The muckledeor's scent, a mix of musk and decay, pricked at Deynfif's nostrils. Pungent, but not entirely unpleasant, a reminder of the task at hand. Each corner of the litter trembled slightly as his earth wand hummed, keeping the massive beast aloft. Its bulk, though lifeless, continued to sway with each step his brothers took. Hirua and Einntyr grunted under the strain, muscles taut as they pulled the uneven load forward. Ahead, the dappled light – a mosaic of shifting triangles and quadrilaterals – cast confusing shadows in the dense trees.

The forest floor, damp and yielding beneath his boots, offered no resistance as he followed. A tangle of roots and slick moss caught Einntyr's foot, a sharp "Oof!" and the thrash of branches marking his stumble.

"Seems like we've taken a wrong turn, brothers." Einntyr’s words felt hollow, the jovial tone strained.

Hirua paused, chest heaving as if he were drawing the very forest into his lungs. "Of course," he rasped, "what else would you expect after losing the compass… huh?”

Einntyr shot a sideways glance at Hirua, eyes bouncing off his brother’s glare. "Lost it?" His voice pitched high, a chirping bird mimicking a predator. "Nah, more like I... entrusted it to a secret nook the forest holds close to its heart, you see?"

A gravelly laugh tumbled from Hirua's throat. His brother shook his head, a lock of dark blue hair falling across his forehead as the mirth faded.

Einntyr, even now, couldn't seem to wipe the grin from his face. The monolithic muckledeor shifted slightly as a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Not a mocking sound, but one a hunter might make before springing a carefully laid trap. "Blame achieves little," his eyebrow twitched for a fleeting moment. "Perhaps your 'secret nook' sense, dear brother... could guide us out of this labyrinth?" He lifted his chin, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Hahaha!” Einntyr's laughter erupted, a force of nature against the forest's quiet. His brother stumbled, one foot catching on a rock. Bushes thrashed as unseen creatures bolted, startled from their hiding spots. A furry beagwog, perched on a nearby branch, twitched its tail, surprised by the sudden noise.

Hirua jabbed a finger towards the leafy ceiling, a wry twist to his lips. "Fine, fine, scale those darn branches, Deynfif. See if you can sniff out Solus' Tower from up there for directions.”

Einntyr's hand landed on Hirua's shoulder with a hearty thud. “Spot on, brother! Knew you'd weave a cunning plan through this mess!"

Hirua shoved a thick branch aside, his expression hardening. "Light dribbles filtering through those leaves, useless for navigating this overgrown snarl of a forest.”

Clever, Hirua. It took a moment to remember his brother's sharp mind often hid behind a gruff facade. He strained against the stress, exhaling a sharp hiss. With a flick of his wand, the earth energy faded, and the muckledeor's litter settled on the forest floor. He scanned the terrain, landing on a boulder, its surface cracked and jagged, like the land's own wounds.

Energy pulsed through his wand, the boulder rising with a low hum, like the buzz of a giant insect. He stepped on, ascending smoothly. A soft rustle, then a muffled snap, and he burst through the leafy canopy.

The sudden brightness of Solus' Light forced a momentary wince. He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted. He took a sharp breath, momentarily stunned by the vastness before him.

He looked down at Craiddhol, the earth laid bare beneath him, a landscape sculpted from verdant woods and water gleaming in angular basins. His eyes were drawn north, to where the Tower of Solus seemed to pierce the sky, an obsidian spear encircled by jagged peaks. The Tower's black metal surface reflected the light shining from its peak, a beacon that bathed the entire land in its radiance.

To his left, the village of Eard, its colorful shoreline cut a sharp line against the deep blue of the sea. The wind shifted, carrying the scent of damp earth and leaves. His cheeks lifted as a soft chuckle escaped his lips. Past Eard, the forest stretched on, a thick cloak over the rolling hills. The rivers, their curves a study in fluid geometry, traced shining arcs across the green expanse. He knew the angles of those curves, the way they mirrored the branching of the trees, the erosion of the soil. This was home – familiar, predictable, waiting.

He reached out, fingers traced the rough bark of an old tree, its surface a network of knots and lines. Solid. Enduring. For a moment, the tightness in his chest eased. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. This peace, this order – it needed to be protected. "This," eyes on the intricate geometry of the branches, "must be preserved." He closed his eyes and drew a breath, the air cool and sharp in his lungs.

"Did you see it?!" The peaceful scene shattered with a shout from below. Hirua's voice, sharp and urgent, cut through his thoughts.

His eyes snapped open. The canopy, moments ago a study in stillness, writhed with a sudden gust of wind. "Yes," his voice clipped.

He started to descend, but a new threat seized the air. Acrid smoke, thick and choking, filled his lungs. He froze mid-descent, muscles tensed. His eyes scanned the horizon, pinpointing the source. A plume of gray stained the eastern sky. There, in the distance, charred remnants, skeletal against the landscape. Not flames, but the jagged geometry of destruction, the brutal angles of collapse. His mind recoiled. With a jerk of his hand, he plunged down through the undergrowth.

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Bile rose in his throat as he stumbled to the ground. Around him, the world seemed to tilt, the smoldering ruins mirroring the turmoil inside him. In his mind, the peaceful image of Craiddhol shattered – homes ablaze, faces twisted in terror. This was a violation of everything Craiddhol represented. Yet through the nausea, he felt his grip tighten on his earth wand, the rough texture of the carved elemenium grounding him against the throbbing ache in his shoulder. His jaw tightened, a muscle flexing in his temple as his eyes narrowed with determination.

Einntyr's brow furrowed, his gaze intent. "Something's brewing, brother?"

He swallowed, the words sticking in his throat. "A village," he forced out, the taste of smoke acrid on his tongue. "Burning."

"Where?" Einntyr tightened the bandage in his fist. "Lead the way. Every moment counts!"

He pushed through the undergrowth, each step forward a jarring break from the calm he usually cultivated within. Words snagged in his throat, useless against the tide of chaos rising around him. They emerged from the trees, lungs burning, the familiar cool of the forest shade replaced by a wave of warmth that carried the acrid scent of ash. The rustle of leaves faded, leaving a silence as heavy as the ash that now clouded the air.

His eyes stung, gritting against the smoke that carried the harsh sting of burnt wood and something worse, something chillingly unfamiliar. The air hung heavy, still faintly warm, a lingering ghost of the inferno that had swept through. Each step through the swirling ash dragged him deeper into a landscape stripped bare, devoid of the order and logic he held dear.

He raised a hand to his face, briefly pressing his fingers against the plaid fabric of his scarf. His eyes traced the jagged lines of splintered wood and crumbled stone, the charred skeletons of homes. A scrap of blue cloth, vibrant against the gray ash, snagged his attention. The broken furniture, the scattered tools – each piece spoke of lives abruptly halted, of order irrevocably shattered.

He bent down, fingers tracing the blistered pattern on the child's dress. Beside him, Einntyr murmured, "What kind of soul… destroys like this?" His voice was hoarse, strained.

Hirua kicked at a pile of debris, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The smoldering timber rolled back, a scorched arm reaching from the wreckage. "What kind of heart," Hirua's voice cracked, barely a whisper, "does it take to do this?"

He knelt, his fingers tracing the outline of a handprint etched in the ash-coated ground. The warmth of the earth, usually a source of comfort, now throbbed with the aftershocks of devastation. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of the warm, powdery ash beneath his fingers. He could almost see it – the village as it should be: the precise lines of the houses, the carefully stacked firewood, the patterns woven into the children's clothing. All gone, replaced by a chaotic jumble of broken shapes and burnt fragments. What kind of mind, he wondered, saw such destruction as a solution, such chaos as an answer?

Earlier, in the forest, the world had seemed to make sense. The trees, the rivers, even the movement of the clouds – they all followed predictable patterns. But this… this was a discordant note, a jarring disruption in the harmony he so desperately sought. How could such chaos exist in a world that, in his mind, was meant to be governed by order and reason?

They stopped at the square, where the wind whistled through shattered stalls and scorched banners hung limply from charred posts. He stood as still as a statue, his fists clenched tight. A stray breeze stirred the ash at his feet, mimicking swirling black snow. His gaze traced the ghostly outlines of homes turned to rubble. A hollow echo escaped his lips – not a sigh, not a gasp – just the sound of breath leaving his body. "A tranquil haven..." his voice flat, "now choked by the ashes of its own peace."

Hirua spat on the ground, clutching a piece of metal. "Empire scum," he snarled, flinging the metal to the ground - the emblem of the Miers Empire. "They’ll pay for this.”

Einntyr went rigid, his breath hitching in his chest.

The fistful of ash-laden earth crumbled under the pressure of his tightening grip, the coarse grains biting into his skin. He felt the strain in his hand, a tremor running up his arm. "We can’t remain idle. This carnage..." he swallowed, a muscle jumping in his throat, "...it must be stopped.” He glanced in the direction of Eard, his chest tightening.

"But how?" Einntyr whispered, his voice barely audible.

Hirua scoffed. "Doesn't mean we can't fight back. Eard's our home, and we won't let anyone plunder it from our grasp."

“Defend it?” Einntyr’s voice was a rasp. “We’re just villagers.”

His shoulders sagged, a silent echo of the collapsed beams and fallen stones around him. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sights and smells of destruction, but the burnt scent of smoke clung to him like a shroud. This was a challenge to the very core of his being. If order was to be restored, if peace was to be salvaged, then the responsibility fell upon him. He was the one who understood the intricate patterns of the world, the one who could see the underlying order of both creation and destruction. He had to act.

He straightened, squared his shoulders, jaw clenched. "Then we rise to the challenge," his voice firm despite the tremor that ran through him. "We may be villagers, but we won't stand by and watch our home threatened. We become protectors of Eard."

The wind's keen edge cut through the silence. Smoke spiraled upwards, a jagged column against the otherwise clear sky. His stomach clenched, a hard knot pulling tight beneath his ribs.

He met Hirua's gaze, the hard set of his brother's jaw a mirror of his own resolve. Einntyr’s eyes, usually bright with mirth, were now dull and shadowed, fixed on the smoldering ruins. A steely resolve tightened his chest. No words needed to pass between them – the charred village was oath enough.

Then, his voice broke the quiet, clear and sharp...

Starting now.