Valon's wings cut gracefully through the wind, each beat resonating with the pure feeling of flight. Yet he couldn’t let himself enjoy the feeling. The air currents seemed to whisper, carrying with them a hint that something was amiss. His Kin, mighty winged creatures each with its own character and distinctive call, soared with him. Their majestic forms danced around him, moving with purpose. The view from above gave Valon an unparalleled sense of the world below, and today, that view was troubling.
The vast expanse of Brancourt city spread out beneath him, its tall spires and bustling streets always a sight to behold. Yet, the scene that played out below him was not one of harmony, but of unrest. Men in richly ornate armour marched through the streets, their silk sashes fluttering in the wind, marking them apart from the common populace. Their movements were precise and oppressive.
Valon's brow furrowed in concern. He’d expected to find Lord Amber's soldiers maintaining order, a familiar and calming sight in these turbulent times. Instead, he was met with the sight of a seemingly different faction, one that seemed more intent on subjugation than protection. The distinction was clear in the way they handled the locals, their gestures sharp and their voices loud, making their demands known.
Guided by his Kin, Valon headed southward, alighting gracefully on the battlements, his eyes never leaving the scene below. Men, their arms straining under the weight, pushed carts laden with food into the city from the south. It was a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere created by the soldiers. It struck Valon as odd that these very men who seemed to be asserting control were also bringing sustenance to the city.
His heart heavy with uncertainty, Valon whispered to his closest Kin, a sleek, silver-winged creature "Serin, what game are these men playin’ at?"
Serin let out a low, mournful cry, echoing Valon's confusion and concern. The city's future, and the answers to Valon's questions, remained shrouded in mystery.
There was a brief moment when both the sky and the earth seemed to touch, as the two switched to their human guises. When the dust settled, two young men stood in their place. Valon's human form was tall, with flowing raven-black hair and piercing eyes, while Serin appeared lither, his silver hair and grey eyes reflecting his true avian origin.
The pair walked the cobblestone streets, blending in with the crowd, their ears keenly attuned to the murmur of conversations around them. The mood was tense, with hushed voices and furtive glances. As they weaved through the throngs of people, a distinct voice of distress caught their attention.
At a nearby market stall, a merchant, his face flushed with fear, was on his knees, his hands raised in a pleading gesture. Towering over him was a guard, his sash marking him as one of the unknown soldiers, his eyes cold and unyielding.
"Where did you get these? Answer me!" The guard’s voice boomed, making a few bystanders flinch.
The merchant stammered, "I-I got them from the old man. He's been helping the children. Without him, they'd starve."
The guard's face contorted in rage at the mention of the old man. "You dare lie in front of me?" With swift cruelty, he raised his arm to strike the merchant. “You pinched these damn goods!”
Without hesitation, Valon and Serin moved forward. Valon's hand shot out, catching the guard's wrist mid-air, halting the impending blow. Serin, meanwhile, stepped between the guard and the merchant, shielding the latter with his body.
"Enough!" Valon's voice was cold and commanding. "Why are you attacking this man?"
The guard, struggling to free his hand from Valon's grip, hissed, "This is none of your business. Move along."
Serin's gaze met the guards. "What if we make it, our business?"
A small crowd had gathered, murmurs of agreement rippling through them. The guard, realizing he was outnumbered and outmatched, reluctantly withdrew, shooting the merchant a final warning glare.
As the onlookers began to disperse, the merchant, shaking but grateful, turned to his saviours. "Thank you," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "You've done more than you know."
Valon nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings, ever vigilant. "Stay safe. It seems, the city needs people like you now more than ever."
As the merchant scurried away, gratitude evident in every step, Serin and Valon found a more secluded spot, away from the prying eyes of the masses.
"This city... it's changed since the last time I was here," Valon began, a heavy frown on his face. "The air is thick with fear and unrest."
Serin nodded, looking around at the passersby. "And despair. Whatever is happening here is not just a simple shift in power. It's something deeper."
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Valon's thoughts turned to the past, to another time and place. "The way these soldiers are acting, their discipline, their cruelty... it reminds me of the slave soldiers from Branside."
Serin looked at him sharply. "You think they might be under some sort of compulsion? Like the soldiers from Branside were?"
"I doubt it, they seem more unruly," Valon said, "but I can't be certain. The speed of this takeover is alarming. It seems orchestrated, planned to perfection. And the way they're bringing in food, while simultaneously oppressing the locals, it's like they're trying to paint themselves as both saviours and tyrants."
Serin looked thoughtful. "Control through fear and dependency. It's an old tactic, but effective. If the people are scared enough and reliant on their 'saviours' for basic necessities, they're less likely to rebel."
Valon nodded. "Exactly. But who's behind this? And why?"
Serin sighed. "Those are the questions we need to find answers to. For now, we need to gather more information."
Transforming into his avian form, Valon soared into the sky, with Serin gracefully trailing behind. Their kin, who had circled protectively overhead since their landing, now flocked around them in a united front. Armed with knowledge about the city's turmoil, their priority became clear: find his brother and Karn to stop this madness. With shared determination, they angled their wings and set a course for the Amber sector.
In mere moments, Valon and Serin descended, touching down gracefully beside Kraid amidst the grim backdrop of fallen soldiers. The cobblestones bore the vivid red marks of recent conflict. The macabre scene was unsettling, but a wave of relief washed over them upon seeing Kraid unscathed.
Kraid glared at the surrounding carnage. "These fools were like lambs to the slaughter," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "Decked in fancy gear, but barely any real training."
Serin’s gaze was sharp. “What happened to Lady Amber?”
Kraid’s jaw clenched, frustration evident in his face. “I got separated from her. By the time I managed to circle back, Ralina, Karn… they’d all been taken. The guards... they’re not good fighters, but there were too many to risk open confrontation.”
Valon placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Kraid. We’ll bring them back.”
But Kraid’s eyes, filled with anger and guilt, darted around restlessly. “It’s not just about them. The entire city is now under the Duke’s rule. This isn't just a hostile takeover; it's a full-blown coup. The Duke and Duchess have managed to twist the arms of everyone in power.”
Serin frowned. “Norcas? But why? What do they gain from this level of control?”
Valon looked thoughtful, trying to piece together the puzzle. “Power? Resources? A consolidation of the city under one rule? There could be countless reasons. But right now, our priority is getting our people out.”
Kraid, his eyes still showing the fire of battle, nodded. “Agreed. But we need…”
The massive gates of the Amber sector groaned open, revealing a sea of men from the Royal sector, a formidable force about a hundred strong. The sight was stark – fresh troops, each gleaming with the privilege of opulent armour, but their appearance was betrayed by an unkempt bearing, a dishevelled look evident from their tangled hair and grimy unshaven faces.
As these soldiers surged forward, their intentions became clear – not to control, but to annihilate. Without a moment's hesitation, workers who had been peacefully going about their day became their first victims.
Valon's voice cut through the impending chaos, "To me!" The trio moved as one, their every motion fluid, agile, and quick, reminiscent of a powerful gust of wind. As they met the onslaught head-on, they seemed outnumbered, but only for a brief moment. From above, the sky darkened as their kin plummeted in a controlled descent, transforming mid-air to join the fray.
The ensuing clash was a spectacle of contrast. The Kraven warriors, though fewer in number, moved with precision, their every strike a ballet of lethal grace with cobalt blades, while the Royal soldiers, despite their superior numbers, were clumsy, their movements chaotic and unrefined. The rich armour they wore seemed to be more a hindrance, clinking loudly with every misstep, while the Kraven’s were a blur of speed and lethal intent.
Though the soldiers sought to wreak havoc, they were no match before the ancient avian prowess. Every blow dealt by the Kraven’s found its mark, and it was evident that the Royal sector had grossly underestimated their foes. The cobbled streets echoed with the sounds of battle, a testament to a clash of two worlds – one of brute force and the other of skill and heritage.
Suddenly, the skies above turned deadly as a rain of arrows pierced the once-clear blue. While the Kraven’s were embroiled in close combat, the sudden attack from above caught them off guard. Valon's heart raced as he shouted a warning, but it was a moment too late.
The arrows rained down indiscriminately, seeking out any and all in their path. The poorly fitted armour of the Royal soldiers, though richly ornate, was their undoing. While some arrows clanged harmlessly off the metal, many others found the gaps and crevices. Blood spattered the cobblestones and screams of agony echoed through the Amber sector.
Valon's gaze darted around, taking stock of his kin, but a gasp caught in his throat as he saw Serin, faltering with two arrows lodged in him. His younger brother, ever the protector, moved swiftly, deflecting a killing blow that was aimed at the injured Kraven. With strength born out of desperation, Kraid heaved Serin away from the worst of the battle.
Despite their initial advantage, the tables were turning against the Kraven’s. The archers on the battlements, reloading with mechanical precision, had the high ground and a clear line of sight. Their next volley was poised to be even more devastating.
Valon's voice rang out above the din, "Fall back! Away from their range!" But even as he commanded, the archers released another rain of death.
In that moment, all seemed lost until Kraid, fury evident in his eyes, invoked an event held within his ring. A brilliant green light emanated from him, sending a gust of wind skyward, forming a protective barrier that repelled the onslaught of arrows. The sheer force of the magic blast threw some of the advancing soldiers off balance, scattering them like leaves before a gale.
The respite was brief, however. Kraid's power, though awe-inspiring, was not unlimited. They couldn't remain here, caught in the crossfire of the archers who seemed all too willing to cut down their own men.
Drawing on their centuries of battle-honed instincts, the Kraven’s moved as a singular unit, retreating strategically, as the archers, in their misguided zeal, shot more of their own comrades than their intended targets.