Now, before we have any confusion about what's going on, let me set the record straight.
Solari had me write down this account of what happened when Torglel and I went to investigate the town just outside Adrasteia Forest—while Solari and Alythiel pressed on ahead into the heart of that enchanted sprawl.
In case it's not obvious: I'm Laboritus. Thuumar. Archer. And, apparently, historian now. Let me recount what happened. It's sharp in my memory, like blood frozen in glass.
We expected the town to be quiet. It was. The kind of quiet that doesn't happen naturally. Not even the birds dared sing.
That's how you know death didn't just visit. It moved in. That kind of hush only settles over places where everyone either left...
Or died screaming. It turned out to be the second one.
The air clung to us—wet with rot, thick with iron.
The smell hit first. Blood and bile. Like the forest was trying to cough out something it couldn't digest.
We passed narrow alleys filled with shattered glass, claw marks gouged deep into stone. Furniture smashed to splinters. Doors hanging open like broken jaws.
The street was littered with corpses. Not neatly. Not buried. Torn apart.
Some looked like they tried to run. Some didn't even get the chance.
Torglel said nothing. For once. His hammer twitched in his grip.
We moved toward the town square. It should've been a hub—carts, shouting merchants, kids chasing dogs. Now it was a butchered stage.
Wooden stalls caved in. Goods left to rot. No survivors. No witnesses. Just us. The dead. And whatever did this.
Something shifted in the air. A sound. Wet. Gnawing. Tearing.
I crept forward. Quiet. Careful. Inhaling just enough to keep from making a sound. Behind a crumbled vendor stall, I saw it. Crouched over a body. Feasting.
It looked like Solari. Same skin tone. Same pointed ears. But... not him. Not even close. Its arms ended in curved talons. Its mouth was wrong—too wide, too many teeth. Black wings folded tight—no feathers, just flesh and malice. Its eyes gleamed—coal-dark, glossy with hunger.
It didn't see me.
I drew an arrow. Exhaled slow. Let it fly. The shaft hit home—deep in its chest. It shrieked once.
Then dropped.
That was just one. The sky darkened—fast. Like ink spilled across parchment.
I looked up. And they were there. Hundreds. Dark wings. Twisted bodies. Moving like a hive—except worse. Hives make sense. Wings like burned parchment, pulsing with veins. Flight held together by hate, not grace These didn't swarm. They hunted.
I dove into a nearby stall as the first wave passed overhead—shadows shrieking.
I fired upward. Arrow after arrow. Wings clipped. Throats pierced. Bodies dropped like falling stars. It didn't matter.
Then a roar split the air. Torglel. He rose like a comet. Wings of flame burst from his back. Hammer ablaze.
He laughed. As usual. And tore through them like a wildfire with legs.
I held the ground. Clearing them out. One shot at a time.
Torglel always said, 'Hammer and needle. I break the wall, you thread the eye.' It worked.
Approximately half the swarm fell within minutes.
Then one dove low. Too fast to shoot.
I grabbed it mid-lunge. Twisted. Slammed it into the stone. Boot to skull.
I turned. Torglel was surrounded. One of them flanked him. I fired—last arrow. Hit. Right between the eyes. It fell.
Worst time to be empty. Another shriek. Another dive. I dodged. Dirt kicked up around me.
It wheeled back. Came again. I ducked low. Waited. When it overreached—I grabbed its arm, yanked hard, snapped its neck. Quick. Brutal. Quiet.
"Torglel! I'm out!" I shouted.
He laughed—loud enough to startle thunder. "Not a problem! Get to cover—things are about to heat up!"
I bolted for the nearest ruin. Cracked roof. Busted windows. Enough to hide.
Through a break in the wall, I watched him change.
Fire swallowed him whole. He rose. Spinning.
Faster. Hotter. A cyclone of flame erupted—tall as the buildings.
Every winged creature still alive got pulled in. They burned screaming. Ash drifted. Quiet. Heavy.
After it ended, Torglel floated down. Steam hissed off his armor.
I stepped from the building, boots crunching cinder. "You ever think of solving problems with something other than fire?" I asked.
He clapped me on the back. Almost dislocated something. "What would be the fun in that?" he grinned.
We left the ruins. Walked through what was left of the town. Nothing moved. Just scorched stone. And quiet ashes.
At the edge of the forest—something shifted. A flash of blue. A ripple through the trees. There. Then gone.
Torglel squinted. "I'll be damned. Did you see that, or did the sun just punch me?"
I scanned the branches. "Something tells me Solari's up to his neck in it."
Didn't have to walk far. In a clearing, we found them—Solari and Alythiel.
And two animals. A raccoon. And a field mouse. Both wearing robes.
Both talking. Yes. Really.
The raccoon held a staff and the posture of someone who's fought lightning and won. That's not a metaphor. The raccoon had a staff. The mouse looked like she'd take on anyone who crossed her—no matter their size.
Of course the mouse had a spellbook. At this point, I'd be more surprised if the sun rose without a battle cry
Torglel raised a hand. "Oi, Solari! You join a druid circus or is that vermin lecturing you?"
The raccoon—Petrus, apparently—scowled.
"I am a Magicae, not your fire-scorched refuse. Mind your tongue, dwarf."
Alythiel closed her eyes. Just for a second. Like she was reconsidering every life choice that led her to this exact moment. That makes two of us.
Solari explained. The time-magic. The training. The mentor he'd come to find.
I told him what we found. The slaughtered town. The creatures. The way they looked like him—feral, twisted, wrong.
"They weren't just monsters," I said. "They were corrupted."
And they had his eyes.
I don't think he realized it at first. But I did.
Solari went still. His fists clenched. "If someone's capable of this," he muttered.
"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe just a preview."
Alythiel stepped in. "Whoever's capable of this..." She didn't finish. We all felt it.
We'd survived. But just barely. And this? This was just the beginning.
I looked at Petrus. Still watching. Tail flicking. Eyes sharp as daggers. Didn't like him. But I respected him. Anyone who could body Solari in a staff fight probably earned that.
"Training, huh," I said. "Seems like something we could all use."
Solari nodded.
For once, we all agreed on something. The war ahead would need more than weapons.
It'd need people who knew who they were—
And what they were willing to become.
That's why I wrote this down. To remember what came before the fight.
Now—back to Solari's telling. This isn't the Age of Laboritus.
Not yet, anyway.