Deep within the Hollowgreen Vale, the ancient trees whispered warnings. The Tribe of Vael'Norr moved like ghosts between roots and branches, skin painted with blood sigils, senses sharp as the moon's edge.
"⟦Zur'an ven thal'ra... shadows move like broken wind.⟧" whispered Elyric Thornmark, the tribe's champion, his hawk eyes fixed on a flicker in the trees.
Beside him, Chieftain Kaorun raised a fist, halting his warriors. "They're close. Obsidian scouts."
A faint clicking. The sound of clawed steel dragging across bark.
"Spread. Encircle. Mark the bloodline." Kaorun's voice was calm, but his spear—Gravetooth—hummed with ancient rage.
As the Vael'Norr warriors split into the trees, the shadows twisted. Obsidian beasts—limb-split, horned, and black as rot—emerged, crawling and snarling. Not large in number, only fifteen or twenty, but fast. Vicious.
"⟦Ish'tar!⟧" Elyric shouted, leaping into motion.
The first beast lunged—he met it mid-air, his twin daggers slicing clean through its throat. It screeched, dissolving into smoke and ash. Arrows followed—moonlit and enchanted—raining from above. Elira Vale stood on a high branch, cloak flaring.
"Not bad, forest kin," she smirked. "Need a hand?"
"Your timing is tolerable," Kaorun answered dryly, swinging his spear into a charging wraith. "Where's the rest of your golden siblings?"
Just then, the trees cracked open with a surge of flame and air.
King Aerion descended from above, Solthorn blazing with fire-wind fusion, slashing through two shadowbeasts in a single motion. Behind him came Lyra on her light stag, sending healing auras across the field, while Orion whispered incantations—freezing time for a breath, allowing warriors to reposition and strike.
"Etherion answers the call," Aerion announced. "This was just a scout wave. They're testing our borders."
"We don't get tested. We end threats," growled Warchief Shaka of the Drek'Kor, stepping out from a nearby dune ridge. With him marched thirty desert warriors, blades forged from obsidian and fireglass.
"Desert steel," said Elira, grinning. "Was wondering when you'd leave your sandpit."
"Forest or desert—same when it's soaked in enemy blood," Shaka said. "⟦Kor'dhal vek senar!⟧"
The clash resumed. The final wave of beasts tried retreating but were crushed beneath the mountain-splitting axe of Warchief Drulgar Wildroot, who appeared roaring from the treeline, followed by beast-cloaked warriors of the Tharnak tribe.
"⟦Rrraagh!⟧" shouted Rugok Beastclaw, riding a tusked stone boar. He impaled two shadowspawn and raised a fist. "Fight with earth! With beast! With fire!"
From the nearby spring river, the Arowen emerged—Elder Namier, staff glowing, and Selu Tidebloom unleashing a wave that drowned the ash.
"⟦Siral ven luminar!⟧" Selu sang. "Purify the rot!"
The beasts dissolved, the battle ending not in chaos, but in precision. Small, strategic, but clear—Umbrosia had reached further than expected.
As the war leaders gathered near a burning corpse, Zeke Vale dropped down from a shadow.
"West flank's clean. But they're scouting everywhere."
Aerion looked to the sky. "This was the first drumbeat. And we'll answer louder."
Lightning cracked. In the distance, a skyship approached—bearing the silver sails of the Ironjaw Corsairs.
War was coming.