1. Aldric

1

ALDRIC

T he clash of steel and the crackle of chaotic magic reverberate around me. I swing my blade, cutting through the air and a dark elf warrior with equal precision. I prefer the use of my weapon, with the power of my magic behind it.

Daybreak paints the sky in hues of orange and pink, an ironic backdrop to the violence unfolding. The dark elves pour out from the woods, their eyes glowing with malevolent glee.

"Hold the line!" My voice booms over the cacophony. "Don't let them breach the base!"

A fireball whizzes past my head, narrowly missing me. I retaliate, thrusting my sword into a dark elf's chest, feeling the resistance give way under my strength. Blood splatters across my face, mingling with sweat. I wipe it away, eyes scanning for the next threat.

A figure darts towards me—sleek, fast, wielding a jagged blade that hums with magic. I parry the attack, our swords clashing with a screech that sets my teeth on edge.

"You're too slow," he hisses, her violet eyes narrowing.

I grin, muscles tensing as I push him back. "And you're too arrogant."

With a powerful swing, I knock his weapon aside and drive my blade into his gut. She gasps, a mix of shock and rage crossing his features before he crumples to the ground.

"Aldric!" A shout draws my attention to another skirmish nearby.

I turn to see one of my comrades struggling against two dark elves. With a swift motion, I unfurl my wings and leap into the fray, landing heavily behind them. My wings sweep out in a powerful arc, sending one of the elves sprawling. The other turns to face me but hesitates—just long enough for me to decapitate him.

"Thanks," my comrade pants, his relief palpable.

"Stay sharp," I reply, scanning the battlefield once more.

The ground is littered with bodies—both Vrakken and dark elves. Blood soaks into the earth, turning it into a morbid mosaic of life lost and battles won. The smell of charred flesh and ozone fills the air as spells collide and explode around us.

A sudden pain sears through my side; I stagger but stay upright. Glancing down, I see a deep gash leaking blood. No time to tend to it now.

My side burns, but I push the pain aside. The battle rages on, demanding every ounce of focus. Another dark elf approaches, his jagged sword gleaming with dark energy. His sneer is enough to stoke my anger.

"You look tired, vrakken," he taunts, circling me like a predator.

I meet his gaze, unfurling my wings. "I'll rest when you're dead."

We clash. Our swords meet with a deafening clang, sparks flying. I parry his blows, each one faster than the last. He's quick, but I'm stronger. I force him back step by step, channeling my magic through the blade.

A blast of chaos magic explodes between us, throwing us both off balance. He recovers first and lunges at me. I twist away, narrowly avoiding his blade.

"You fight well for a surface dweller," he admits grudgingly.

I smirk. "And you die well for a dark elf."

Our swords lock again. This time I'm ready for his tricks. I sidestep and drive my elbow into his ribs, hearing the satisfying crack of bone. He stumbles, giving me the opening I need to run him through.

Before I can catch my breath, another elf is on me. This one's more cautious, watching me with calculating eyes.

"Let's see how you fare against someone who thinks," he sneers.

I charge him, swinging my sword in a wide arc. He dodges easily and retaliates with a slash that grazes my arm.

"Think fast," he quips.

I summon a burst of magic and send it at him. He counters with his own spell, the two forces colliding in a blinding flash of light. The shockwave knocks us both back.

As we regain our footing, he darts forward and swings at my head. I raise my sword to block but too late—I feel the sharp sting as his blade shears through my hair.

Rage surges through me as I stagger back, clutching the severed strands in disbelief. My hair—my pride—lies scattered on the ground.

"You'll pay for that," I growl through gritted teeth.

His laugh grates on my nerves. "Come and collect."

We circle each other, magic crackling in the air between us. He feints left; I anticipate it and strike right. Our swords clash again in a flurry of sparks and fury.

This time there's no hesitation in me—only pure determination fueled by anger and humiliation. We exchange blows rapidly, neither gaining the upper hand until finally, with a roar of defiance, I channel all my strength into one final strike.

My sword cleaves through his defenses and sinks deep into his chest. He gasps once before collapsing at my feet.

Breathing heavily, I wipe blood from my face and look around for the next challenger. The battle isn't over yet—and neither am I.

I continue to swing my blade, each movement becoming more labored. Sweat and blood mix on my skin, stinging the wounds that cover my body. The dark elves keep coming, their relentless assault pushing us back. I glance around and my heart sinks—many of my comrades lie motionless on the ground, their magic exhausted, their bodies broken.

The sun creeps higher, its light sapping our strength. My wings feel heavier with each beat, and I see some of my kin reduced to nearly nothing under its merciless rays. While nothing can kill us but a god himself, the sun — without our glamour in place — can strip us of flesh and life until we are practically nothing. And with the fighting, I'm not shocked at the amount of weakened vrakken littering the ground around me, all without the magic to protect themselves.

A dark elf charges at me, his blade aimed for my heart. I parry and counter with a swift strike to his neck, but it's a fleeting victory.

More elves swarm around me, their chaotic magic crackling in the air. We're losing ground rapidly. My vision blurs for a moment; I shake my head to clear it, forcing myself to stay focused.

Then I notice something odd—there aren't as many bodies as there should be. For every vrakken that falls, I expect to see dark elf corpses littering the battlefield as well, but they're conspicuously absent. Instead, some of our fallen seem to have simply disappeared.

A horrifying realization dawns on me: they're taking our people. And not just us—humans too. The slaves and servants who had taken refuge within our base are missing.

"Cover me!" I shout to a nearby comrade before taking off into the air for a better view.

From above, the grim scene is even clearer. Dark elves are dragging away vrakken and humans alike into the forest's shadows. Rage boils within me. This isn't just an attack; it's a raid.

A sharp pain slices through my wing, and I spiral downwards, crashing hard into the dirt. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I push myself up just in time to deflect another attack.

"We're being overrun!" one of my kin shouts as he fights off two dark elves simultaneously.

He's right—the base is going to fall. There are too few of us left standing. Every strike feels like delaying the inevitable rather than turning the tide.

"Regroup!" I bellow over the chaos, trying to gather what's left of our forces.

But even as we attempt to form a defensive line, it's clear we're outmatched. Dark elves press in from all sides, their numbers seemingly endless.

We're going to lose this fight if we can't find a way to turn things around quickly—or retreat before we're all captured or killed.

The ground shakes as another explosion rocks the battlefield, sending debris flying everywhere. Through the smoke and dust, I catch glimpses of more vrakken being dragged away by our relentless enemies.

My grip tightens on my sword hilt until my knuckles turn white. We can't let them win—not like this—but as another wave of dark elves crashes against us like a relentless tide, hope starts slipping through my fingers like sand in an hourglass running out of time.

I can't hold the line any longer. The dark elves close in, and the sight of my fallen kin stings my eyes. Each breath feels like fire in my lungs. The weight of defeat presses down on me, but I force myself to stand tall.

"Fall back!" I shout, but it's more a plea than a command.

The few remaining vrakken hear me, their eyes reflecting the same desperation I feel. We need to survive. We need to warn the others.

With a final swing of my blade, I cut through another dark elf and turn to flee. My wings beat heavily, pain shooting through every sinew. The ground beneath me blurs as I push forward, dodging spells and arrows that whiz past.

A dark elf grabs at my wing; I twist violently, breaking free with a snarl. The momentum sends me sprawling, but I scramble up and continue running. The edge of the forest looms ahead—a gateway to temporary safety.

I plunge into the underbrush, branches clawing at my skin. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the distant screams and clashes of battle. Each step feels like an eternity, but I push on, driven by duty and the need to survive.

As I look back, though, I see that I am the only one that made it out alive. No one else escaped with me. It's up to me to find the wildspont portal and get back to the Council — to tell them what happened.

Finally, I see the entrance to the underground tunnels. It's hard to spot, which protected us for so long, but I see the shimmer of magic against the rock. I know it's the portal.

Relief floods me as I stagger inside, darkness swallowing me whole. My wings fold painfully against my back as I navigate the twisting passageways leading deeper into our domain. For so long, it was all any of us knew, and it's disorienting to be back here.

The familiar hum of magic in these tunnels offers a small comfort. Here, we're stronger—safer. We were made from the magic of the wildspont — pockets of intense magic scattered across Protheka — and we are always better off in them.

Or I thought. Until the dark elves found a portal and our bases.

We thought the wildsponts would hide us, that the dark elves wouldn't sense our magic. For centuries we stayed buried deep in the tunnels after a lost war against the creatures.

But it seems we were foolish. We built above ground bases hidden in the pockets of magic, planning an attack. And this whole time, they knew we were there.

It makes me wonder how many other things I've been wrong about.