Easton paced back and forth in the dimly lit tent, his frustration mounting with every step. The walls, adorned with maps and battle plans, seemed to close in around him. His mind raced, desperate to find the right words to convince his commander to take action. The flickering oil lamps cast long shadows across Redrieg's face, the veteran commander's expression set in stone.

Redrieg, a towering figure clad in heavy armor, stood at the center of the tent, arms crossed over his broad chest. His sharp eyes followed Easton's movements, his demeanor calm and unwavering, the result of years of battle-hardened experience.

"Commander," Easton began, his voice filled with urgency, "we can't afford to wait any longer. We need to head north, to Gethren. Whatever's calling us there, it's important. I've had the visions, the dreams—they're leading us there for a reason."

Redrieg's expression remained unchanged, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered Easton's words. "Easton," he replied, his tone measured and calm, "Gethren is the land of fire and demons. It's not a place we can just march into because of some dreams. We must approach this with caution. Marching into Gethren without proper preparation could lead to disaster."

Easton stopped pacing and turned to face Redrieg, his blue eyes blazing with determination. "I'm not suggesting we rush in blindly, Commander. But something is pulling me there—pulling us there. The visions are clear. We need to take action before it's too late."

Redrieg shook his head slowly, his face stern. "Visions and dreams? And you think that's reason enough to lead a scout's division into one of the most dangerous lands known to us? Gethren isn't just any place. It's the realm of the unknown, where the fire-breathing demons and malevolent spirits dwell. We don't even know what we're facing there."

Easton clenched his fists, frustration boiling over. "So what then? We sit here and ignore what's clearly a sign? We let this opportunity slip through our fingers? Commander, I've seen what's in those dreams. It's not just a sign—it's a warning. If we don't go, something terrible will happen."

Redrieg sighed, his gaze softening slightly as he looked at Easton. "I understand your conviction, Easton. But conviction alone won't protect our men from the horrors of Gethren. We need strategy, resources, and most importantly, patience. Gethren is a land few have returned from. If we're going to venture there, we need to be smart about it."

Easton took a deep breath, trying to rein in his emotions. He knew Redrieg was right, but the thought of waiting any longer was unbearable. Every moment they delayed was another moment closer to whatever darkness was brewing in Gethren. But how could he convince Redrieg to see things his way?

"Commander," Easton said more calmly, stepping closer, "We need to start moving toward Gethren. Something to show that we're taking these visions seriously. We cannot let any threat be ignored."

Redrieg studied Easton for a long moment, his gaze intense. The silence between them stretched, heavy with the weight of the decision that hung in the air.

"You're determined," Redrieg finally said, his voice gruff. "I can see that. But determination isn't enough. If we're going to do this, we do it right. I won't send my men into a situation where they're not prepared."

Easton paused, searching for the words that would finally tip the balance in his favor. He thought of Redrieg's family—the wife and child waiting for him back home. A thought struck him, one that he knew would resonate.

"Commander," Easton began quietly, "I know you're thinking of our men, and you're right to be cautious. But think about your wife. Think about your child. What if these dreams are a warning, not just for us, but for them? What if there's a threat building in Gethren, something that could spill over into our lands and endanger them? I'm not just asking for action on a whim. I'm asking you to protect your family, to make sure we're not blindsided by something we didn't see coming."

Redrieg's expression shifted ever so slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his hardened features. Easton pressed on, sensing he was close to breaking through.

"We don't know what's out there, Commander," Easton continued, "but I'd rather we go and find out than sit here and wait for it to come to us. If there's nothing, then at least we'll know. But doing nothing—waiting—means risking everything."

Redrieg uncrossed his arms, his gaze softening as he considered Easton's words. The silence stretched on, but this time it felt different—weighted with the seriousness of the decision.

"You're asking a lot, Easton," Redrieg finally said, his voice low, "but you're right. We can't afford to ignore the possibility of a threat in Gethren. For the sake of my family and for all our people, it's better to be safe than sorry."

Easton nodded, relief washing over him. "Thank you, Commander. I'll make sure we're prepared. We'll take every precaution."

Redrieg gave a curt nod. "We'll start preparations immediately. But make no mistake, Easton—this isn't just about proving yourself. This is about protecting our people. Don't lose sight of that."

The division moved swiftly north, cutting through the dense terrain with practiced efficiency. Redrieg led the charge, with Easton by his side, their shared determination guiding the way. Despite the tension, the soldiers remained focused, each one aware of the dangers that lay ahead in Gethren, the land of fire and demons. The journey was grueling, but the men followed their leaders without question, trusting in their judgment and the visions that had led them to this point.

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After days of relentless marching, they reached the edge of Gethren. The air grew hotter, the ground beneath their feet cracked and scorched by ancient flames. The landscape was barren, a wasteland where nothing grew, and the sky above was a constant dull red, as if the sun itself was burning out. Despite the unnerving atmosphere, the division pressed on, their formation tight, their weapons at the ready.

As night fell, the soldiers set up camp. The oppressive silence of Gethren weighed heavily on them, and even the crackling of their campfires seemed subdued. Easton couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him, a sense that they were being watched. The visions had led him here, but now that they were in Gethren, he couldn't help but wonder what awaited them.

That night, as the soldiers slept fitfully, Easton was once again drawn by the whispers. They urged him to leave the safety of the camp and follow a hidden path just beyond the perimeter. The pull was irresistible, and despite the exhaustion weighing him down, Easton slipped away, leaving behind the flickering glow of the campfires.

The path led him through a narrow gorge, the walls lined with glowing symbols that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. Easton moved cautiously, every sense on high alert. After what felt like an eternity, he reached a clearing and came face to face with a sight that made his blood run cold.

Legions of organized demons stood before him, horrific creatures of flame and shadow, their bodies twisted and grotesque. They surrounded a figure cloaked in darkness, its face hidden behind a menacing mask. The sight paralyzed Easton with fear, but as he took a step back, his foot slipped on a loose stone, sending it clattering down the slope.

The demons turned toward him in unison, their eyes glowing with malevolent fury. Panic surged through Easton as the masked figure raised a hand, and with a guttural command, the demons surged toward him.

Easton turned and fled, his heart pounding in his chest. The ground beneath him seemed to burn hotter with every step, the air thick with the scent of sulfur. The demons pursued him relentlessly, their howls echoing in the night. He dodged through the rocky terrain, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he desperately sought a way back to the camp.

Finally, he spotted the faint glow of the campfires in the distance. Relief surged through him, but as he drew closer, a new horror awaited. The camp was under siege. Spirits of flame and shadow tore through the division, their bodies burning and dismembering the soldiers with terrifying ease. The night was filled with screams of agony and the crackling of flames as tents were reduced to ashes.

Easton's heart wrenched as he watched the slaughter unfold. Driven by desperation, he leaped into the fray, acrobatically dodging the swipes of a spirit that lunged at him. He fought with everything he had, managing to strike the spirit with his blade after a fierce struggle. The spirit dissipated with a shriek, but the victory was hollow. All around him, the bodies of his comrades lay in gruesome heaps, charred and mutilated beyond recognition.

His breath caught in his throat as he spotted Redrieg, surrounded by the fallen, bleeding profusely from a deep wound in his side. Easton rushed to his side, dropping to his knees in despair. Redrieg's eyes fluttered open, his face pale and drenched in sweat.

"Commander," Easton choked out, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry... I—"

Redrieg raised a trembling hand to stop him, his gaze steady despite the pain. "No, Easton... You did... what you could. You... followed your path... even though it was... against everything you were told."

Tears welled up in Easton's eyes, blurring his vision as rage began to boil within him. The overwhelming loss, the sight of his fallen comrades, the devastation around him—it all surged through his veins like molten fire. His hands trembled, and the air around him began to thrum with an immense, terrible power that he had long buried deep within himself.

This was the power Easton had tried not to use, the ability he had sworn never to reveal. He possessed the Abysall Arts—a rare and dangerous form of magic that only the greatest of the Watchers could wield. It was the magic of creation and destruction, the power to shape reality and to erase it. Positive and negative forces intertwined, a delicate balance that could bring life or death with a single thought. It was said to be the ultimate power, a gift and a curse, feared by all who knew of its existence.

Easton had buried this power deep, refusing to use it, as his family hounded him for this power. But now, in his grief and fury, that power surged to the surface, begging to be unleashed. The ground beneath him began to smolder, cracks forming in the earth as the very fabric of reality seemed to ripple around him. The air filled with the scent of ozone, and a dark energy swirled around Easton, crackling with untold potential.

Easton hissed through gritted teeth. His eyes burned with a fierce, unnatural light, and the world around him seemed to tremble. And his arms began to leak magic.

Redrieg's hand shot out, gripping Easton's arm with a strength that belied his weakened state. "No!" he rasped, his voice commanding despite the pain. "Not now, Easton... not like this."

Easton struggled against Redrieg's grip, his consciousness slipping as the power within him surged, begging to be unleashed. But Redrieg's hold was unyielding, his eyes locking onto Easton's with an intensity that cut through the fog of rage.

"Your magic... it's not meant for this," Redrieg continued, his voice firm but pained. "Don't use your magic for lowly scouts like us. Use it when you have people... worth protecting."

The words pierced through Easton's fury, bringing him back from the brink. His breathing was ragged, his muscles tense as he fought to control the seething power within him. The ground beneath him stopped smoldering, the dark energy slowly dissipating as he wrestled the Abyssal Magic back into the depths of his soul. Easton's vision cleared, and he looked down at Redrieg, seeing the understanding and sorrow in his commander's eyes.

"But I can't just leave you here," Easton whispered, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face. "I can't let them win."

Redrieg's grip on his arm softened, but his gaze remained resolute. "You... have to survive. Go back... tell them... what happened here. They need to know... they need to prepare. You're the only one left... the only one who can warn them."

Easton shook his head, his heart breaking. "I can't... I can't leave you."

"You must," Redrieg insisted, his voice weakening but still firm. "Promise me, Easton... promise me you'll survive. You'll warn them... and you'll fight... when the time is right."

Easton nodded, the sobs wracking his body. "I promise... I promise I'll do it."

Redrieg gave a small, pained smile, his hand slipping from Easton's arm. "Good... Then go... before it's too late."

With a final, lingering glance at his fallen commander, Easton forced himself to his feet. He turned and ran, his heart heavy with grief and guilt. The night was still filled with the sounds of battle, but he didn't look back. He couldn't. All he could do now was survive, to carry Redrieg's message back to their people, and to ensure that their deaths were not in vain. Although he couldn't save them, he'll still remember them for the rest of his life.