476 AD
The walls of Valentis bled fire. Ash choked the sky as screams echoed through the stone corridors and broken streets. Soldiers scrambled along the ramparts, their formations broken, shields cracking beneath inhuman claws. The outer gates had fallen only an hour before. Now, the city, once a beacon of the empire's dying glory, was crumbling beneath the weight of something it could not understand.
A formation of soldiers gathered at the inner gate. Their armor was scorched, their helmets dented, and not one of them held a blade that wasn't cracked or bloodied. The palace loomed on the hilltop behind them. This was the last line of defense. Once the gate fell, there would be nowhere left to go.
A groan echoed through the stone as the enemy slammed against the doors. Again. And again. The iron hinges screamed. Wood splintered. Dust rained down from the arch above. Shields rose and spears bristled. No one breathed.
Then the gate exploded inward. Blackened timber and twisted iron flew like shrapnel, and through the smoke came the things that bore no name—shadows given flesh, hunched and serpentine, their bodies twitching with unnatural rhythm. Some crawled on all fours, others stood with bladed limbs or hollow, burning eyes.
The front ranks of the legion shouted and surged forward, clashing with the oncoming dark. Steel rang against shrieks, bone, and flesh that pulsed like living smoke. Blades met bodies that didn't bleed. A soldier drove his spear clean through a shrieking shadow, only to watch the shaft dissolve in its writhing mass. Another struck low, slicing a leg clean off one of the beasts—only for the creature to lurch forward, faster, dragging itself by hooked limbs as it carved into his throat.
The line began to falter. The smoke pulsed with movement. One of the beasts leapt overhead, landing behind the formation. Another burst into a cloud of black mist, reappearing among the archers along the walls. It landed hard, scattering soldiers as it tore into their exposed flanks with a blur of hooked claws and gnashing teeth. Another creature collapsed into itself, its body unraveling into a ribbon of black mist. The vapor twisted upward like smoke caught in a cyclone, then snapped sideways through the air, streaking toward the wall. A sentry on the parapet barely had time to cry out before the mist coalesced behind him, forming claws first, then shoulders, then a shrieking mouth. The beast ripped him backward over the edge, his scream vanishing into the firelit sky.
A centurion shoved his way to the front, blood streaking the side of his face, one pauldron hanging loose from a torn strap. He raised his sword high and defiant.
"Stand your ground!" he bellowed, voice hoarse and raw. "Close ranks!"
A shadow lunged at him from the side. He turned just in time to deflect it with the flat of his blade, staggering from the impact. Around him, his men were breaking—pulled screaming into the dark, weapons falling from shaking hands.
"Damn you bastards! Hold the line!" he roared again as the dark beasts swarmed around them. Just then, a horn rang out from behind. Clear and high it rose above the clash of steel and shrieks of the slaughtered men. Through the lingering haze of the lower streets, a rider burst forth, his cloak billowing like golden flames. His armor was scorched black at the joints, yet his figure gleamed with a strange, steady light.
The rider raised his sword, a magnificent blade that glistened as if entangled by strings of iridescent light. The streams of light emanated from his hand, upon which he bore a ring—broad and ancient, forged of a metal that shimmered like sunlit brass and molten rose-gold. It seemed almost alive, its surface laced with veins of soft crimson and deep amber that pulsed like a heartbeat. Set into the band were eight jewels, each perfectly spaced and shining a different color as if flickering with its own inner flame.
The ring pulsed. Its light burst outward in a silent wave, casting long shadows across the cobbled square. The creatures of darkness reared back. Smoke writhed as though struck by wind, recoiling from the rider's presence. Where the shadows had pressed forward with endless hunger, now they hesitated. The beasts hissed and twitched, uncertain, their bodies quivering as if held back by some invisible force. The battered soldiers who remained stood tall and produced a raucous wave of cheers.
"It's him!" many of them exclaimed. "Aurelian has come!"
The men surged forward again, rallying to the rider like moths to a torch. Aurelian rode straight into the swarm of shadows, cloak blazing behind him like a comet's tail. The enemy screeched, clawed limbs scraping against the stones as they scrambled back. His horse crashed into their ranks with a crack of thunder. He leapt from his saddle in one fluid motion, soaring through the haze and flame. As he landed, the ring on his hand flared. Light poured from the jewels, the colors pulsing in tandem, and surged down his blade like molten gold through a channel.
Aurelian swung his sword. The nearest creature dissolved in an instant, its scream swallowed by the radiance. His sword carved arcs of light through the mist, each swing a death knell. Shadows scattered, recoiling from the brilliance, but he moved with purpose—relentless and precise like a storm of fire and steel. The soldiers behind him roared louder, emboldened by the display. They surged forward, following in his wake, pushing back the darkness inch by inch.
Aurelian stepped to the center of the square. Around him, the darkness hissed. He reached up and unclasped his helmet. The metal hissed as he lifted it away, revealing a face hardened by war but lit with calm intensity. His dark hair clung to his brow with sweat and soot. Scars lined one cheek like strokes of lightning, and his eyes burned with fierce, unwavering light.
"You think this city falls today?" he called to the circling dark, voice echoing like thunder. "Not so long as I am one with this ring!"
The air cracked. The ring pulsed brighter and wilder, its jewels blazing as if awakened by Aurelian's cry. A blast of force erupted from his hand in a rippling wave, hurling nearby shadows backward. Creatures shrieked as their twisted forms buckled under the weight of pure, golden light. Aurelian moved like a blur. His blade shimmered with the brilliant colors of the ring, each arc a blazing trail that burned through claw and bone and smoke. Where he passed, the ground itself glowed faintly, cleansed of the taint that had seeped into the stones.
The beasts faltered. One reared up to strike him from behind, but before it could descend, one of the ring's gems flashed red, and a wall of flame burst from the ground, incinerating it mid-lunge. Another shadow lunged from the side, only to be caught mid-air as Aurelian thrust his hand toward it. A beam of blinding light pierced straight through its chest, erasing it entirely.
"Back, filth!" Aurelian roared. "You do not belong to this world!"
Across the battlefield, the remaining creatures convulsed, limbs twitching, smoke peeling from their backs as if the ring's light had marked them. They screamed high, piercing, hateful cries, and then, they began to rout.
Aurelian raised his sword once more, its glow a beacon above the smoke-choked city. The men around him cheered victoriously. Aurelian's chest rose and fell in silence as he caught his breath. The ring's glow faded to a steady pulse along his hand.
"They'll not soon return," the centurion said proudly as he stood by Aurelian's side. "Not while the power of the gods is on our side!"
Aurelian's eyes narrowed across the plains beyond the walls as the darkness dissolved into little more than a blanket of mist. As much as he wanted to believe that, his heart bore a heavy, sinking feeling as it told him otherwise. It seemed that the darkness would never truly be vanquished.
Just then, above the cries and cheers of the men, a bell rang out, reverberating throughout the courtyard. The soldiers froze. Aurelian's head snapped toward the sound, his eyes narrowing. The sound was deep and resonant. It rang from the highest tower of the palace keep. Aurelian turned slowly, the color draining from his face. It was a tone of distress.
Then he saw it. A cloud of thick, rolling blackness rose from the distant spires of the palace. It poured like smoke from cracks in the tower walls, slithering over balconies and parapets, swirling above the golden dome like a crown of rot.
"No…" Aurelian uttered. In a flash, he mounted his steed, seized the reins, and turned toward the path that led up the ridge.
"Hold this ground!" he called over his shoulder, voice steeled once more. "Guard the city. Do not let them through again!"
The centurion nodded, stunned into silence. Aurelian rode fast, hard, and alone toward the storm now blooming above the palace gates.
The bell rang again, and the sky above Valentis began to darken.