The sun bled crimson across the horizon, casting the Shattered Plains in fire. Wind carried dust like whispers of the dead, curling around three figures who moved with purpose through the desolate expanse. They did not speak—the silence itself bowed to them.

Riven walked first, his steps measured, each one deliberate as if the ground answered to him. The scar over his eye caught the last light of day, a reminder of battles he never forgot. Behind him strode Kaen, reckless fire burning in his gaze, fists trembling with energy he barely contained. Thalos came last, towering and unyielding, his monk’s discipline woven into every breath. Together, they were more than warriors. They were omens.

“They don’t know what’s coming,” Riven murmured, his voice quiet but absolute.  

“Then we’ll remind them,” Thalos answered, his tone steady as stone.  

Kaen grinned, fire dancing along his veins. “And we’ll enjoy it.”

They halted at a cliffside, overlooking the battlefield that stretched before them. The plains were broken, carved with scars left by wars older than their own lifetimes. Beyond, in the distance, the enemy waited.

---

That night, a flame burned in secret. In a makeshift base carved from ruin, Kael, Rin, Vael, Lux, and the newcomers gathered around maps scattered with notes and sketches of movement. Shadows danced across their faces, but their voices carried resolve.

“We strike before they purge,” Kael said, his voice low but unshaken. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the mark on his arm faintly glowing in the firelight.  

Thalos nodded. “Agreed. One clean cut to the heart. Remove the head, and the body will stumble.”  

Kaen leaned forward, smirking. “Or we carve them piece by piece until they bleed fear.”  

Rin’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. “There’s no room for ego. Only victory.”  

Vael stood apart, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. His eyes flicked from each face to the map, his silence heavier than words. Finally, he spoke. “Their purge is already in motion. We’ll only have one chance to sever it. Fail, and the city is ash.”

The room held its breath. The fire crackled. Kael looked at them all—the allies fate had given him, each fractured, each burning in their own way. “Then we make this one chance enough.”

---

They moved at dusk, slipping like shadows through the valley of broken stone. The six warriors advanced with the silence of wolves, every step measured, every heartbeat in unison. Above them, the sky churned, the memory of the crack still haunting the stars. The air was sharp with omen.

At the valley’s end, a figure waited. Cloaked in smoke, armored in shadow, the Dark Commander smiled as they approached. His teeth gleamed like shards of bone. Beside him stood beasts twisted by corruption, their bodies stitched with shadow and flame, eyes burning with the hunger of nightmares.

“Come closer, little flames,” the Commander drawled, his voice like oil on water. “I’ve been waiting.”

The ground itself seemed to tremble with his presence. Behind him, the beasts snarled, chains clinking as if mocking the illusion of restraint. Their hunger filled the air.

Kael stepped forward, his sword low at his side, eyes burning steady. He looked at his companions—Riven’s cold stare, Kaen’s restless fire, Thalos’ unyielding calm, Rin’s quiet defiance, Vael’s calculating silence. He nodded once.

“We’re not fighting for vengeance,” Kael said, voice carrying across the valley. “We’re fighting to end the silence.”

The wind shifted. Dust coiled like serpents. The enemy leaned forward, teeth flashing.

Vael smirked, tilting his head toward Kael. “Then let’s make some noise.”

---

The beasts roared. The valley shook. And the six answered, stepping forward as one, blades and flames igniting the night.

This was no longer survival. This was declaration.

And the first cut of war was about to be made.