The road curved sharply before flattening into a long, white-dusted valley. Nestled in its center was Erenshade—or what was left of it.
Smoke curled from the remnants of homes. A makeshift barricade of lumber, scorched wagons, and frozen corpses ringed the village perimeter. The iron gates were cracked open, bent outward from past assaults. Blood stained the snow in rusty streaks. No bells rang. No birds sang.
As the duchy's forces approached, their presence stirred faint hope. A few shapes peeked from within the barricades—wide-eyed villagers, half-starved and bundled in too-thin cloaks.
"Spirits," Jorin whispered, gripping the side of the wagon. "This place is barely standing."
"It looks like… like Hearthvale," Alaric said quietly. "But colder. And somehow, even quieter."
Lira's eyes filled with tears. "How could they survive here?"
Malric's jaw was tight. "Some didn't."
Alaric's gaze remained fixed on the crumbled homes and soot-blackened chapel at the village's heart. For a moment, it was like looking into a memory—a haunting mirror of his past.
Knight-Commander Tharyn rode forward, his shield raised in a gesture of peace. Behind him, Captain Virel's defenders began forming a protective semicircle at the village gates, while Mage-Captain Alithra deployed her teams to reinforce the perimeter with wards.
Duchess Lireya dismounted and approached slowly. The villagers hesitated—until an elderly man stepped forward.
"You… you're real," he breathed. "I thought… Velkran was making us see things again."
Lireya's tone was calm. "We are very real. You've endured more than most."
He fell to his knees. "Help us. Please."
Lireya gently helped him up. "We will."
Shadows Within
Lireya followed the old man into the largest intact building—a half-collapsed meeting hall converted into a shelter. The children trailed behind her, eyes wide.
Inside were a few dozen villagers, many wrapped in rags, some murmuring to themselves. One woman stared at a wall with blank eyes, her hands rhythmically clenching and unclenching. A man had a deep claw wound across his chest, hastily wrapped with strips of old curtain.
The elder, who introduced himself as Halvern, bowed before Lireya and the others. His face was gaunt, and his voice trembled as he spoke.
"It started three weeks ago," Halvern said. "At first, just howls at night. Then shadows—beasts we couldn't track. Our scouts vanished one by one."
He swallowed hard. "We sent word to the capital. And then… the attacks began."
"How many knights were stationed here?" Lireya asked, her expression firm.
"Twelve," Halvern replied. "Strong ones. But they fell quickly. Some were dragged into the trees. We… we heard them screaming for days after. Then silence."
Jorin paled. Malric clenched his fists. Lira placed a hand over her heart. Alaric's brow furrowed, pain flickering across his face.
"Those that survived the first wave holed up in the chapel," Halvern continued. "They tried to protect the children and wounded. But one night, something… something spoke through the walls. Through the wind. Half the knights turned their blades on each other."
"A corruption field," Alithra muttered. "Mental incursion."
Halvern's voice cracked. "We burned their bodies. We had to."
Lireya walked to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You did what you had to," she said softly. "You held the line. That is no small thing."
Halvern's eyes glistened. "Will you save us?"
Lireya's expression sharpened, her silver eyes burning with resolve.
"I swear it. By my name, by my banner, by the oaths of the North—I will not leave this place to the cold and darkness."
The Seal
Later that day, a group of soldiers returned from scouting the forest edge. They carried a strange object—a twisted beast's corpse, antlers charred, eyes gouged out, ribs exposed.
Carved into the bone was a sigil—a spiral interwoven with sharp edges and slashes.
"What is that?" Malric asked.
Alithra examined it closely, her face grim. "It's a binding seal—but corrupted. Ancient. Velkran is not just leading these beasts. He's summoning and commanding them."
Alaric blinked. "He's acting like a summoner?"
"Not in the way you think. This isn't a pact. It's domination. He seizes their minds and carves commands into their bodies."
"And the monsters… obey?"
"They don't have a choice."
Lireya arrived and examined the sigil herself. "This confirms it. Velkran is a former spirit, corrupted and driven by hatred. And he remembers how to bind."
The children looked at one another, unease growing.
The Eve of Siege
That evening, as the army set up camp inside the village perimeter, a wind howled down from the mountains. The sky dimmed to purple. Fires were lit and enchantments layered across the barricades.
The children sat together near the chapel steps.
Lira stared at the sky. "Do you think… he's watching us right now?"
"Yes," Alaric said. "And waiting."
They turned as Lireya approached.
"You four have done well," she said. "And now I must ask something more."
They rose, listening.
"Tomorrow, we strike," she said. "Velkran's aura is choking this land. If we wait, the village will die in days."
"I want to help," Malric said quickly. "Not just watch."
"I do too," said Lira. "I can support with barriers. Heal if needed."
Jorin stepped forward. "I'll fight."
Lireya met Alaric's eyes.
He nodded. "I won't run."
She smiled faintly. "You won't be on the front lines. But there will be a support squad. I'll place you there—with one of my best knights."
Alaric exhaled in relief.
"Tonight, rest," she said. "Tomorrow, we end the siege."
Final Whisper
As the fire crackled low and the children began to drift to sleep, Alaric heard it again.
A whisper.
Not from the trees.
From within.
"Valerius…"
He sat up, cold sweat running down his back. No one else stirred.
Outside the ward, the snow danced.
In the distance, a shape moved at the edge of the cliff.
Long.
Serpentine.
And watching.