cackled with a toothy grin; a general by the name "Reeve", whom was dressed in padding. "We just started the meeting. Care to join us?"

"Depends. Will Armand stay?" Theodren asked, ensuring no glance to the man in question.

"It's 'Sir Malrick', and yes, he will stay." Armand gently rested his palms on the table, maintaining composure.

Evading a response, Theodren greeted his brother, who was silent between the general and Armand. Theodren then slid beside the general, signaled a nod, and they continued.

"Our target is the dishonored noble by the name 'Tyrus', and our armies will meet him at the fort called 'Burned Hill', at the edge of Lorlyn's borders to Paldaron, the last bastion by the scourge of the rebels..."
______________________________________

It was quiet. The wind blew in the distance. The field was dry, and the air brisk.

The black stain of battalions was scattered on a moonlit ground, with bowmen alert to passing targets. With a risen fist, a song passed through the bastion, and a dozen bodies riddled the watch towers in blood.

Three men held a torch, each lighting an arrow, and like whispers in distant wind, they whisked a feeble flame past the wall, setting a thatch roof ablaze.

It was a solemn beauty, for death had marred its smoke. The horns began to sing. To those on the walls; thousands, it seemed, surrounded them. Amidst the symphony of growling soldiers, they had to choose.

Grabbing their nearest weapons; of spears, bows, and swords: they headed out the main gate.

The archers encroached on the few that sprinted down the hill, a bow pointing their way from every peering eye. The horns fell silent, and the arrows were pulled back.

"Fire!" Zoran ordered, swinging his hand forward with a shout.

One after the other, a shroud of metal rain, until the full moon was painted black.

More scurried out, and piles of bodies began to roll to the hill's base, a stain of black liquid.

The horns erupted a second symphony and, in their sorrowful eyes, bore the tune of hell.

"To arms!" Theodren shouted with a raised hand, a grip to a banner lance.

"To arms!" Sir Malrick repeated, sending their cavalry down the slope to the disarrayed men.

It began as footsteps, then a trot, then a gallop; a stampede down the hill, a flood of raging waters!

The fortress became a blaze of hellfire, the wood a roaring crackle with smoke in its breath. Dozens more stumbled out the gates; screaming, and others burning.

Arrow after arrow struck their armor gaps. Like cattle to the slaughter, they faced death with fear... and acceptance. Others stumbled, wishing with hearts of solace to evade, wishing in terror to be free, but were trampled by the stampede of stallions and the spears of their riders.. until it was silent.
______________________________________

The fires... calmed... The winds and the smoke... calmed, among ashes and blood, with limbs over the bodies of different people. Their skin..burned... All that remained was the flag the rebellion brought to the world. The power of something so profound was vacant. Those memories... were forgotten. In a way, it's as if I pitied them. It's as if the world sobbed at their dying breath before cheering it coming to an end... One could say it was over, but what of their families? What's it to them? Their loved ones to mud as dust to a breeze?

"Here." Theodren smiled as he tore the leg meat of a pheasant, handing it to Zoran, who then hid his journal.

"I've no desire to steal it." He tossed a cleaned bone to a pile of rubble.

It was hard to see that golden giant, for the sky was shaded in falling ash and smoke. Even the walls of the fort were stained by it.

Zoran was still, hand gripped to a shard of charcoal.

"Is it mother again?" Theodren asked, comfortably sliding down the piles of ash.

"At the end of every battle, it's like this, like what happened that day." Zoran rubbed the ash from his eyes.

You could hear soldiers dragging the remains of the dead; fuel for a large fire, their last words that of shrieking steam.

"Don't you miss them?" Zoran looked to the bodies that had yet to be burned.

"Well, of course I do," Theodren quickly rose, "but weeping won't change that."

Zoran maintained his gaze.

"You hear them all, don't you?" Theodren sat by his side. "Why do you listen?"

"Everyone to their horses!" The high commander ordered, muffling everything else.

The brothers looked to him.

"My, that's a pity. You're still alive." He scoffed, horse huffing spit on them.

Jolting up, Theodren's eyes turned predatory, and his hands gripped to strike. "Not now, Armand."

"Grievances? Here? Can you not bear the sight of the dead, nay the stain of blood on your hands?" Armand's horse came closer, its musky breath staining their nostrils. "Or is it the crackle of fire, how your village was burned to the ground?"

Theodren struck his fist towards him, but Armand jolted his lead back, the horse's forelegs held high.

"Look at that! A flailing fist!" Armand cackled. "A shame it's blind!"

Theodren bolted from the horse's stomp, attempting another strike.

"Theodren!" Zoran screamed, and his brother turned to him, by then gripping Armand's face.

"Well done, you two." Armand smirked. "You've been admirable pawns."

Theodren set him free, digging nails in his palms, and stomped to his horse, with Zoran not far behind.

Armand maintained his gaze, a proud stance on his mount.

"What should be done, Sir Malrick? He attacked a noble." One asked, standing beside him.

"He'll learn in due time." Armand stood by the gate as the brothers were long in the distance. "For now, we wait."
______________________________________

As they entered Lorlyn's capital, they were met with a bustling scene.

Children were darting through narrow passageways, blacksmiths hammering sparks from metal, and the aroma of fresh bread from bakeries. Fishermen and farmers carried their goods through the streets, while the steam of bath houses rose below them. Merchants shouted their wares, their signs swaying in the wind, accompanied by the subtle aroma of smoke that billowed from chimneys.

On route to the palace, its towering presence cast a shadow over all. Its finely polished stone, sturdy construction, and square pillars against its roof spoke of power and authority. Countless rooms, with reinforced wood and steel doorways and shimmering glass windows, permeated the exterior. A courtyard, adorned with garden flowers and elder trees, was hidden between bushes; a place where gallows stood.

Entering the throne room, the sound of a large doorway opening and closing echoed through the space. Lit chandeliers and meticulously placed candles cast a warm glow, with a glimpse of sunlight from the windows. A mere dozen guards stood watch as they entered, bearing the king's emblem.

"It's done, your majesty." Theodren said, the brothers bowing to their knees.

"Yes, and I commend you, Theodren. I do..." replied King Derek, his voice bearing gratitude..but also sorrow.

The brothers glanced to each other, Zoran's eyes weary.

"My king, is something the matter?" Zoran gently inquired.

The king was still, pondering in thought, and the room was silent.

He was modest for a king; capping a thin crown that lacked jewels, with a scepter of iron, and attire of a soldier. Scars marked his cheeks, neck, arms, and lip, each from a different battle. Eight more strands of grey nestled on his head since their last meet, but no change was as true as the expression on his face.

The king finally gaped to speak, but a young voice appeared, forcing it shut. "Theodren!" A boy shouted, his face beaming with excitement, his long brown hair swinging back and forth.

"Darius, is that you?" Theodren cheered, lifting the boy in his arms, then trembled by the weight. "You've grown tall, and you didn't tell me?"

Theodren flung the boy in the air, erupting the room with laughter, when the rattle of the king's scepter struck against the throne, gathering all eyes. The boy looked to his father, the king, and his smile faded. Dragging his feet, he returned to the nearby dining hall.

"You served the king well." The king muttered, shaking. "But I urge you to leave."

"Leave? But we've only just arrived!" Theodren playfully retorted, looking to the dining hall. "Why not grant us an audience with them?"

Zoran's eyes were struck, trapped by a racing heart. The king's scepter was grazed by his thumb, rubbing it.

"I ask you..to leave..." The king gripped his scepter, nearly shattering it. "I order you to..."

"So... a quest, then? Have the eldur finally met the borders?" Theodren stuttered with a nervous laugh.

He cackled once more, expecting a retort, but the room fell silent.

"Theodren..." He heard Zoran mutter, a cold hand pressed on his back, a moment of closure before a fire's soon return.

The guards tensed, as did Theodren, all hands firm on their sheathes.

"Why?" Theodren muttered, a voice of bitter sorrow.

"I'm sorry." The king sighed, then turned to his guards. "Gather their war assets and escort them out of the palace. I forbid them entry. See to it that remains so."

Theodren raised a fist, eyes locked on the king's, as though he beckoned for a duel, but Zoran gripped his wrist, looking up to him. A sudden wave of calmness rushed over Theodren, as from his brother, he saw the eyes of a young boy. He released his grip, turning to the guards, who guided them beyond the walls.

As the gates closed, as its echo ceased, the king fell upon the throne. His wife, Queen Lena, face just as wrinkled and scarred, embraced him. In a soft voice, in the ever gentle pleads for his return, he refused.

"You did what you could. Join us when you're ready," she whispered, grazing his hair, then whispered, "remember, they're just commoners."

With a turn, she withdrew to the sound of laughter, with the delightful scent of a meal wafted from the nearby dining hall.

The king sighed, face reflected in his scepter, the shimmer of a vision with two roads. One road led to cities of perpetual flame, embroiled with screaming. The other held the same cities, but with walls as grand as mountains, and without sound.

"If only it were that simple."
______________________________________

Out to the far reaches, they headed, venturing ever westward. The outskirts of a quaint town, Riversedge, appeared on the horizon, trapping them by its famous river, Solis.

Zoran, weariness etched on his face, let out a long, exasperated sigh. "What comes next? Drakon?" he whined, his back slouching as he gazed at his own wearied reflection.

Theodren couldn't help but cackle, the sound laced with bitterness. "Drakon? With what gear? It's been eight years, and what do we have to show for it?" His voice dripped with frustration.

As they stared into the calm waters of the river, their reflection stared back at them --- each bearing the weight of their journey.

Theodren, for such a grandiose aura and gifted looks... was scarred; with slashes and divots that branded his tanned face a faded red. His golden mane dangling past his shoulders was a shaggy mess of dirt and ash. However, there was a hint of smoke that clung to his sweaty aroma --- the scent of a soldier.

Zoran, on the other hand, with an aura as gentle as wind brushing against an open door, heeded few scars. His face, though plain, boasted finely trimmed bangs, a clean stubble, and the fragrance of mountain flowers and garden herbs. Had a person paid no mind to his face, they might've mistook him for a noble lady embarking to a grand banquet.

Although their war assets had been taken by the king, they were allowed to keep some gear: a small cache of gold, their trusted swords, and steeds.

Theodren broke the silence, his voice laden with concern. "How much is left?"

Zoran rummaged through their satchel, and sighed, without a single clink to be found.

With a wry grin, Theodren scratched his head. "Well, if you know anyone here, do tell."

Lost in thought, they continued to gaze out to the tranquil river, finding solace in its calm.. until a shrill screech broke the silence.

Startled, their heads jerked up, hearts racing as they scanned their surroundings for the source of the sound.

The desperate cries grew louder... and closer, carrying the scent of sweat on the wind. Theodren was certain it was donkey, for it trudged with the most vocal grunts known to man, but alas, there appeared an elder man and a young girl.

"Zoran! Theodren!" the elder stumbled, voice strained and parched.

Pale and weathered, his long, dark grey hair clung to his sweat-soaked skin. Despite his age, he stood tall, unwavering --- a man bound by honor, heroism, and courage. Adorned in magnificent armor, crafted with dragon scales and grey cloth, he was endowed with the image of a living legend. By any account, his appearance made no sense.

"Unspeakable horrors have occurred," they gasped, collapsing to their knees.

"What happened, Carrion?" Zoran inquired, both eagerness and apprehension lacing his voice.

Carrion fought to find his breath, his hands trembling. "Ashfield... it's gone." he managed to mutter, disbelief in his tone.

Zoran's heart sank, a mix of anger and sorrow washing over him like a tidal wave. Theodren, however, was entranced by the girl.

"An army, unlike any we've seen before," Carrion coughed, his voice strained, his body shaking.

"What? What mad man would-" Theodren stopped himself. "Surely you jest!"

"I speak the truth!" Carrion shouted, his voice cracking. "They marched like soulless specters, donning coats of gray, with a banner of th-" A pouch of water engulfed his throat, courtesy of Theodren.

"Louder, Carrion," Theodren demanded, concern etching his face.

Carrion drank it in full, only then noticing where Theodren's eyes had wandered: the young girl standing by his side. "Pardon, I forgot to introduce her," he huffed, gesturing to her. "The name's Valora. She's a friend."

The brothers' gaze fell upon Valora. She was an Eyru, and thus, she had a petite figure with delicate features, from the ends of her toes to the sharp tips of her ears. Long, lustrous brown locks framed her pale-as-snow complexion. Her youthful grace was accentuated by her button nose and delicately arched brows. Despite her diminutive stature, she exuded strength and agility, armed with a Drakon crossbow and a foreign blade, and like Carrion - endowed with Drakonian armor.

As timid as she was to endure their entranced gaze, she still mustered a gentle, assuring smile.

"I believe you, Carrion, but for now, rest," Zoran said softly, placing a comforting hand on Carrion's shoulder. "We will join you come morning."

Carrion's eyes widened, panic seeping into his voice. "No! We can not afford to wait. Every passing minute may seal our fate. Please, I implore you, we must ride now!"

Zoran continued his apprehensive gaze, but Theodren grinned.

"Gather your mounts." Theodren said with authority.

Zoran sighed, then nodded, seeing that the others were already on their steeds.
______________________________________

The once vibrant town laid in ruins, its charred remnants scattered in every direction. Smoke lingered in the air, a somber haze carrying the weight of destruction and despair. Theodren's cautious footsteps echoed hollowly as he navigated the debris, with the others treading closely behind. Each step filled their nostrils with the acrid scent of burnt wood, mingled with something far more sinister - an eerie silence.

"Still warm," Zoran shook, his fingers grazing the charred remains of a wooden post, and bowed respectfully. "May they rest in eternal spring."

As their eyes scanned the desolate streets, Theodren's foot nearly collided with a frozen, charred corpse contorted in eternal agony. Countless others adorned the devastated landscape, grim reminders of what occurred.

Valora knelt down, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hold still," she spoke softly, her hand tracing the surface of two grey puddles. "Footsteps."

Theodren, unable to contain his curiosity, approached and crouched beside her. "So you do speak?"

"Theodren." Zoran crossed his arms, brows furrowing in disapproval. Carrion mirrored him.

Theodren tittered nervously. "Right, sorry. So, where do they lead?"

Without uttering a word, Valora pointed to a path that extended beyond the town. Intrigued, they followed her lead.

Zoran elbowed Theodren's side, seeking affirmation. "Do you believe them now?"

Attempting to quell the tension, Theodren managed an apprehensive smile. "Don't push it," he huffed, and upon composing himself added, "Sorry, Carrion... for doubting you."

As they looked to the horizon, where towering mountains stood guard over a mist-filled valley, the grey puddles shimmered in the warm sun, revealing a trail that beckoned them forward.

"Zerethia..." Zoran turned to Carrion, a hint of trepidation in his voice. "Could this be connected somehow?"

Carrion scratched his head, deep in thought. "I couldn't say for sure," he confessed. "But it appears to be calling to us."

Zoran recoiled, a shudder coursing through his body. "And we intend to enter it?"

"I intend to follow Valora," Carrion declared with a playful grin. "You're welcome to 'intend' on your own."

Zoran's eyes widened, his mouth agape, struggling to speak. "L-Let's turn back," he stammered, voice shaking. "There might be more clues within the town. Maybe someone's still alive."

Valora stood in front of him, her voice filled with resolve. "It's futile. They were soulless specters, grey as the moon, killing indiscriminately."

Carrion, his expression solemn, gripped his chin thoughtfully "Clay specters," he mused aloud, pointing to the many puddles, which shimmered the hue and texture of wet clay.

"W-What?" Zoran trembled with anticipation. "Do you understand what this means, Carrion?"

Carrion nodded, his face etched with concern. "He's back."

Theodren interjected, his curiosity piqued. "Who's back?"

Zoran and Carrion exchanged a somber glance. "And we're still heading that way?" Zoran questioned, uncertainty corrupting his words.

Valora rose to her feet, seizing Zoran's shirt collar in her grasp. "If you're too afraid to join us, don't waste our time."

She released her grip and mounted her horse, ready to press on. Theodren followed suit.

While the others stood dumbfounded, Theodren let out an amused exhale, a smile tugging at his lips.

Valora and Theodren rode off into the horizon, leaving Zoran behind. Moments passed, and then Carrion's reassuring tap on Zoran's shoulder broke the silence.

"Are you all insane?" Zoran muttered bitterly.

Carrion paused for a moment, his expression playful. "Someone has to be," he admitted, scratching his head. "But I know how she feels. We both lost something here."

Carrion turned to the town, its desolated silence ever haunting. "Some more than others."

Zoran also paused, his eyes filled with concern. "You're not making it easier," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground. "But... I understand the depth of your pain. We will find those responsible...somehow."

A warmth spread across Carrion's face as he smiled appreciatively. "Well, if nothing else, I'm glad to see you two again," he stated with an unusual giddiness as he patted Zoran's shoulder.

"Just focus on the path," Zoran replied, mounting his horse.

"Right," Carrion nodded, joining him.
______________________________________

As the group arrived at the entryway of Zerethia, Carrion hastily tied a long strand of rope to a sturdy boulder while his hands trembled. The misty valley before them swallowed all traces of light, and a damp chill clung to their skin like a shroud. The treacherous ground beneath their feet consisted of mud and scattered bones, a grim reminder of the perils ahead.

Silently, they dismounted their horses, leaving their loyal companions to roam freely near the entrance, sensing the foreboding nature of their surroundings. Each member of the group exchanged knowing nods. Raising their lanterns, they cast a feeble glow into the encroaching darkness.

Cautiously, they took a few steps forward, feeling a heavy presence settle upon them. The sound of their voices sent eerie echoes through the mist --- haunting whispers that carried far into the unknown depths.

"Stay close and keep sight of each other!" Theodren's voice resonated urgently. "One misstep in this treacherous place could seal our fate!"

Zoran's voice trembled as he whispered, struggling to find confidence in the face of uncertainty. "Could you please... lower your voice?"

Theodren turned toward Zoran, barely visible beyond the dim glow of his lantern. "Apologies," he murmured. "I'm just... impatient."

Moments passed by, and soon, Carrion stopped ahead of them, eyes meeting the ground. "The trail ends here." He said, surrounded by multitudes of scattered clay puddles just behind him.

The group stood silent, waiting for something.

A footstep, a voice, a face, but there was nothing.

"Should we turn back?" Theodren asked when his left revealed a shocking sight --- the young Eyru girl with an arrow lodged in her right arm, crying out in agony.

Her pained yelps echoed through the murky air, forcing her to the ground and leaving her struggling to speak. "Please... is there anyone there?" she pleaded as though it were her final breaths.

Carrion's heart raced as he rushed to her side, his voice trembling with worry. "Stay still," he urged, his gaze darting anxiously through their dimly lit surroundings. "I'm here."

Valora, teeth grinding in pain, grunted in response.

Carrion, noticing her faint nods in the dim light of the lantern, swiftly unsheathed his blade. The mist seemed to cling to the blade, shrouding it. His only hope was that the brothers stood behind him.

Zoran glanced back, breath catching in his throat as he searched for a sign of their lifeline. "Where's the rope?" he called out, hoping for a response, but none came.

Their gazes darted nervously in all directions, seeking an answer to the unsettling silence that greeted them. Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the air, paralyzing their senses.

The sound grew louder and more insistent, and the mist unveiled a figure amidst the chilling chorus of bone cracking underfoot.

Cloaked in a dark grey garment adorned with ominous symbols, the figure advanced with measured steps, moving through the murky terrain with an unnerving ease. Shadows danced around its silhouette, carrying whispered stories of ancient horrors.

Carrion's voice thundered, laced with fury, as he directed his question to the figure. "Was this your doing?"

With the dissipating fog, the being's features gradually appeared - an ashen, corpse-like complexion, midnight-black hair drenched in mist, a face etched as sharp as daggers, and eyes that burned like crimson embers. Its gaze seared their souls, tormenting their senses, yet they remained entranced, unable to tear their eyes away.

In the midst of the horrifying sight, the anguished cries of the Eyru girl pulled them back to reality. Carrion jolted in front of her, his sword raised alongside his lantern.

As he tightened his grip, fear coiled on his heart. He knew that face, that name --- Almar.

With a surge of determination, Theodren could no longer contain himself. He charged forward, his long-sword held high, determined to strike before Almar could react. They collided, the force vibrating through them all as Almar caught the blade.

In a desperate attempt to aid his brother, Zoran swiftly loaded a crossbow bolt, his fingers trembling with a mix of fear and resolve. Before he could release the shot, however, darkness had engulfed them, leaving Zoran frozen, his finger resting on the trigger. The mist thickened, footsteps; both familiar and impossibly numerous, resounded in their ears, yet no figures emerged.

The footsteps grew louder.

Amidst the chaos, Theodren's pleas were stifled, silenced by Almar's overwhelming power, and his shattered blade clattered to the ground. Zoran rushed toward his brother's voice, panic engulfing his senses, stealing away any trace of their path.

The mist grew stronger, constricting, suffocating their breath until only Carrion's voice was heard, a lone cry in the darkness, and only Carrion remained to hear it.

Panic surged through Carrion as darkness claimed his vision. Charging forward blindly, he fought to maintain his balance, covering one ear to shield himself from the overwhelming noise that threatened to devour his sanity.

"Stay back!" Carrion shouted, his voice filled with desperate defiance, swinging his Drakon blade into the swirling mist. But then, a searing pain sliced through his shoulder, toppling him to the ground, a cry escaping his lips.

Dark figures appeared above him, their faces obscured in the abyss, their presence haunting.

Within that abyss, a hushed voice whispered, its words sending a chill over his skin. "Not yet."
_______________________________________

Blinking awake, the group found themselves in an unfamiliar wilderness. Theodren groaned, his hand instinctively touching his forehead, only to be met with the wet nuzzle of a horse.

"What happened?" he muttered, petting the horse's nuzzle away.

Zoran rose to his feet, surveying the strange expanse around them, of stretched green trees; oak, elm, yew, and ash --- his brow furrowing with concern. Theodren turned to him, seeking answers in his brother's gaze.

Zoran peered down, fingers biting on his palms. "We still have our supplies."

Valora winced, her fingers gingerly touching her wound. She let out a small, innocent whine, reminiscent of a pleading pup.

With a racing heart, Theodren rushed to her side, concern etching lines on his forehead. Carrion watched from a far hand on his own wound; a cut on his arm, at the sight of Theodren's arms cradling Valora, leaving him coated by her blood.

Ripping the sleeves of his shirt, Theodren carefully bound her wound in a smooth knot.

"There isn't much time," Zoran announced, his eyes scanning the surrounding field for any signs of life; a road, shelter --- anything.

Carrion's voice trembled, his pain searing. "No! This can't be right. We need a physician now!"

Zoran's voice carried with determination. "Look there!" he called out, drawing their attention to a speck in the distance.

Theodren's gaze was entranced by her, even at rest, filled by lingering thoughts, when the crunch of dirt erupted, and footsteps met his side.

"Do something! Don't just sit there," Carrion urged, wound then wrapped in a makeshift arm sling.

Theodren, snapping out of his reverie, took hold of her legs, aiding Zoran in lifting her carefully. Placing her atop a horse, they positioned her body, drained of all energy, a limp body faced down on the horse's neck.

"She can't ride alone, Theodren," Zoran said with irritation.

Theodren's frustration simmered, "and what do you expect me to do about it?"

All eyes fell on him, and he blushed.

"F-Fine! But don't think for a second this means -" he stopped himself, then huffed. "Just make it quick."

With an agile jump, he mounted the horse, positioning Valora's body in front of him.

"We won't be long." Zoran turned back with a grin, then struck his lead, setting him blazing with a trail of dust.

"Keep her safe!" Carrion added with another grin, soon a speck in the horizon.

As they led on, something felt odd. The village appeared close, but it wasn't a village. It was moving further the closer they went.

Soon, Valora's eyes fluttered open, grunting. She weakly glanced at Theodren's hands --- scarred, burned, and etched with stab wounds. For knowing so little about him, that much taught her plenty.

"If you have to ask, it wasn't my idea," he spoke softly with stiffened hands on the lead.

Her eyes widened as if attempting to speak.

"Don't. Rest," He continued, eyes set to the path ahead.
_______________________________________

Not long after, they reached the gates, where guards looked at them with distaste. The atmosphere had changed from joyful to tense, as people who were singing and playing moments prior then stared at them in silence. They didn't engage in conversation and continued on their mission, as it seemed Carrion knew someone who could help them.

Carrion led them to their home, a secluded facility for what seclusion allowed in a city. As they entered, a wrinkling man with white hair, dressed in blood-stained clothes, bowed their head.

"We meet again, Carrion," they said playfully, widening their entrance. "Is it a drink this time?"

"Hello, Haylan," Carrion greeted with a smile, scratching his head. "We have a problem."

"You say that like it's new." The group gathered past Haylan, footsteps trailing the wood floor inside. "Looks like you've bandaged yourself well enough.. or as well as you could."

"It's Valora. She needs your help," Carrion replied, concern evident in his voice.

"The Eyru?" Haylan asked, scratching his chin. "That's unlike her."

"I'm aware. Anyways, her arm's been marked by an arrow tipped in black liquid. Do you know what it might be?" Carrion asked, while the others surrounded Valora, all but Zoran.

"No," Haylan replied, signaling her body over, leading her to grunt again. He put on linen gloves freshly drenched in soapy water before examining her.

Haylan inspected the wound, and carefully removed the arrow. Her weakened body was unable to react. He then stared at the arrow for a good while.

"Figured it out yet?" Theodren asked, crossing his arms.

Haylan didn't reply.

As Haylan closed the wound, a sudden burst of pain washed over Valora, screaming in agony.

"Pardon if you remember, but you were shot by Almar's band." Carrion turned to her, bending down beside her. "But, if it's any consolation, you look lovely."

"That's.. reassuring," Valora admitted softly, a voice filled with pain, yet she still attempted a grin.

"Carrion, was it five jugs this time?" Haylan asked, applying wine and herbs on her wound. "I thought you stopped drinking."

"It's true," Carrion's tone shifted, gripping his fist.

Haylan went silent, eyes focused on his work.

"This isn't the time to talk about that. We need to find a cure for Valora!" Theodren declared to Haylan, growing impatient.

Once again, Haylan ignored him, opened a creaking door, and revealed a dusty storage room. Inside, he held a scroll the size of two hands: bathed in dust.

"Given you believe tales led to this Eyru's misfortune, I'm sure you'll find this tasteful." He unrolled it, blowing off the dust. "In the far east mountains rests a N'Farr relic, an eternal rose that shimmers like gems and can heal all wounds."

Haylan paused, making certain to enact hand motions and rhythm at every word. "Many a' folk had tried the mountain's hand, and many a' folk lay to rest at its base, all in pursuit of it."

"In love and in greed, we sought the power of the gods, wishing atop mounds of corpses to be the one that lived." Zoran appeared, book in hand, quoting a suitable passage.

Haylan smiled, the two locking eyes with the other, as though they agreed. He then turned with a sigh. "Or...well, so says the legend."

"Do you at least have a map?" Theodren demanded.

Finally, Haylan conceded.

"Of course I do! The better question is; why haven't I been tortured for it?" Haylan cackled.

The room fell silent as the others stared at him with judgment. Taking a step back, he cleared his throat. "Carrion, next time, bring someone who knows my merit."

"Then you'll have to wait." Carrion approached, patting Haylan's back.

Haylan scoffed, pointing to Carrion's wound. "Well, it better not be long."

Taking notice as well, Carrion turned to the brothers. "Right... Zoran! Theodren!" The brothers approached, alert to his every word. "I bid you farewell."

The brothers looked to each other, then nodded with determined looks.

With little time left, the two embarked to the far east mountains, nearing Valora's death door.