Kaleb stood in the dim light of his chamber, the candle flames casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The room was sparsely furnished, befitting a man who valued utility over comfort. A large basin of steaming water sat in the center, and Kaleb, stripped to the waist, prepared himself for the ritual that had become as much a part of his life as the battles he fought. He ran a calloused hand over his scarred torso, each mark a testament to his years of service on the front lines against the Haltuers.

His body was a map of pain and perseverance. A jagged scar ran from his left shoulder down to his ribs, the souvenir of a Haltuer’s claw swipe that had nearly ended his life years ago. Another, smaller but no less vicious, marred his right side, a reminder of a desperate struggle in the depths of a frozen wilderness. There were countless others—slashes, punctures, burns—all signs of a warrior who had stood against the monsters that plagued their world and lived to tell the tale.

Kaleb eased himself into the basin, the hot water seeping into his tired muscles, and allowed himself a rare moment of peace. But his mind, as always, was restless. The events of the previous day weighed heavily on him, as did the knowledge that soon he would have to relay the grim news to King Hanrock.

A Haltuer attack during daylight… It was unthinkable. In all his years, Kaleb had never known the creatures to emerge from their nocturnal haunts while the sun still ruled the sky. It was as if the natural order of things had been upended, and that thought alone was enough to make his blood run cold.

He splashed water over his face, as if hoping to wash away the dread that clung to him. How would the king react to this? Hanrock was a strong leader, but even the strongest of men could be shaken by the unimaginable. Kaleb knew that he needed to present this in a way that would not only convey the gravity of the situation but also reassure the king that they would find a way to combat this new threat.

As he dried himself off and dressed, donning the simple but sturdy attire of a soldier, Kaleb’s mind raced with possibilities. Could it be that the Haltuers were evolving? Gaining intelligence? Their previous attacks had always been driven by primal hunger, their fear of daylight a mystery that had never been fully understood. But now, the rules seemed to be changing, and Kaleb could not help but feel that something far more sinister was at play.

He strapped on his sword belt, the familiar weight of the weapon at his side bringing him a small measure of comfort. Whatever lay ahead, Kaleb was ready to face it. He had to be—for the king, for the kingdom, and for all those who looked to him for guidance.

The palace dining hall was a grand chamber, filled with the morning light that streamed through tall, arched windows. The long table, laden with food, sat between the towering stone pillars that framed the room. King Hanrock sat at the head, his broad shoulders draped in the rich fabrics of his royal robes. Across from him, his daughter Ayleth was the picture of youthful grace, her golden hair catching the sunlight as she smiled at her father.

“A father’s joy,” Hanrock mused aloud, his voice deep and resonant, “is in these simple moments. A meal shared with his daughter before the day’s duties call us away.”

Ayleth giggled, her laughter like a silver bell. “If only every day could be so simple, Father. No meetings with grim-faced advisors, no reports of danger on the horizon… Just you, me, and a plate of fresh-baked bread.”

“Ah, but the bread would grow stale,” Hanrock replied with a smile. “And the wine would turn sour. A king’s duty is a heavy burden, my dear, but it is also what keeps the peace, what allows us to enjoy these moments.”

Ayleth reached across the table, her slender hand resting on her father’s. “I know, Father. And I’m proud of you, for all you do. But I worry too. The world outside our walls… It seems to grow darker with each passing day.”

Hanrock squeezed her hand gently, his expression softening. “That’s why I do what I do, Ayleth. So that you and everyone in this kingdom can have hope, can believe that the darkness will not consume us.”

They continued their meal, talking of lighter things—of Ayleth’s studies, her friends, and the gossip that circulated through the court. Hanrock listened with a father’s indulgence, his mind at ease in these precious moments. Yet, a shadow lingered at the edge of his thoughts, the ever-present reminder of the world’s dangers.

“I should be going,” Ayleth said at last, rising from her seat with a graceful sweep of her skirts. “School awaits, and I promised Lady Elina I’d help her with her lessons today.”

Hanrock nodded, a proud smile on his lips. “Go, then. And take care, my sweet. The world needs more minds like yours.”

Ayleth leaned down to kiss her father’s cheek before departing, her steps light as she made her way out of the hall, her presence leaving a warmth in the room that lingered long after she had gone.

Kaleb made his way through the palace corridors, his steps echoing off the stone walls. The guards posted along the way stood at attention as he passed, their faces stern and unreadable beneath their helmets. Kaleb’s heart was a drumbeat in his chest, the weight of his message heavy on his shoulders.

He reached the throne room, the massive wooden doors guarded by a pair of the King’s soldiers. They nodded in recognition as Kaleb approached, opening the doors to admit him. Inside, the room was bathed in the golden light of morning, the throne itself a regal seat of polished stone and gold. King Hanrock sat upon it, his expression thoughtful, though his eyes brightened as he saw Kaleb enter.

“Commander,” Hanrock greeted him, his voice warm. “What news do you bring me this morning?”

Kaleb bowed deeply, then straightened, his face a mask of calm despite the turmoil within. “Your Grace, I bring troubling news from Redhills.”

The king’s brow furrowed slightly, the warmth in his gaze cooling. “Troubling, you say? What has happened?”

Kaleb took a breath, choosing his words carefully. “Sire, a Maelyss contingent stationed at the Redhills Barracks was attacked yesterday. By Haltuers.”

Hanrock’s eyes widened in shock, but Kaleb continued before the king could speak. “These Haltuers… they attacked during daylight.”

For a moment, there was silence in the throne room, as if the very air had been sucked out by the gravity of what Kaleb had just said. King Hanrock’s face paled, his mind clearly struggling to grasp the implications.

“Daylight?” Hanrock’s voice was barely above a whisper, disbelief etched in every word. “That is… impossible. Haltuers have never… they’ve never dared to come out while the sun still shines.”

Kaleb nodded grimly. “That’s true, my lord. But this time, they did. And the results were catastrophic. The soldiers were caught off guard. The Haltuers were… different, more aggressive, more… berserk.”

Hanrock sat back in his throne, his hand absently stroking his beard as he processed the information. “If they can attack during daylight… What’s to stop them from laying siege to our cities, our strongholds, even here, to Magnulia?”

“That’s exactly my concern, sire,” Kaleb replied, his tone steady despite the fear gnawing at his gut. “It’s possible that the Haltuers are changing, evolving. We’ve never understood why they feared daylight. Perhaps it wasn’t the light itself, but something else. And now, whatever held them back… it seems to have lost its hold.”

The king shook his head slowly, his thoughts clearly racing. “This changes everything. The entire kingdom’s defenses are based on the assumption that daylight is our ally. If that is no longer the case…”

Kaleb could see the worry deepening in Hanrock’s eyes, the weight of this new reality pressing down on him. “We must be prepared for the worst, sire. The Haltuers may have gained some form of intelligence. Their fear of daylight may have been… misunderstood.”

Hanrock’s gaze snapped to Kaleb, a question unspoken in his eyes. Kaleb continued, “We always assumed their fear was primal, that it was the light itself that harmed them. But what if… what if it was something else? Something we never considered? And now, whatever that fear was, it’s gone. Or perhaps they’ve found a way to overcome it.”

As Kaleb spoke, the doors to the throne room burst open with a loud crash, startling both men. A Maelyss soldier staggered in, his face ashen, his breathing ragged. He looked as if he had sprinted the entire way from the barracks, his armor disheveled, and his eyes wide with terror.

“Your… your majesty,” the soldier gasped, struggling to catch his breath. “The… the Cliffnort Barracks… they’re… they’re under attack. Haltuers… as we speak!”

A chill settled over the room, the soldier’s words sinking in like a dagger to the heart. Hanrock’s face turned as pale as the soldier’s, his hand gripping the armrest of his throne so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Kaleb felt a cold sweat break out on his brow, his mind racing with the

 implications.

“This… can’t be…” Hanrock muttered, his voice trembling.

The air in the room seemed to freeze, Hanrock’s face hardening into a mask of resolve. "Gather the kingdom’s soldiers!" he commanded, his voice booming. "We must aid the Maelyss and secure the evacuation of every citizen in those villages. They must be brought to Magnulia at once!"

The soldier saluted, but Hanrock wasn’t finished. "Send word to Commander Orin—he’s to take charge of the evacuation. The villagers are to be brought here safely, no matter the cost. And reinforce the capital’s defenses. If the Haltuers are moving in daylight, we must prepare for the worst."

Kaleb, though still reeling from the news, felt a swell of respect for the king. Even in the face of unimaginable horror, Hanrock’s first thought was for his people.

"We’ll do all we can, my king," Kaleb said, his voice firm with resolve.

"See that you do," Hanrock replied, his eyes narrowing. "The people of this kingdom are its lifeblood. If the Haltuers seek to take that from us, we’ll fight them with every breath, every sword, and every ounce of strength we have."

The soldier ran from the room, the weight of the king’s command spurring him on. Kaleb remained, standing tall before the throne, his thoughts racing. The attack on the Cliffnort Barracks was too close, too soon after Redhills. The daylight had always been their shield—now it was no longer enough.