The summons arrived just as dawn broke, cast in the pale light that struggled against the lingering darkness. The familiar, mournful toll of the Citadel’s bells echoed through the stone halls, resonating with an ominous cadence that sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it. This time, there would be no training circles, no lectures to sharpen their minds or bodies—only the heavy, armored riders waiting at the doors of their chambers. Cloaks still dripped with the early morning dew, glistening like tears against the polished metal of their armor, as they bore the weighty obsidian-wax seal of the king.

Aldric, who stood before them, looked every bit the weary veteran he was. His face, framed by dark hair that tousled in the cool morning breeze, held the shadows of sleeplessness—deep bags under his eyes and a tense jawline that hinted at the burdens he bore. “The Demon King’s spawn have breached the borders into Kareth Vale,” Aldric reported, his voice clipped and urgent, each word soaked with the gravity of the situation. “The village is aflame even now. They’ve begun their slaughter.”

As the words sank in, a chill swept through the remnants of camaraderie among the warriors, replaced now with a cold, steely resolve. They could already picture the smoke curling high into the sky, the desperate cries of villagers drowned in chaos, as the weight of their duty began to settle over them like a shroud.

Ethan and Maya exchanged a glance, their hearts pounding in their chests. Fear flickered in their eyes, a primal instinct stirring within them—but beneath that unease lay a raw edge of determination. For weeks, they had been confined within the imposing stone walls of Arathen, a fortress steeped in history and magic, where the air felt thick with the scent of ancient incense. Under the relentless scrutiny of High Magus Selora, a figure both revered and feared, they had been meticulously drilled, tested, and honed like finely crafted blades.

Their days blurred together in a relentless cycle of exhaustion and enlightenment, each challenge pushing them to their limits. The war they had been summoned for had always felt distant, especially because they had only confronted one of the Demon King's lieutenants, an echo of tales told in shadowed corners and whispered rumors. Now, the distant sounds of battle echoed just beyond the valley gates, a stark reminder that conflict was not just a theoretical concept; it was once again close enough to touch. The valley stretched out before them, a landscape marred with scars of past skirmishes, and with each breath, the weight of impending choice pressed down heavier on their shoulders.

Selora appeared in the antechamber herself, her midnight robes trailing faint threads of ward-light as she entered. Her presence carried the quiet of a storm barely held back. She pressed into their hands the sealed satchels stitched with runes that pulsed faintly at her touch.

“Potions. Charms. Just enough to prevent fools from dying once.” Her gaze, pale and piercing, lingered on each of them. “Remember what you have learned. Do not expect me to rescue you from the fire. If you burn, you burn.” Moments later, they were mounted on restless destriers, riding swiftly with a column of knights bearing the sunburst sigil of Arathen on their tabards. The cobbled roads transitioned to dirt, then to broken fields, and finally to the dark veil of smoke rising ahead.

The stench hit them first—thick and suffocating, a vile mix of charred wood, burnt flesh, and the metallic scent of blood. Beneath it lingered something worse: the sour, humming odor of unholy magic that clung to the back of the throat and made the air taste of iron and rot.

Kareth Vale was once a peaceful farming village tucked beneath Arathen's hills, with the smell of tilled soil and ripe grain carried by the wind. Now, that peace was overshadowed by ash and destruction. The thatched roofs sagged, with flames that were licking through burnt wood, and the autumn fields were trampled, turned into churned, blood-stained mud. The furrows were filled with broken tools and lifeless bodies, their shapes obscured by drifting smoke.

Screams cut through the haze—high, raw, and unending. They wove through the air like the cries of some tortured choir, carried on the crackle of burning wheat and the dull, wet thud of violence beyond sight. Then the creatures emerged from the smoke. Not soldiers—no, not even men anymore—but things born of nightmare. Twisted silhouettes of sinew and shadow, their flesh pulled too tight over bones that bent the wrong way. Limbs moved in an unnatural rhythm, jerking as if invisible strings guided them, their motions wrong in a way that made the eye flinch.

Their eyes glowed like molten coals, burning through the darkness, and Ethan felt his stomach tighten. The light was all too familiar to him. He had seen it before, in his fever dreams since the summoning, when his world first tore open to drag him into this one.

The knights drew their swords with a cry that pierced through the chaos. “Protect the villagers!” Aldric bellowed, urging his warhorse forward.

Ethan felt a fierce fire ignite in his chest, a pulsating energy that thrummed for action. He dismounted with a heavy thud, his fists crackling with anticipation. Maya slipped gracefully from her saddle beside him, her complexion pale yet her resolve unwavering. She clutched her leather-bound journal tightly for a brief moment, as if drawing strength from its pages, before stowing it away with a determined flick of her wrist.

“This is it,” Ethan muttered, attempting to steel his voice.

Maya nodded firmly. “We'll get through this. Alive.”

The first Demon King spawn lunged at them—an eruption of teeth, claws, and writhing shadow. It moved too quickly for something so malformed, a blur of sinew and smoke that howled like tearing metal. Ethan met its charge head-on, his fist igniting with a roar of heat. Flame engulfed his arm as the air warped around it while he drove the blow forward.

The strike made a wet, cracking sound. Fire tore through flesh and bone, burning straight through the creature's skull. For a moment, it hung there—mouth open in a silent scream—before bursting into a cloud of smoke and embers. The smell of burnt flesh filled his lungs.

Power rushed through him like a wildfire, fierce and intoxicating. It clawed at his control, begging to be unleashed, and for a moment, he almost let it. But before he could draw another breath, a second spawn crashed into him from the side. Its claw sliced through his leathers with brutal precision, raking deep furrows across his ribs.

Pain erupted throughout his body. The fire in his veins burned fierce and craving, threatening to devour more than just the enemy. His vision blurred; each moment thumped like a drum inside his skull.

"Ethan!"

Maya's voice cut through the chaos; her words were clear, desperate, yet commanding. She thrust her hand forward, eyes flashing with cold blue light. The air around the beast shimmered, thickening until its movements dragged like limbs caught in tar. It snarled, straining against invisible threads, its claws barely inching toward him.

Ethan clenched his jaw, forcing his fire back into focus. He drew on the pain, fed it into the blaze, and unleashed it in a violent burst. The world flared with a mix of violet and white as a column of fire engulfed the Demon spawn, tearing it apart into fragments of burning shadow. The blast illuminated the smoke-choked street like a sunrise through hellfire.

The fight quickly devolved into utter chaos, with shadows and figures spilling out of the darkened alleys surrounding them. More horrors—twisted creatures, despairing faces, and flickering glimpses of sinister figures—emerged from the darkness, adding to the chaos. Ethan’s flames blazed fiercely, engulfing his enemies one after another, their screams swallowed by the roar of fire. Yet, amid this intense combat, a whispering presence grew louder at the edges of his mind. A seductive voice urging him to surrender, to let go of restraint, to burn everything in his path, and to become the storm itself—an unstoppable force of destruction.

Maya darted through the chaos, her chronomancy twisting seconds like threads of fabric. She paused beasts long enough for villagers to escape and rewound falling beams so families could crawl to safety. Every use drained her—her skin feeling clammy, her breath shallow, and the Oath-mark on her arm glowing faintly beneath her sleeve. Time itself pushed back, demanding its toll.

And still, they were losing the battle. The knights faltered under the weight of sheer numbers, their armor clanging and swords clashing in frantic defense. The village shimmered ominously, flames licking higher and brighter with every passing moment, casting flickering shadows on the chaos below. Suddenly, the air thickened and shuddered with a powerful resonance.

From the swirling smoke and ash, a towering figure emerged—imposing and deliberate in every movement, too commanding to be a spawn. Its massive body was encased in bone plates that gleamed like dark, weathered armor, etched with cryptic symbols. Its hands radiated an unsettling heat, wreathed in flickering flames that eerily resembled Ethan’s own. The creature’s eyes burned with a cruel, intelligent fire, glowing fiercely as if contemplating its next terrifying move, radiating menace and ancient power. Ethan froze in fright, anxiety eating at him.

The creature’s voice rumbled like a forge. “So these are the summoned ones.” 

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief, a wave of liberation washing over him. It wasn't Kaelith. The feeling from the creature deemed it even weaker than him. Truthfully, they were not ready for another clash with that beast, as disheartening as it was to say.

It raised a trembling hand, and a ferocious sphere of flame swelling as large as a wagon wheel coalesced in its palm before hurling it wildly toward them. Instinct screamed loudly inside Ethan’s mind. He braced himself, fire roaring fiercely to clash with the incoming blaze. The collision exploded in a deafening burst, forcing Ethan to his knees, his arms ablaze with searing pain, raw and unrelenting.

“Maya!” His voice broke.

But she was already reaching deeper than she ever had, her vision fracturing into countless timelines. In one, Ethan burned alive. In another, the village fell. She tore herself free from both, seizing the timestream and dragging it sideways. The lieutenant’s fireball slowed, writhing like a sun caught in tar.

“Now!” she screamed, blood streaming from her nose.

Ethan roared, a deep mix of fury and defiance. Fire wrapped around him, spiraling up his arms like chains. The ground shuddered as he compressed the inferno between his palms, molten light bleeding through his fingers. Heat shimmered off him, warping the air and bathing his silhouette in dying sun colors.

He shaped a spear of pure flame—dense, blinding, with a molten white core and flickering red edges. As he hurled it, it tore through the smoke like a comet, leaving fire and molten droplets. It struck the creature’s chest, breaking through bone and sinew. Cracks and glowing veins appeared, molten light bursting outward as the fire seemed to claw free.

Then came the detonation. The creature arched back, screamed in a distorted voice of metal and agony, before shattering into embers. The explosion scattered burning fragments, lighting the battlefield in a rain of fire. For a moment, the world was smoke, light, and dying flames. The lesser spawn faltered, their cohesion breaking, shadows collapsing into drifting black dust.

Seizing the moment, the knights surged forward as a tide of steel and vengeance. Their blades flashed through smoke and ash, cleaving with grim precision. The air rang with the clash of steel and burning flesh until nothing remained. The battle ended, but the village was ruined. Smoldering timbers and survivors, some weeping with gratitude, others recoiling from Ethan’s burning hands. Maya wiped blood from her lips, her gaze haunted by what she saw in the timestream.

Aldric rode up, helm dented, face streaked with soot. “You saved who could be saved,” he rasped. “But this was no raid. This was a measure. The Demon King knows you are here.”

Their return to Arathen was bitter. Smoke clung to their clothes, scars still fresh. The knights knelt in the King’s Hall, but Ethan and Maya remained standing, too dazed and raw to play at ceremony.

King Gravell did not chastise them. He rose from his throne, broad shoulders bent with the weight of the crown. “The Demon King grows bold. Demons in Kareth Vale means his reach spreads deeper. You struck down one of his strongest grunts—but for every village saved, others may already lie in ruin.”

The nobles murmured, some eyes bright with awe, others sharp with suspicion.

Selora stepped forward from the shadows, her voice like a knife. “This was no chance. He tested them. He will strike again, harder. We must answer before fear spreads faster than flame.”

That night, the royal council met. Ethan and Maya waited to be summoned by High Magus Veylan, whose chamber was lit by a single lantern, with shadows across the shelves of grimoires and relics. “Your next task won’t be brute force,” he said, staff tapping the stone. “In Veyra, caravans disappear, villages starve, and cultists worship the Demon King in secret. You will go with a small escort to root them out. If Veyra falls, the east falls.”

Ethan frowned. “This time, it's not monsters—it's people.” 

Veylan’s pale eyes remained unchanged. “War is never tidy.”

Ethan’s voice cracked as he spoke again. “Why does it feel like everyone fears us more than they trust us? They summoned us. Isn’t this what they wanted?”

Maya turned and listened carefully, remaining silent.

The High Magus remained still for a long time. Then his jaw clenched. “The summoning was the king’s will, not the people’s. Farmers did not ask for you. Merchants did not ask for you. They see strangers pulled from another world, wielding fire and time strong enough to destroy their homes if they were to breathe wrong.”

Ethan clenched his fists. “We fought for them. We bled for them in Kareth Vale.”

And still,” Veylan said quietly, “the village burned.” His lantern flickered, shadows dancing. “Folk don’t remember who you saved. They remember who they lost.”

Maya’s hand curled around her journal, knuckles white.

Veylan’s eyes sharpened, and her voice carried raw honesty. “Heroes, understand this: fear is more powerful than gratitude. It’s the foundation where cults grow. If the people hesitate around you, it’s because they cannot distinguish whether you are their salvation or the threat that will destroy them.”

Silence lingered as Ethan gazed at Maya, who looked down, her faintly glowing mark in the lamplight. Ethan thought bitterly, faith seemed the rarest thing in this world.