The campfire flickered, casting long shadows over the gathered soldiers. The quiet hum of restless conversation mingled with the crackle of burning wood, but Lyra's eyes remained fixed on the dancing flames.
Beside her, Darric cleaned his crossbow with methodical precision, though his thoughts clearly wandered. Kael sat nearby, sharpening Ashrend with practiced strokes, the crimson mark on his chest faintly glowing beneath his dark tunic.
The night air was thick with unspoken fears. The victory at Cindermoor had been hard-won but fleeting. They all knew Malrik would retaliate—harder, faster.
Lyra broke the silence.
"We've fought for months now, but it never feels like we get ahead. Every time we push back, the Black Host returns with more—stronger, more relentless."
Kael looked up, eyes meeting hers with quiet intensity.
"That's because this war isn't just about armies," he said. "It's about what lies beneath the Veil. The true enemy is something older than Malrik or his legions."
Darric glanced over. "Speaking of enemies beneath the surface… I found something while scouting today."
He pulled from his pack a folded parchment, edges frayed and stained. Lyra took it, her brow furrowing as she recognized the sigil—a serpent coiled around a broken crown.
"It's a message," she said, voice low. "From the Veil cult."
Kael's jaw tightened. "They're moving closer. Infiltrating settlements, poisoning loyalty from within."
Lyra's gaze hardened. "We can't just fight their armies. We need to root out their shadows."
A distant horn interrupted them—urgent, sharp.
Kael sprang to his feet. "Prepare yourselves. The Hollow Spire is under siege."
The Hollow Spire rose against the twilight like a jagged tooth. Once a proud fortress and repository of ancient Sovereign knowledge, it was now battered and besieged.
As they approached, smoke curled from breached walls, and the ground trembled with the thunder of war engines.
At the gates, Kael, Lyra, and Darric rallied the defenders. Lyra drew her blades, whispering a prayer to the forgotten gods. Darric readied his bolts, eyes scanning for ambushes.
Inside the spire's great hall, ancient murals depicted Sovereigns wielding power over flame, lightning, and shadow—echoes of a time when kingdoms bowed before their might.
Kael moved to the chamber where the vault of texts was hidden. The air thrummed with latent magic. He reached out, fingers tracing the glyphs inscribed on an ancient tome.
"The Sovereign Flame," he murmured. "This is where it all began."
Lyra joined him, eyes flickering with something between awe and fear.
"They said these texts were lost in the last great war," she said. "Now, they might hold the key to defeating the Black Host."
A sudden explosion rocked the spire. Screams echoed as Veilspawn burst through the outer walls, shadowy figures that writhed and shifted like smoke given form.
Kael's mark flared fiercely.
"We hold this line," he commanded. "For the future. For the past."
Steel met shadow as the battle for the Hollow Spire erupted anew.