The village was alive with excitement. Vibrant stalls lined the village square, the colorful fabrics of their awnings flapping in the evening breeze. The bonfires scattered around the square flickered warmly, casting light and long shadows across the faces of Drakel and Mehrat alike. Music filled the air, mingling with the laughter of the villagers and traders who had come to celebrate the Festival of the Black Moons. The sky above was clear, stars glittering like scattered jewels.
Rowen stood alone, away from the crowds, her arms wrapped around herself, the sounds of celebration seeming to dull in her ears. She gazed out at the festival, her mind elsewhere, still reflecting on Illinca's prophecy. The question of her place in the clan and her destiny weighed heavily on her, creating a sense of disconnect from the joy around her. Illinca's prophecy weighed on her mind, a whisper of coming danger that made the joyous festivities seem distant and fragile. The sight of her clutch siblings playing and laughing with the others brought her a bittersweet smile, yet her heart was heavy with the knowledge that something dark was approaching, something that could take it all away.
"Hey, Red!" Haath called out, pulling her from her thoughts. He approached with Haath, Taal, and Daani, as well as Bailon, who looked slightly uncomfortable. The blue-scaled scholar clearly did not enjoy partying like the others, but Daani had a mischievous grin as she nudged him forward. "Why are you just standing here? The night is young, and there's fun to be had!" He gestured toward the square, where a group of villagers had begun dancing, their movements wild and carefree.
Rowen tried to return his smile but could feel her lips faltering. "I... I don't know," she muttered, glancing away. "I'm just not in the mood, I guess."
Daani stepped up to her, concern etched in her eyes. "What's wrong, Rowen? You've been like this all day. We're even forcing Bailon away from his books to have some fun!" She placed a hand on Rowen's arm, squeezing gently. "You should come dance with us. Forget whatever is worrying you for a while."
Haath nodded, a rare softness in his normally stoic expression. "Yeah. It's the festival, after all. We don't get many nights like this."
Rowen looked at each of them, her heart aching. How could she explain the sense of dread that had settled inside her? The prophecy, the ominous feeling that something was coming—it all seemed too abstract to burden them with. She gave a small nod, hoping it would ease their concern.
"Alright," she said, forcing a smile. "Maybe just for a little while."
Together, they moved toward the square, the music growing louder, the laughter infectious. For a brief moment, Rowen let herself be caught in the rhythm, her feet moving alongside her clutch siblings, the warmth of the bonfires almost comforting.
Haath was the first to grab her hand, pulling her into the dance circle. His movements were exaggerated and clumsy on purpose, drawing laughter from Rowen as he spun her around. She could feel the tension in her chest loosening as she moved with him, her body finally letting go of the unease that had gripped her all day.
Taal jumped in next, taking over from Haath with a playful twirl that made Rowen nearly stumble. He caught her, laughing, and she found herself laughing too, the sound genuine and freeing.
Even Bailon, who usually shied away from anything remotely social, was not spared. Daani grinned mischievously as she shoved him forward, and Rowen wasted no time in grabbing his hand. "Come on, just one dance!" she teased, pulling him along despite his protests. Bailon's cheeks flushed, and his awkward steps only made Rowen laugh harder. He moved stiffly at first, clearly out of his element, but soon he relaxed enough to at least attempt a spin, which ended with both of them nearly colliding with Haath.
"You're hopeless, Bailon!" Haath shouted over the music, his voice full of mirth.
"Leave him alone! He's trying!" Rowen shot back, her grin widening. For a few precious moments, it was as if nothing else mattered—no prophecy, no foreboding sense of doom. It was just her and her clutch siblings, laughing and dancing under the stars. She felt the most normal when she was with them, their presence grounding her in a way nothing else could.
Daani joined in, dancing alongside Bailon, her infectious energy making even the scholarly blue crack a reluctant smile. They all took turns—spinning, twirling, even attempting some ridiculous dance moves that had them all doubling over with laughter. Rowen's heart swelled with warmth, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel genuinely happy.
She knew these moments wouldn't last forever, but for now, she held onto them, letting the joy wash over her like the warmth of the bonfires.
The moment of peace was fleeting.
A sudden, deafening explosion rocked the village square, and the joyous music was replaced by screams of terror. Rowen's eyes widened as chaos erupted around her. She turned just in time to see a stall engulfed in flames, the acrid smoke stinging her eyes. Humans in dark armor swarmed the square, their swords glinting ominously in the firelight as they moved, throwing nets over fleeing villagers. The stall next to Rowen burst into flames, shards of wood flying through the air, and chaos erupted.
"Rowen!" Bailon shouted, grabbing her arm. "We have to go!"
Rowen's heart pounded, her senses overwhelmed by the screams and the clash of weapons. She scanned the chaos for her clutch siblings, her eyes darting frantically as she tried to find them amidst the melee. Her mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before her. Panic clawed at her as she saw Haath and Taal desperately trying to fend off the attackers.
Haath fought with a ferocity that seemed to surprise even the mercenaries, but there were too many, and they moved too quickly. The humans moved swiftly, cutting down anyone who resisted and capturing those who ran. Rowen's vision blurred with tears as she saw familiar faces—neighbors, friends—falling beneath the human’s blades, their bodies crumpling to the ground. She felt an unbearable weight settle over her, the helplessness pressing down until it was hard to breathe.
She saw Haath swing a piece of broken wood at a human, his teeth bared in a snarl, but it was hopeless. Daani was beside him, her fists raised, but they were no match for the armored men. Within moments, nets were thrown over them, their struggles futile as they were dragged down. The roar of the flames drowned out their cries, and Rowen's heart twisted in agony.
"No!" Rowen screamed, her voice raw as she tried to pull away from Bailon. Her eyes locked onto Haath and Daani as they disappeared beneath the weight of the nets. She felt her heart shattering, every instinct screaming at her to fight, to save them. But Bailon's grip was unyielding, his eyes wide with fear as he dragged her away. The chaos seemed to blur around her, the colors of fire and shadow blending into a nightmarish haze.
Rowen's eyes found Illinca, who was being dragged away by a mercenary. Rage and desperation surged through her, and without thinking, she rushed forward, shoving the mercenary away from Illinca with all her strength. The force of the impact sent the mercenary stumbling back, but pain shot through Rowen's arm as she collided with his armor. She winced, but ignored it, her only focus on getting Illinca out of the net. With frantic hands, she untangled the white-furred Mehrat fortune teller, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Go!" she yelled, pushing Illinca away. Just as she turned, Bailon grabbed her arm, his eyes wide with fear. "Rowen, we can't fight them! We have to run!"
* * * * *
Domnall watched from a vantage point at the edge of the village, his expression hard as he directed his men through the chaos. Beside him stood Cara, her eyes scanning the scene with an intensity that matched his own. Domnall's initial confidence had begun to fray at the edges as he saw the state of his mercenaries. They were supposed to be disciplined, focused—but what he saw was far from that.
The men were reckless, charging into homes, dragging villagers out with a savagery that made Domnall's stomach twist. The laughter that echoed through the burning village was not the laughter of victory; it was wild and cruel, a sound that belonged to lawless bandits, not trained mercenaries. Domnall clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword as he watched a mercenary overturn a cart and set it ablaze, the flames rising high into the night sky.
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"They're getting out of hand," Cara said, her voice low, her gaze fixed on the scene before them. There was no judgment in her tone, but Domnall could hear the concern beneath her calm demeanor.
Domnall grunted in agreement, his eyes narrowing as he watched one of his men shove a crying villager to the ground, the blade of his sword raised high. He wanted to shout, to pull his men back, to remind them that they were supposed to be soldiers, not savages. But the words caught in his throat. He had set this in motion, and now it was slipping away from him. The thrill of power, the promise of victory—it all felt hollow as he watched the village fall to chaos.
"This isn't what I wanted," he muttered, more to himself than to Cara. She glanced at him, her brow furrowing, but said nothing. Domnall's gaze swept the village, landing on a red-scaled Drakel girl fighting against the tide of mercenaries. Her defiance, her desperation—it stirred something inside him, something he had long buried. He had once admired courage like that, had once believed in something more than gold and power.
But now, what was he? A leader of men who had forgotten what it meant to be honorable. A commander whose soldiers had become nothing more than marauders.
As the flames spread and the screams of the villagers echoed in his ears, Domnall felt a weight settle over him—a weight he could no longer ignore. He had chosen this path, and now, for the first time, he was questioning if it was truly worth it.
* * * * *
Rowen's eyes darted around, desperation clawing at her. She watched as Taal grappled with an attacker. But even as the big black seemed to be gaining the upper hand, another human raised a blade, and in an instant, Taal fell, his body crumpling to the ground.
The world seemed to slow, her scream caught in her throat as she watched the life leave his eyes. The sound of metal slicing through flesh echoed in her ears, louder than the screams or the crackle of flames. Her heart shattered, her breath catching in her throat as she screamed his name, her voice lost in the chaos. She felt Bailon pulling her, dragging her away, but her legs felt like they were made of stone.
"Please, Rowen!" Bailon pleaded, tears streaming down his face. "We have to go!"
Just as they turned to flee, a group of humans closed in on them, their weapons raised. Rowen's heart raced, her eyes darting around for any escape. Suddenly, a figure stepped between them and the mercenaries—Master Gallen. The old green-scaled Drakel stood tall, his eyes fierce as he brandished a staff, striking at the mercenaries with surprising strength.
"Run!" Gallen shouted, his voice filled with authority. "Get Bailon out of here!"
Rowen hesitated, her heart torn. She wanted to stay, to fight, but Gallen’s gaze met hers, and she saw the determination in his eyes. He was buying them time. With a sob, she turned, pulling Bailon with her as they ran, her legs feeling like they could give out at any moment. The last thing she saw was Gallen, standing his ground, his staff swinging as the mercenaries closed in on him.
They ran through the village, the once-vibrant square now a scene of carnage. Bodies lay scattered, the bonfires now feeding on the wreckage. Rowen's heart pounded, her breath ragged as they fled toward the forest's edge, her mind numb with shock and grief.
But there was no escape from the horrors behind them. As they reached the edge of the village, more humans appeared, blocking their path. Rowen felt her strength failing, her body trembling as she tried to protect her clutch brother. But it was too late. The attackers surrounded them, their nets were thrown over Bailon, pulling him away from her.
"No!" she screamed, reaching out for him, but strong hands grabbed her, yanking her back. She struggled, kicking and thrashing, her vision blurred by tears. She could see Bailon, his eyes wide with fear as he was dragged away, his cries echoing in her ears.
Then a human struck her on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword, and everything went dark.
* * * * *
Domnall's gaze remained fixed on the red-scaled Drakel girl, though he wasn't entirely sure why her struggles drew his attention. There was something about her—her desperation, her frantic attempts to fight back—that kept him watching, even as the chaos raged around him. The scene before him was a blur of fire and blood, and yet she stood out, fighting with a fierceness that belied her youth.
Cara, standing by his side, noticed his interest. She followed his gaze, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. When she saw the mercenary knock the drakel girl unconscious, she stepped forward, her expression hardening.
"Stop," Cara barked, her voice cutting through the noise. The mercenary hesitated, his blade still raised, poised to finish the girl off. Cara moved closer, her eyes cold as she glared at him. "We take captives, not corpses. Leave her."
The mercenary lowered his sword, glancing at Domnall as if seeking confirmation. Domnall gave a small nod, his gaze flickering between the unconscious girl and Cara. There was a silent understanding in Cara's eyes—a recognition of something in Domnall's expression that she understood, perhaps even shared. Without a word, Domnall moved toward the fallen girl.
He crouched down, his hands working quickly to pull a fallen tent over her, hiding her from view. It wasn't much, but it was enough to ensure she wouldn't be noticed by the others—not captured, not killed. A small act of mercy, a decision made on instinct rather than logic. Domnall stood, his chest heavy with conflicting emotions. The thrill of power had faded, replaced by something else—something that gnawed at him, a question he wasn't ready to face.
"Let's go," he muttered to Cara, his voice rough. Cara nodded, and together they moved away, leaving the village behind. As Domnall glanced back one last time, he knew that something had changed within him tonight. He wasn't sure what it meant, but for the first time in a long time, he felt the stirrings of something other than the cold drive for power.
* * * * *
When Rowen awoke, it was dawn. She was lying on the ground, her body aching, her heart heavy with the weight of loss. The village was quiet now, the fires smoldering, the air thick with the stench of smoke and blood. She pushed herself up, her body trembling as she looked around. The village she had known, the people she had loved—they were gone. Taken or killed. Her heart felt like it had been ripped from her chest, her mind unable to comprehend the magnitude of what had happened.
She stumbled to her feet, her legs weak beneath her. She had to find them. She had to do something. But as she took a step forward, her vision blurred, her head spinning. The carnage around her came into sharp focus—the bodies of her friends, her neighbors, strewn across the festival grounds, blood soaking into the dirt. The sight of it made her stomach twist, and she doubled over, vomiting as the stench of death and smoke overwhelmed her senses.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her entire body trembling, but she forced herself to keep moving. She had to find her clutch siblings, to find Bailon, Haath, and Daani. Her heart pounded with a mixture of desperation and fear, her eyes darting around as she took in the shattered remnants of the village she had known her whole life.
Rowen stumbled forward, trying to push through the grief, her legs carrying her almost on instinct. But then she saw him—Master Gallen, lying crumpled on the ground, his body broken and bloody. His staff lay beside him, splintered and useless, and his eyes were closed, his face frozen in pain.
A strangled sob escaped her lips, and she fell to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his body as if she could somehow bring him back. The weight of her failure pressed down on her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She had let this happen. She hadn't been strong enough to protect him, to protect anyone. The world around her blurred, her tears falling freely as the grief finally broke her, leaving her hollow and lost.
She didn't know how long she stayed there, her tears falling into the dirt. All she knew was that she couldn't stay. She had to get away, had to find somewhere—anywhere—that wasn't filled with the echoes of her loved ones' screams. With a trembling breath, she forced herself to her feet, her legs barely supporting her. As she stood there, lost and broken, a gentle voice called out to her.
"Rowen... child."
She turned, her tear-filled eyes meeting the kind gaze of Elder Merda. The elder's face was lined with sorrow, but there was warmth in her eyes, a sense of calm that seemed to cut through the despair.
"Elder Merda," Rowen whispered, her voice cracking. She could barely hold herself together, her grief threatening to consume her.
Elder Merda moved closer, wrapping an arm around Rowen's shoulders. "Come, child. You're not alone."
Rowen let herself be led away, her legs moving almost mechanically as Merda guided her through the wreckage of the village. The elder spoke softly, comforting words that Rowen could barely hear over the pounding of her heart. She led Rowen to the elder's hall, where the rest of the survivors were gathered.
Inside, the hall was quiet, the air heavy with the weight of loss. Only a few dozen Drakel villagers remained, huddled together, their faces etched with grief and exhaustion. Among them were the surviving Mehrat, their fur stained with ash and dirt. Rowen's eyes scanned the room, her breath catching as she saw familiar faces—Master Berro, sitting against the wall, his body bruised but alive, and Illinca the fortune teller, her eyes wide with fear and grief.
A sob escaped Rowen's lips, and she moved toward them, her heart aching. Berro looked up, his eyes softening as he saw her. "Rowen," he whispered, his voice filled with relief. She knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch his arm.
"I thought... I thought you were..." she couldn't finish, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes.
Berro gave her a weak smile, shaking his head. "I'm still here, child. And so are you."
Illinca moved closer, her hand resting on Rowen's shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You saved me."
Rowen nodded, her tears falling freely as she looked around at the others. The village was in ruins, and so many were gone, but in this small hall, there was still hope. They were broken, but they were not defeated.