The rooftops of Greymark offered little safety. The tiles were slick with morning dew, and every shift of Aleric's weight felt like a thunderclap in the morning air.
Aleric crouched low behind a soot‑stained chimney, breath shallow as griffins circled in widening spirals above the village. Their shadows swept across the tiled roofs like hunting birds searching for prey, silent and relentless.
"They've locked the roads," he muttered, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Below, soldiers moved in disciplined sweeps. The gates were sealed with heavy iron bars. Civilians were ushered indoors by curt gestures. Patrols tightened with visible precision — a net drawing inward. Aleric felt the walls closing in, the village he had just entered was slowly becoming a cage.
Athena watched the pattern unfold with the calm of someone who had commanded armies. She didn't look like a fugitive; she looked like a grandmaster observing a chessboard.
"She is reorganizing the village into a containment net," she said. "Its efficient. It will cause minimal panic but it will give her maximum control of the situation."
Aleric exhaled sharply, the air cold in his lungs. "We're not starting a war over a misunderstanding. Yes I want to know which side she thinks we are on, but it doesn't mean I want to start a personal war we are bound to lose."
Fafnir glanced at him, unimpressed, his emerald eyes glowing with a faint, predatory heat. "This is no misunderstanding," he said. "This is a response. We left a crater in the forest during our fight and she is convinced that we are connected to it or we are responsible for it. She wants to capture us to remove a potential danger to this kingdom."
A horn sounded near the western gate — sharp, urgent. The sound set Aleric's teeth on edge.
"They're starting to sweep from building to building," Aleric said.
"Then we have to move before they encircle us," Athena replied, her hand already reaching for the hilt of her spear.
"We move to the forest?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Too obvious. They'll expect us to retreat from where we came."
Fafnir's lips curved faintly, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Then we do the unexpected."
Moments later, A stable door burst open near the eastern livestock pens.
Three panicked horses bolted into the street, hooves striking sparks off cobblestone. A cart overturned as one slammed into it, scattering crates of onions across the road. The smell of crushed alliums and horse sweat filled the air.
Guards broke formation. Griffins dipped lower, screeching warnings, their shadows frantic against the dirt.
In the confusion, three cloaked figures slipped through the partially sealed eastern gate.
Athena disabled the locking brace with a precise strike — a single blow to the hinge that made no sound louder than a creak. It was like a ghost's touch.
Fafnir drove the horses into chaos without harming them, his presence alone enough to send them scattering. He didn't even have to touch them; the animals simply recognized the predator before them.
Aleric timed it perfectly. By the time the guards reorganized, they were gone.
+++++++
Aftermath in Greymark
Captain Elowen Virelle stood atop the eastern wall, watching the distant treeline swallow the last trace of movement. The wind tugged at her braid, but she stood as still as the stone beneath her.
"They never fought with intent to kill, they even avoided killing," a knight said beside her, his voice tinged with a reluctant respect.
"Yes," Elowen replied.
"They used the distraction from the horses to make their escape."
Her gaze hardened slightly. "And the east gates hinge was shattered without anyone noticing a thing.."
"You believe them dangerous?"
"I believe they're far from ordinary."
She mounted Vaelstrix in one smooth motion. "Maintain regular patrols. If they return, do not engage them, wait for my arrival. I have to report this to the king."
As she ended giving out her orders, the griffin launched, wings carving through the air as she turned west toward Valedorn. She needed answers. And she had a feeling the answers were going to be written in blood.
The forest thickened quickly once they left the village behind. Branches interlocked overhead, filtering sunlight into shifting green patterns across the ground. The air smelled of damp moss and distant smoke.
It was not the smell of wildfire smoke. This smoke carried a faint smell of meat and it seemed controlled, not like the you would see when the sky is engulfed in a cloud of ash and smoke.
Aleric slowed, his hand dropping to the hilt of his short sword. "You smell that?"
Athena nodded. "Campfire. Too much smoke to be just one."
They moved carefully, stepping over roots and ducking beneath low branches. Then the trees thinned.
In the distance, wooden palisades rose between ancient trunks — thick logs sharpened to points. Watchtowers stood at intervals, manned by silhouettes holding spears. The gates seemed reinforced with iron bands.
Fafnir focused his gaze towards the beings at the top of a watchtower. "They are Orcs." "They are not human raiders or brigands." "This is an orc warband camp."
As he finished his observation, a horn blared — deep, resonant, commanding.
The gates to the camp opened. Orcs marched out with quick heavy steps — some locked shield, axes were raised, armor could be seen painted with their tribal sigils. Their steps were disorganized, but heavy enough to make the ground quake. Aleric felt the rhythm of their march in his own chest, a steady, terrifying thrum.
They seemed to be mobilizing. From the direction they are going, they are moving towards Greymark.
During their escape, the trio had inadvertently found themselves in the way of a warband.
A scout spotted them. A barked command rang out. Then before they realized it, they were in the way between Greymark and their would be attackers.
Athena stepped forward, her cloak falling away to reveal the bronze of her armor. "Stay behind me."
Fafnir just smiled, his eyes shining a brilliant gold.
The distance between the two groups decreased with each passing second.
One hundred-fifty meters.
Seventy-five meters.
Thirty meters.
Five meters.
Two meters.
RAAAHHHH!!!!
The first clash was brutal.
Orc warriors struck with crushing force, their axes cleaving through saplings and splitting stones. Their roars shook the air, raw and guttural.
Athena moved like flowing water — she was efficient, exact. She severed tendons, redirected weapons, and broke joints with surgical precision. Her shield rang with each impact, but her stance never faltered. She was like a rock in a rising tide of green flesh.
Fafnir stepped into the line next. The ground cracked faintly beneath him. An orc's axe shattered in his grip. The follow‑through crushed the warrior flat, armor folding like parchment. He wasn't fighting; he was harvesting.
But numbers pressed in. Dozens. Then more.
Aleric fought on the flank. The first impact rattled his bones, sending a jolt of white-hot pain up his arms. Orc strength was monstrous — their hits were heavier, faster, more brutal than human soldiers.
He ducked beneath a swing and struck where he believed the armor was thinnest. His blade bit deep, but not enough to kill instantly. Another shield slammed him sideways.
He hit the earth hard, the world spinning for a sickening second. Boots surrounded him. He rolled as steel split the dirt inches from his skull. He slashed upward blindly.
Space. Air. Pain. His side screamed as a blunt impact caught his ribs.
Then, the sea of orcs parted.
Their war chief emerged. He was massive. A giant scarred by countless battles. He carried a greataxe that he rested across one shoulder. His tusks were carved with runes. His armor was layered with bone and iron. His presence alone made the air feel heavier, thick with the scent of old blood and malice.
He roared and charged.
Just as Aleric pushed himself off the ground, the chiefs first strike obliterated his guard. The second hurled him into stone. The impact was a dull explosion in his back.
Something cracked. His ribs screamed. Air refused to enter his lungs. He tasted copper and felt the world beginning to blacken at the edges.
The war chief approached slowly. Deliberately.
Athena was locked against multiple warriors, forced onto the defensive. She could not break away without exposing her back. Fafnir had begun to abandon restraint — bodies broken around him — but distance between the two remained.
The war chief lifted the greataxe overhead.
Aleric tried to move. His body refused. He was broken, and no matter how much he willed it, his body didn't listen anymore.
Just as he thought it was the end, the well within exploded with power.
Mana surged through him in a violent tidal wave, flooding veins not wide enough to support it. It felt like liquid fire being pumped into his heart.
His spine arched. Every nerve ignited. Blood burst from his nose, hot and thick. Cracks spidered through the earth beneath his fingers as raw power discharged uncontrollably.
It was not gentle. It was not obedient. It acted like it had a mind of its own.
Muscle fibers tore under the strain. Skin split along faint glowing lines as mana carved its path outward. He felt like he was being unmade from the inside out.
He felt something inside him fracture—And something far older awakened.
The war chief hesitated for the briefest fraction of a second as the air pressure shifted. The world inhaled. Sound thinned to nothing. The very light seemed to drain from the clearing.
The greataxe began its descent.
Aleric used the last shred of willpower he could muster to force the surge outward. Skill had nothing to do with it. It was done out of pure desperation.
The air above him imploded. Gravity seemed to collapse toward a singular invisible point above the battlefield.
The greataxe froze mid‑arc as if frozen in time. Then a shockwave detonated outward, hurling the war chief and the surrounding orcs backward as if struck by a god's unseen hand.
The sky darkened.
A colossal silver summoning sigil ignited overhead — it was layered in ancient and impossibly intricate runes. They spiraled outward like frost forming across glass.
Cold swept the battlefield. A sudden, biting winter that turned breath into clouds of steam. Frost crawled across shields. Across armor. Across the ground itself.
Athena stilled. Fafnir slowly lifted his gaze. Whatever that was summoned had piqued his interest.
Two vast, ancient eyes opened within the sigil. The eyes carried a predatory edge. The depth of its eyes were endless. The temperature plummeted.
Then, He descended. He did not fall nor did he leap. He manifested out of the void. As though the world lacked the authority to deny him.
Fenrir, the great wolf of Ragnarok touched the earth. The sigil constricted—and vanished.
Silence consumed the field. The only sound was the crackle of freezing wood.
The war chief rose in defiance and charged. Fenrir moved once. The greataxe shattered on contact. The war chief was seized and driven into the earth with such force that the impact split stone outward in a spiderweb fracture.
The roar ended.
Then winter moved.
Orcs froze mid‑charge as frost locked their joints. Those who attacked were torn apart by jaws that snapped through armor like bark. Shields splintered. The warband collapsed into terror.
They had marched to war. They had encountered something beyond them.
Within moments, survivors fled back toward their palisade, abandoning weapons and wounded alike.
Fenrir stood amid the broken earth. His breath rolled out from his jaws in white vapor. It was controlled and measured. He looked like a glacier of abyssal ice that had learned how to hunt.
Aleric slowly climbed to his knees. Blood dripped from his nose, his skin was split where the mana had forced its way through. Smoke curled faintly from his skin, the scent of ozone and burned flesh clinging to him.
His hands trembled. The surge had receded—But the damage remained. He felt hollowed out, a burnt-out husk of a man.
Fenrir lowered his immense head slightly toward him. There was no submission in his movement. Only recognition.
Athena watched silently, her eyes wide with an emotion Aleric couldn't name. Fafnir exhaled once. "…Now that," he murmured, "is interesting."
High above on the road to Valedorn—Captain Elowen Virelle felt the tremor ripple through the currents of mana.
The thing that caused it felt wrong. It felt like a shard of ice was driven into the heart of the world.
Her grip tightened on Vaelstrix's reins. She turned her griffin around without hesitation.
Something had just entered the world. The king would want to know about it, but first she had to report to the king about the three who escaped. And far from the capital, Aleric Saint had just announced his presence to the entire continent.