The gates of Kairo's territory creaked open under the weight of returning footsteps.
Theo and Flint stood at the entrance, eyes fixed on the ruined walls beyond. Theo leaned against the wooden frame, arms crossed, pretending not to worry. Then a familiar sound reached them—the faint scraping and chittering of claws on stone.
Ratmen.
Small, hunched figures slipped into view, tails flicking, tools clinking softly at their belts.
Flint's nose twitched. "They're back."
Theo's face lit up. "I knew it."
A heartbeat later, Kairo emerged from between them, dust still clinging to his shirt. Shiri walked at his side, brown scales catching the morning light as he stretched his arms lazily, while Onyx followed a step behind—silent, compact, and somehow heavier than his size suggested.
"Theo!" Shiri called.
Theo bolted forward. "You're back!"
Flint followed more steadily, his broad chest easing the moment he saw Kairo whole. For a second, they just stared at one another.
Then Theo burst out, "Why did you take so long? You came back last night, summoned those ratmen, and vanished again! I barely woke up before you were gone."
Kairo grinned. "And a very good morning to you too."
Flint let out a low laugh and dipped his head. "Good to see you, boss. You had us worried."
Theo crossed his arms. "You took the ratmen, but not me."
Shiri snorted, folding his arms. "We went to a meeting, not somewhere for kids to have fun. You'd have gotten bored and asked to hunt something."
"I would not!" Theo protested.
Laughter broke the tension.
Behind them, Lilian approached more slowly, rubbing her arm. Kairo noticed and turned. "Oh—good morning, Lilian."
She gave a small, hesitant smile. "You too…"
Shiri tilted his head. "Hmm. Something happen to the little missy?"
Flint slapped the back of Theo's head. "This is his fault."
"Ouch!" Theo rubbed his neck. "I didn't do anything!"
Kairo glanced at Lilian once more, then Theo leaned in. "So… how did it go?"
Kairo smiled. "Well—"
"So does that mean—"
"Yes," Kairo said. "We'll fight."
Theo's eyes widened. "Wait—really?"
"But not alone."
Theo blinked. "Huh?"
Kairo stepped aside.
Beyond the walls, far away...the land began to move.
From the east, the ground began to tremble.
At first it was only a faint vibration, a low rumble that rolled across the ruins like distant thunder. Dead yellow grass shivered beneath scattered red and ochre bricks, the sound growing heavier with each passing second. Through the haze, shapes emerged—dark silhouettes charging forward in a loose, relentless horde.
At their head rode an ork.
He was enormous, green skin stretched tight over slabs of muscle, red tribal stripes slashed across his face and shoulders like war paint carved by fire. A massive axe rested casually over one shoulder, its edge nicked and stained from countless battles. Beneath him thundered a giant boar, its tusks carved into blade-like curves, hooves tearing deep grooves into the earth with every step.
"Keep up!" the ork roared, twisting in the saddle to glare behind him. His voice boomed across the plain. "You slow bastards fall behind, you're dead meat!"
This was Garth—Varen's hero.
Behind him surged a mixed force. Pale green-skinned figures with long ears and thick tails ran in tight formation, larger and broader than goblins, muscles packed beneath crude armor. Hobgoblins. They carried spears and cleavers, their grins sharp and eager.
Interspersed among them were boars of all sizes, some ridden by cackling warriors wearing cracked goggles and leather straps, others charging freely, snorting clouds of dust into the air.
They advanced not like an army marching to war—but like revelers racing toward a grand feast.
From the south, the air changed.
Not louder—calmer.
A steady rhythm drifted on the breeze, a melody woven with purpose rather than force. It carried across the plain like a quiet promise, smoothing the chaos left in the wake of thundering hooves. At its center walked Renn.
The bard moved with unhurried confidence, a violin resting beneath his chin, the bow gliding across the strings with effortless precision. Each note flowed as though the road itself were part of his stage, dust and wind bending subtly to the music's will. His expression was serene, eyes half-lidded, yet sharp—aware of every step, every breath.
Behind him marched a disciplined formation of rabbit-men.
Long-eared warriors clad in light armor advanced in perfect order, bows slung across their backs, spears held upright like standards. Their movements were measured, controlled, each step striking the ground in time with Renn's music. The melody guided them—tightening their ranks, steadying their hearts, aligning them into a single will.
No laughter. No shouting.
Only focus.
"For Lord Lyra," Renn murmured, his voice threading seamlessly into the song, barely louder than the wind itself. "We will not falter."
The words carried down the line like a quiet vow.
The rabbit-men's eyes stayed forward, unblinking, their ears upright and alert. With every note, their resolve hardened—an army bound not by chains or fear, but by rhythm, loyalty, and unwavering purpose.
From the west, something colder came.
No shouting. No music.
Only the muted sound of metal shifting against stone.
She advanced in silence—the eyepatched maid, Claymond's hero.
Her posture was flawless, hands clasped calmly before her armored form, every step measured and precise. One eye remained hidden beneath the patch; the other glowed faintly crimson, sharp and unreadable. She did not hurry, nor did she slow. It was as if the world adjusted itself to her pace.
Strapped across her back was a massive object, bound tightly in layers of faded purple cloth. Its shape was obscured, edges softened by age and wear, yet its presence pressed heavily on the air around it. Whatever lay beneath the fabric was not meant to be seen—not yet.
Behind her marched a force that should never have stood together.
Silver spiders, each larger than a hunting dog, skittered forward on clicking limbs, polished bodies gleaming like forged steel. Their many eyes reflected the world without emotion, calculating, patient.
Among them walked living armor—ragged plates bound by unseen force. Empty helms turned in unison, movements stiff but purposeful, as though guided by a will that did not need flesh.
They did not speak.
They did not look around.
They simply followed.
Back at the territory, Kairo rested his hands on his hips, eyes fixed on the unfinished stone wall—the rising spine of what would become his second layer of defense. Rough
Shiri stepped beside him, rolling up his sleeves. Muscles shifted beneath his scaled skin as his gaze traced the half-built structure. He reached down, fingers closing around his hammer, metal scraping softly against stone.
"So," he said, cracking his knuckles, a low grin tugging at his lips, "guess it's time to finish this. Been putting it off long enough."
Kairo nodded. "Yeah."
He looked out over his territory—the ruins, the walls, the people moving with renewed purpose. The ratmen clustered behind him, chittering as they worked, hauling stone, reinforcing weak points.
"With this," Kairo said quietly, more to himself than anyone else, "we're ready."
But his side was not the only one gathering forces.
Not far from the ruins, the land darkened.
The Shackled Hounds moved as one.
They poured across the plain like a living tide, paws churning soil into mud, chains rattling in harsh rhythm. Their howls cut through the air—low, layered, reverberating with unnatural coordination.
At the center walked the Alpha.
Its massive form dwarfed the others, six red eyes burning with cold awareness. The slave crystals embedded in its chains pulsed brighter with each step, casting crimson light across its fur.
The pack followed without question.
Above them—
The air bent.
shadow hung in the air, unmoving.
The sun burned behind him, light spilling around his silhouette—yet somehow, nothing below noticed. The monsters did not look up. They did not flinch. It was as if their minds could not even grasp the idea that something was watching from above.
Four massive wings unfurled slowly, stretching wide against the sky. Feathers darker than the void itself spread outward, their edges glowing faintly, etched with an otherworldly sheen. The air bent around them, pressure folding inward.
The Judge hovered there.
Unseen. Unacknowledged.
His gaze remained fixed on the distant ruins.
Beneath a deep hood, his face stayed hidden—until light spilled across his eyes. Blue irises gleamed cold and vast, rings of yellow and purple spiraling within them like layered verdicts written into existence itself.
Then—he smiled.
Not wide. Not cruel.
Knowing.
His voice carried only to himself, calm and absolute.
"…Interesting."
To be continued.....