Region 32
El'dan city...
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the ancient cobblestones of El'dan as Josh Aratat and his generals emerged from the blood-stained mountain that had, until recently, been a monument of fear. The air was crisp with the scent of pine and dust, and though their cloaks were tattered and their armour bore the scars of battle, there was a quiet triumph in their eyes.
Their horses moved at a steady trot, hooves clopping rhythmically against the stone roads as they passed through the winding paths of the city's lesser-known quarters. Unlike the regal avenues and towering spires of the central ward, this part of El'dan pulsed with a different life—less polished, more real.
Children chased each other through alleyways lined with drying laundry and colourful cloth flags fluttering overhead. Merchants hollered prices for fresh bread and spiced fruit. Blacksmiths hammered away in open forges, sending sparks into the morning air. Here, the people wore their struggle like a second skin, but their laughter was genuine. Their survival was worn with pride.
For many of Josh's men, it was their first glimpse of this El'dan—the heart beneath the marble surface.
Miko, one of Josh's more stoic commanders, looked around with a faint trace of awe. "Strange, isn't it?" he murmured. "You spend your life hearing about a city's greatness, only to find its true soul hidden in the cracks."
Josh said nothing, but he took it in—the smell of roasted meats, the songs of street performers, the way commoners paused mid-task to glance at the procession of weary warriors passing by. Some offered cautious nods. Others clutched their children closer, unsure whether to fear or honour the black-clad figures riding by.
They were not yet heroes in these eyes. They were unknowns. Whispers. Rumours with faces.
Ralia Amia, riding at Josh's left, leaned closer. "They've heard of the Black Dragon," she said softly. "The city murmurs it like a ghost story… or a prayer."
Josh allowed himself a faint smile, though it did not reach his eyes. "Let them keep wondering a little longer."
Their procession slowed as they neared the edge of the city—El'dan's western gates, massive and reinforced with silver-tipped steel, loomed ahead. The guards stationed there straightened at the sight of them, uncertain whether to prepare for battle or open the gates in reverence.
Josh dismounted just before the towering archway, his boots landing with a deliberate thud that echoed faintly against the stone and iron of El'dan's western gate.
Dust curled upward around his heels, spiraling like smoke in the fading sunlight. He reached out and ran a gloved hand down the side of his horse's neck, calming the restless beast with a quiet murmur only the steed could hear.
Then, straightening to his full height, Josh turned to face his generals, the black silk of his mask shifting slightly in the wind.
"At ease, generals," he said, his voice cool and calm. "Let me speak with the gatekeepers. Once the path is clear, we head for Cumba City. We're not staying here longer than we must."
As he adjusted his mask with a quiet tug, concealing the lower half of his face once more, the faint glint in his eyes was the only signal of the storm always brewing beneath his composure.
He stepped forward alone.
The guards at the gate, clad in standard-issue El'dan silvermail, had been watching the group with suspicion since the moment they entered view. Even now, their hands hovered too close to their weapons, their eyes narrowed with that peculiar brand of city-dweller arrogance: the kind that comes from feeling safe behind thick walls.
Josh walked with quiet confidence, his boots silent now on the cobblestones, but every step radiated authority. It was the kind of walk that belonged not to a man, but to a myth wearing human skin.
"Stop right there!" one of the guards barked, voice cracking under pressure. He raised a spear, finger quivering against the trigger of the enchantment bolt primed at its base. "If you so much as blink, I'll paint the floor with your brain juice!"
Josh halted—not out of fear, but sheer amusement. Beneath the mask, a slow, dry smile tugged at the corners of his lips. His eyes, unreadable and calm, locked with the guard's.
Behind him, Adino chuckled, arms crossed, his battle-worn cloak fluttering slightly.
"Oh, that poor bastard," he muttered. "He's in for the shock of his life when he finds out who he just threatened."
Miko gave a grim nod. "I almost feel sorry for him."
And then—
The air changed.
A sharp, unnatural screech split the sky, tearing through the clouds like claws through silk. Heads snapped upward, and all eyes turned to the heavens just as a massive shadow plunged toward them with terrifying speed.
A beat later, the earth shuddered as something struck the ground with the impact of a meteor. Dust and debris exploded outward as stone cracked beneath a massive weight.
From the midst of that chaos stood a creature so striking, so dreadful in its majesty, it seemed to steal the breath from the lungs of every mortal present.
The Scarlet raven—massive as a minibus, feathers like serrated blades, and eyes that glowed with ancient malice—towered over the courtyard. It let out another shriek, this one lower, more guttural, as if warning the very earth to remember its name.
Uriel Commes.
In his pure, unrestrained Oradonian primal animal form, he radiated such savage energy that the guards dropped their weapons without realizing it. Knees buckled. Some fell. Others simply stared, unable to look away, their fear strangling any attempt to speak.
The mere sight of him was enough to drown lesser men in terror.
No titles were spoken. No announcements made. Yet the name whispered itself into every trembling heart.
The Mad Scarlet Raven.
Uriel the spirit of vengeance, undying and raw.
The Oradonian nightmare.
Josh stood a few paces from the great bird, utterly unaffected.
The scarlet raven—Uriel Commes—had arrived in his pure, unbridled form. A beast of blood and flame, his descent shattered air and stone alike, and though no one yet knew his name, every soul present, save for Josh and his generals, felt it in their bones:
A force of nature had landed.
He was the Oradonian madman—feared across the Empire as a nightmare. His name alone can cause sleepless nights. His fame was whispered of in border towns and imperial courts alike. A legend carved in blood and sealed in screams.
Wherever Uriel walked, carnage followed. Rivers turned crimson. Walls burned black. Cities were swallowed in silence after his passing.
Now, he stood at the gates of El'dan, and there was no telling what would happen next.
Even Josh Aratat—the revered black dragon, cool, calculating, always in control—felt a rare flicker of uncertainty. Uriel was not a blade you unsheathed lightly. He was a storm you released and prayed to survive.