Kelzryn took one step forward—the force of his movement enough to rattle the trees around him. He leaned back, eyes fixed upon his foe, arms spread wide as if embracing an invisible mountain.

His clawed fingers flexed—sending sparks and motes of drifting fire. Within the depthless wells of his gaze—a swirl of radiant crimson formed. They coalesced and grew—coating his sclera—staining them a bright, smoldering hue.

The cracks and fissures across his form glowed—molten rivulets trickling along his skin—weaving their way through his figure. Heat and heat-light pulsed and burst outward with each steady heartbeat. The air surrounding the dragon wavered and shimmered with each radiant pulse.

Fear gripped Evelyne's chest, sending chills down her spine.

Even from within Léandre's control alcove, the growing pressure of magic overwhelmed her senses. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself—reeling from the magical turbulence. Even Tempest's pilot must have sensed something was wrong.

"W-What're you?" the brigand whispered in the distance. The external speakers caught every note of his mounting panic. "Wh-what're you doing?! Shit! You're some kind of monster! Fuck! Retreat!"

Tempest pivoted in a quick about-face. With its remaining arm, Tempest loped away in an uneven gait—limping as it went.

Kelzryn leapt into the air.

Two strokes later, he covered the distance between himself and the escaping brigand Aetherframe. In a flash, he swiped his claws across the Aetherframe's flank. Metal screeched and shrieked—exploding in a shower of sparks—scraps and pieces flying in every direction. The impact hurled Tempest aside—crashing into a tree. Smoke trailed Tempest as it toppled to the ground—battered and broken.

Tempest's pilot screamed.

Kelzryn bounded upon his wounded prey. Claws speared true—impaling Tempest's chassis and punching through the metal. After yanking his hand loose, the dragon began to methodically rend and tear into his target. He then wrenched out the squirming, flailing occupant—pinning him against the adjacent trunk.

The brigand continued to scream. He kicked and thrashed in Kelzryn's grip. His pleas fell on deaf ears as the dragon ignored him. The captive's howls petered out with each sickening crunch of bone as the dragon squeezed and crushed his body—reducing him to pulp and viscera.

Kelzryn tossed the mutilated corpse to the ground without even a second glance. He turned towards the smoking ruin of Ebonheim's cottage—his piercing glare returning to its usual azure hue.

He gave Evelyne a look as if to say 'It was self-defense' before stalking off.

Evelyne released the breath she'd not realized she had been holding. She watched him depart as her heart slowed and the terror receded—fading like morning mist upon a riverbank. As her adrenaline subsided, her aches and injuries flared anew. With her mana depleted and Léandre incapacitated, all that remained was to wait for rescue.

The battle was over. They'd won.

And all she wanted now was sleep.

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Orin was there to meet Evelyne when they finally extracted her from Léandre's control alcove. There was a collective gasp from the rescue team at her appearance—her suit singed and torn and her body littered with burns.

Hilda and a few druids tended to Evelyne as best they could. Their magic soothed and alleviated her injuries. Evelyne sat propped against Léandre—a cushion beneath her back—while the druids worked. Her face twisted as Hilda channeled healing energy. A prickling sensation—like that of a limb being stabbed by pins and needles—spread through her abdomen.

A low groan escaped her lips as her cracked ribs realigned and knitted back together. Although Hilda's magic could heal such injuries, Evelyne would still feel the soreness for weeks, no doubt. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against the discomfort—clenching her hands into fists to distract herself from the pain.

"The remaining brigands have been dealt with," Orin informed as he approached. "Serrandyl led a successful charge through their lines—routing them as they pulled back."

"Thanks for the update," Evelyne replied. "Have we any losses?"

"Thirteen dead, sixteen wounded," Orin relayed, his voice lowering. "For a raid this size? I'd say it was a decent result. Still..." He shook his head and sighed. "Thirteen too many. I'm sure you'll want to help once your injuries are healed. For now... rest and recover."

Evelyne nodded in reply. As if on cue, fatigue overwhelmed her—sinking her into the black void of slumber.

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Bjorn returned shortly after the last of the brigand corpses were dumped into a pit far outside the town's borders. His group had scoured the surrounding region for the remaining raiders but found none. Upon their return, Bjorn wasted no time in assisting the cleanup efforts and repairs.

Engin tasked him to help coordinate the efforts, managing the workload to get things back to normal. There was much to do.

Alas, nothing could be done for Ebonheim's destroyed cottage. Its charred ruins remained in place—a stark reminder of the enemy's invasion and of what could've happened.

Stolen story; please report.

The rest of the town had escaped relatively unscathed. The wards and enchantments Evelyne and Orin's mages had installed proved their worth—they had done their job. They'd saved lives. But even with that small consolation, no one celebrated their victory—only a sobering silence occupied their thoughts.

Engin let out a drawn-out sigh and looked heavenward towards the dreary grey clouds. "This... isn't easy at all." His voice carried to where Bjorn stood beside him. "I hope we won't have to go through something like this again." Engin rubbed the stubble along his chin—his brows creasing with worry.

"Aye," Bjorn agreed. "Once should be enough." He pursed his lips into a grim line. "We managed well enough this time around. But this attack makes me think of what's to come."

He patted Engin upon the shoulder. "But don't dwell too deeply upon it, my friend. Let's focus on what needs doing. We can mull over this after everything's squared away."

"You're right," Engin acquiesced. He flashed Bjorn a lopsided smile. "Back to it, then?"

"Back to it," Bjorn echoed.

They spent the remainder of the morning and afternoon directing and overseeing the repairs. After all was said and done—dusk approaching—Bjorn reported back to Engin to give his final tally.

"All told, the damage ain't as bad as I initially expected," Bjorn summed up his assessment. "Thanks to our preparations and everyone pulling together... we made it through."

"A welcome relief," Engin remarked. "Though it pains me to know that Ebonheim would be returning home to a somber scene..."

Kelzryn approached from behind them. "I will apologize to her for my mistake," he declared—his words taking Bjorn by surprise. "My error led to her home's destruction. I will not rest until I make amends."

Engin shook his head. "That won't be necessary. She'll be surprised and annoyed, but she won't hold a grudge. I meant that Ebonheim would be saddened by the deaths we couldn't prevent."

"It is regrettable," Kelzryn stated. "But you did well considering the circumstances. To only lose so few speaks to the bravery and skill your people possess. It should have a negligible impact on her...divine essence...and development."

Bjorn and Engin exchanged a glance. Despite Kelzryn's attempts to comfort them, neither found his words to be very convincing.

"Kelzryn," Bjorn started. "It's not about whether we lose one or five...or thirty. No matter the number, there's always someone left behind to grieve and mourn." He folded his arms and regarded the dragon with a measured gaze. "Ebonheim will be upset because those who fell were cherished by her. Your attempt at comforting us aside, Ebonheim would still mourn."

Kelzryn's mouth pressed into a thin line. "I... see." His expression turned thoughtful—as if mulling over the words. "Your meaning is clear. I will reflect on this."

Engin nodded. "In which case, allow me to say this... thank you. Evelyne also thanks you. And I'm sure the others would as well."

Kelzryn accepted the praise with an acknowledging nod. He departed shortly thereafter, heading for Ebonheim's shrine.

Bjorn watched him go before turning to Engin. "She'll be mourning for a while," he said with a sigh. "And probably will blame herself for not being here when the attack happened. But that's how she is. We can only show her we're here for her. That's all we can do."

"Agreed," Engin replied. "Gods aren't omniscient—or at least I don't believe they are. She didn't have forewarning of this attack. Though she would likely try to make sense of why this happened, I'd venture to guess even she may not know."

"No point in guessing what she'd be thinking," Bjorn surmised. "Let's just focus on taking care of what needs doing. There's not much else we can do at the moment."

Engin clapped Bjorn upon the back. "Right you are. Right you are..." He strode off, calling out orders as he went.

Bjorn chuckled at Engin's departure. Even after the elder man had vanished from sight, Bjorn remained where he was—reflecting on all that had transpired. As he ruminated on Engin's words and their previous conversation with Kelzryn—Bjorn gazed heavenward once more.

He wondered how long it would take until Ebonheim could overcome such sadness? Days? Weeks? Months? With the way things were, Bjorn wagered it might take a little longer than usual. Not to mention Ebonheim's innate nature and personality as well...

All they could do for now... was wait and see.

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Xellos gazed over the horizon at the town—a sliver of gold on the fringes of dusk's final light. From his perch atop the distant hill, he witnessed the residents working to restore order. His lip curled in disdain. To think that his plan had failed... he mulled over the results—his mind drifting back to the battle's outcome.

He severely underestimated the town's defenses and combat prowess. They weren't supposed to withstand the brigands' assault. The town should have crumbled—and he, having conveniently stepped in to defeat the raiders—should have been welcomed with open arms by its grateful denizens. From there... he would have earned their trust and lulled them into complacency.

It should have been an easy transition to power and worship. He would have finally had his own divine domain.

But in the end—the result was an utter rout. Every single one of the brigands he manipulated had been killed.

Worse still...a damned ancient dragon had made an appearance. An abysmal development. Xellos was not yet prepared to confront an elder being of that magnitude. Why was a dragon present in this out-of-the-way town?

Xellos mulled over the possibilities but couldn't find an answer. The closest guess he came to was that perhaps the dragon had a lair near this settlement and merely arrived out of curiosity or coincidence. Either way...

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. Such an upsetting outcome. What was I to do now?

If he wished to establish a foothold in this realm—he needed believers to pool quintessence and fuel his rise through the divine hierarchy. Slaying other entities and absorbing their quintessence had carried him to the Zenith stage of being a Lesser God. But without believers to bolster his growth, he would stagnate—eventually devolving after an unspecified amount of time.

All gods faced such a conundrum—even more so now that no one had been able to ascend since a decade ago. Something was blocking the flow of Quintessence. Many gods had tried to unravel the mystery...and failed. No god knew the reason why. And most of all, no god knew how to solve such an issue.

For a vagrant god like him, that was problematic. Without worshipers and belief to sustain him—Xellos would eventually fall into oblivion. There was nothing more terrifying for a god than ceasing to exist.

What could he do...?

His eyes shimmered as he stared at the town, and what he saw prompted him to stand upright.

A divine aura blanketed the town and surrounding region—this settlement had already been claimed! Someone—one of those accursed city gods—had managed to take root here first! He'd been too late! All the work he had put into this location had been for naught!

Who was their patron deity?!