"No, Lyra! No!"
His voice cracked through the chaos, raw with desperation.
He ran—faster than he ever thought his legs could carry him—cutting through smoke, leaping over broken ground, lungs burning, heart thundering like war drums. Ahead, Lyra stood alone, her body heaving, her stance faltering. The sword in her hand was no longer whole—just a jagged, torn edge glinting faintly in the darkness.
And looming over her, a shadow with claws of nightmare.
She fought. Gods, she fought. Swing after swing, defiant and fierce. But the shadow was faster. Hungrier. Its claws lashed out in a blur.
"LYRA—!"
He was close. So close.
But not close enough.
With a screech like metal tearing flesh, the shadow struck. Its claw tore through her side, and time slowed as red sprayed into the air—bright, horrifying. She staggered, her scream ripped away by the wind, blood and torn flesh trailing as she collapsed to her knees.
His legs gave out beneath him the moment she fell.
Too late.
He screamed—a sound of pure anguish that shredded his throat. Rage and grief fused into something primal, something that burned away thought and reason. His sword became an extension of his pain as he hurled himself at the shadow-beast.
"DIE!" The word tore from him like a curse. Again and again he slashed, each strike fueled by memories of Lyra's smile, her laughter, her final scream. The shadow writhed and thrashed under his assault, its form splintering, dissolving.
His blade found its mark—plunging deep into what might have been a heart. The shadow's screech turned... human.
Horror froze him as the darkness peeled away like smoke.
Mai lay there, impaled on his sword, her eyes wide with betrayal. Blood—real blood, human blood—trickled from the corner of her mouth.
"Why?" she whispered, tears cutting clean trails down her dirt-streaked face. "I... trusted..."
His sword clattered to the ground as he caught her falling body. "No... No, Mai, I didn't—I couldn't—" The words choked him as she went limp in his arms, her final breath a soft sigh of incomprehension.
Something broke inside him then—something vital and irreparable. He clutched her body close and howled his despair to an uncaring sky, drowning in the knowledge that he had destroyed not one, but two people he had sworn to protect.
He jerked awake with a gasp, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around him. His heart hammered against his ribs as the nightmare's images slowly dissolved into the pre-dawn darkness of his room.
"Just a dream," he whispered hoarsely, pressing his palms against his eyes. But the horror felt too real—Lyra's scream, Mai's blood on his hands, the weight of her lifeless body.
He fumbled for the lamp beside his bed, needing light to chase away the shadows that still seemed to lurk in the corners. As warm yellow light flooded the room, he drew several deep, shaky breaths.
The shadows on the wall told him it was still the darkest part of night. Outside his window, the world was still and quiet, untouched by the violence that had played out in his mind. Yet he knew sleep would not return—not with the phantom taste of ash in his mouth and the echo of Mai's final "Why?" haunting his thoughts.
"I won't let it happen," he promised the empty room. "I'll protect them both. No matter what."
---
A week later, after recruiting and gathering warriors for the new adventure
The town square bustled with renewed life as twenty-three villagers went about their daily tasks. The market stalls had been rebuilt, though simpler than before, and fresh goods filled the newly constructed wooden carts. The blacksmith's forge rang with activity once more, its chimney breathing steady smoke into the clear sky. In the comfortable bustle, hope had replaced fear—a testament to the villagers' resilience and determination to rebuild.
Lyra emerged from her command tent, followed by four villagers she had personally selected for this mission. Marcus, the miller's son, stood ready with his woodcutter's axe. Sarah, their best hunter, kept her bow drawn. Vale, whose keen eye for detail was invaluable, and Estaria ,completed her chosen team.
"You will join this fight," Lyra announced, making it clear this wasn't a request.
"Out of the question," Thorne snapped. "This is no simple—"
"I've given them their orders," Lyra's voice was unyielding. "We're protecting what's ours."
Marcus stood straighter. "Lyra has shown us the way. We fight."
Aeris's crystal staff flickered with worry. "These goblins are unlike any we've faced—"
"We're prepared," Sarah said, her loyalty to Lyra evident. "We know the risks."
Vale spoke with conviction. "Lyra's plan is sound and well-thought-out. We must strike now while we have the advantage, or we'll lose everything we've worked so hard to protect."
"And I can tend to any wounds we sustain," Estaria added, patting her medicine pouch. "Better to have a healer close at hand."
Thorne looked to Aeris, who nodded reluctantly. "Follow Lyra's lead then," he growled. "But be careful."
Lyra's expression showed quiet satisfaction at having her way.
By the central fountain stood their would-be leaders: Aeris, wielding her crystal staff that pulsed with arcane energy; Thorne, battle-scarred and imposing; and Vale, the elven scout whose cloak seemed woven from shifting shadows.
"The goblin caves lie two leagues north," Thorne growled, checking the edge of his battleaxe. "If we move now, we can be there before the sun reaches its peak."
Vale's keen eyes scanned the treeline beyond the town walls. "Their numbers have grown. I counted fresh tracks near the eastern stream."
"Then we'll need to be cautious," Aeris said, adjusting her spell components. "The last thing we need is to alert the entire horde."
As they set out through the town gates, townspeople stopped to watch them pass, offering whispered prayers to whatever gods might be listening. The weight of their hopes pressed heavy on the small group's shoulders as they disappeared into the dense forest beyond.
---
They had been traveling for half an hour through the dense forest, their conversation drifting naturally to the signs of recovery in the village. The group's footsteps crunched softly on fallen leaves as they shared stories of rebuilding and renewal, their voices carrying hints of pride and hope for their community's future.
"The rebuilding's going well," Marcus said, breaking the contemplative silence. "My father's mill should be running again by week's end."
"The children are playing in the streets again," Sarah added, a small smile touching her lips. "It's good to hear their laughter."
"And the night watch system is working," Vale contributed. "No attacks in almost two weeks."
Lyra nodded
"The market's starting to look like its old self again," Esteria said quietly, running a hand through his dark hair. "Though I still miss Elena's flower stall. No one could arrange bouquets quite like she did."
Sarah suddenly stiffened, her hunter's instincts flaring to life. She held up a hand, bringing the group to an abrupt halt. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned their surroundings, head tilted slightly as if listening for something that wasn't there.
"Wait," she whispered, her grip tightening on her bow. "Something's not right. The forest... it's too quiet."
The forest had changed. The usual vibrant greens seemed muted, and shafts of sunlight cutting through the canopy cast strange, shifting patterns on the leaf-strewn ground.
Something nagged at the edges of her awareness. The forest felt... different. Wrong. It took several more paces before she realized what it was.
The birds had stopped singing.
Not just the birds—all sound had ceased. No rustling leaves, no scurrying creatures, no buzzing insects. Just their footsteps and voices, seeming suddenly too loud in the unnatural quiet.
The silence shattered as thundering footsteps echoed through the cave. "Run!" Lyra shouted, her voice bouncing off the stone walls. The group sprinted forward, their boots pounding against the rough ground.
Without warning, a massive shape burst through a side passage. An orc, easily twice their size, swung a crude club that whistled through the air. Sarah, at the rear of the group, had no time to dodge.
The impact was sickening. The club caught Sarah in her side, launching her against the cave wall with a horrifying crack. She crumpled to the ground, bow splintering beneath her.
"Sarah!" Esteria screamed, already rushing to the fallen hunter's side. Blood trickled from a gash on Sarah's forehead, and her breathing came in sharp, painful gasps.
The orc roared, raising its club for another strike. Marcus and Vale moved as one, positioning themselves between the beast and their fallen companion. Lyra's sword sang as she drew it, her eyes blazing with fury.
"Get her out of here!" Lyra commanded Esteria, who was already checking Sarah's injuries with trembling hands. "We'll hold it back!"
The orc's massive frame blocked the narrow passage, its muscles rippling beneath grey-green skin. But what caught Lyra's attention were its eyes—they glowed with an unnatural purple sheen, pulsing like heartbeats. No natural orc had eyes like that.
"Something's controlling it," she shouted to the others, dodging another wild swing. "Look at its eyes!"
Marcus cursed under his breath. "Dark magic. No wonder it's twice the size of any orc I've ever seen."
The creature's movements were jerky, almost puppet-like, as if its limbs were being pulled by invisible strings. Its roar echoed through the cavern, but even that sound seemed wrong—distorted, as if multiple voices were screaming at once.
Suddenly, Estaria's form blurred, and in a move that made Lyra's eyes widen in disbelief, he split into three identical shadows of himself. The technique was unmistakable—it was her own "Shadow of the Moon" skill, one she had developed through years of training.
The three Estarias moved in perfect synchronization, each wielding a replica of his staff. The orc, confused by the multiple targets, swung wildly at the nearest shadow. But the shadows were already moving, dancing around the beast with fluid grace that mirrored Lyra's own fighting style.
The first shadow struck low, sweeping the orc's legs. The second shadow delivered a crushing blow to its massive chest. The third shadow vaulted over its shoulders, bringing down a devastating strike to its head. The orc staggered, its purple-tinged eyes flickering with uncertainty.
"Impossible," Lyra whispered, watching her signature technique being executed with flawless precision by her younger brother.
The shadows converged, delivering a final, synchronized strike. The orc's unnatural roar cut short as it collapsed, its enchanted eyes dimming to nothing. As the shadows merged back into a single Estaria, he stumbled slightly, clearly drained from the effort.
"How did you..." Lyra started, her voice trailing off as she stared at her brother with a mixture of pride and confusion. "That was my technique. I never taught you that, run now"