The city of Clavara, once a thriving jewel of Danovia, now lay in ruin—half-swallowed by vines and scorched by the scars of war. The wind moaned through broken arches and shattered towers, carrying with it the scent of blood and ash.
Behind a collapsed stone column, a man in a tattered black robe crouched low, clutching a glowing rune-connector. Dirt streaked his face, and dried blood clung to his arm. His breaths were shallow, but steady.
"Captain… can you hear me?" he whispered.
A voice crackled through the rune-connector. "Yes, Rick. What's the situation?"
Rick scanned the street with tired eyes. In the distance, four figures in black cloaks—emblazoned with the snarling insignia of the Black Hound Guild—marched forward with captives in tow.
"**Four of them, sir. All from the Black Hound Guild. They're dragging three hostages—a man, a pregnant woman… and a little girl."
There was a pause on the other end. "Any chance they're armed?"
