The raid did not begin with horns or drums.
It began with fire.
Aethros soldiers moved fast through the outer villages near the border, their armor dark, their banners hidden. They did not shout warnings. They did not wait for resistance. Houses burned before people understood what was happening.
Kael rode at the back of the column.
This was his first real march beyond training grounds. The smell hit him before anything else smoke, burning wood, and fear. He tightened his grip on the reins, watching as soldiers poured into the village ahead.
Cries filled the air.
Children were dragged from their homes. Mothers screamed until they were struck silent. Old men tried to stand in the way and were thrown aside like broken tools.
Kael's chest tightened.
"This is not a battle," he said to the officer beside him.
"It is necessary," the man replied without looking at him. "They will grow into enemies if we leave them."
Kael dismounted and stepped forward. A soldier shoved a young boy toward the group of captives. The child's face was streaked with ash and tears. He could not have been more than six.
"Enough," Kael said.
The soldier hesitated.
"Take only those ordered," Kael continued, forcing his voice steady. "Burn no more than required."
The man stared at him, confused, then bowed stiffly and obeyed.
Around them, the village continued to fall apart.
Across the border, smoke rose into the sky.
In Nyvoria, Lunara saw it from the city walls.
At first, she thought it was fog. Then the wind shifted, carrying the smell with it. Her stomach dropped.
Refugees arrived before the messengers.
They came running, barefoot and bleeding, carrying children who no longer cried. Words tumbled out in broken pieces—fire, soldiers, taken, gone.
Lunara moved without being told.
She organized the wounded, guided children away from the gates, and helped pull people from the road before more arrived. Her hands shook, but she did not stop.
"Where did they take them?" she asked a woman clutching an empty blanket.
The woman only shook her head, eyes hollow.
That night, Nyvoria mourned quietly.
Candles burned in windows. Prayers were whispered to spirits that offered no answers. Names were spoken again and again, hoping the wind might carry them somewhere safe.
Lunara sat beside her parents in silence. Her mother wept softly, hands pressed together. Her father stared at the floor, jaw tight.
"They were just children," her mother whispered.
Lunara said nothing.
Across the border, Kael stood alone at the edge of the camp. The captured children were held under guard, silent and confused. He watched them from a distance, something heavy settling in his chest.
This was the price of being born in the wrong land.
He looked toward the dark horizon, where Nyvoria lay hidden beyond the border.
For the first time, Kael wondered who the real enemy was.