Einntyr plopped down beside his grandmother's grave, sending a shower of leaves raining down from the ancient tree above. Tiny gloubugs swirled in the kindling light, their bodies shimmering like golden embers around him. "Well, Gran," his voice caught in his throat. "Guess who finally found a path?" He forced a grin, but the words felt like stones in his mouth.

"Fingers fumbled through his satchel. "Ah-ha!" A triumphant whoop echoed under the old tree as he withdrew a lagring flowing with blue energy. "Remember these, Gran? Your gift... made me channel energies!" His grin widened. "Well, I'm finally gonna put 'em to good use. Not just for Eard, but for everyone, see?"

He looked down and saw his worn Eardian trinket on the ground. It must have fallen from his satchel, he realized. He shoved the trinket under a loose clump of dirt, each push of his fingers harder than the last. His eyelids stung.

A shadow fell over the tombstone. He frowned, rubbing at his forehead. But with a shake of his head, he thrust the lagring towards the tombstone. Water swirled, a miniature storm washing away dirt and faded leaves, revealing the clean stone beneath.

Standing was hard. Each step towards the cottage felt like dragging an anchor. But his feet stayed rooted beneath the old tree. He swallowed, the air catching in his throat.

Turning for a brief look, the grave was lit by a shaft of light that pierced the branches. Gloubugs danced in the golden beam, their light swirling like Gran’s cinnamon buns, the ones she used to bake every wintryshine season. The smell of woodsmoke from a nearby hearth, a scent that always reminded him of Gran’s warm kitchen.

He reached for the grave, his fingers tracing the cracks. "Don't worry, Gran," he pressed his finger on the rough surface. "I won't let you down." Then let his hand fall. "Well, Gran, no point in waiting around, is there?" He forced a grin. "Destiny's singing my name, and it'd be rude to keep her waiting…or maybe just a coward's way of not saying goodbye."

The pack groaned with each step, a familiar tune of protest against his overpacking. He adjusted the straps, a grunt escaping as he pushed onward along the shoreline. Sand shifted beneath his boots, a steady rhythm urging him to pick up the pace.

Further down, flashes of color caught his eye. Villagers, their elemenium wands catching the kindling light, gathered stones from the tideline. As he watched them work, he felt a familiar pang. Like a bird grounded, watching its flock soar through the skies.

Each flick of their wands sent shimmering energies dancing in the air—energy he couldn't emit. He puffed out his chest, picturing himself wielding an elemenium weapon alongside his brothers, a surge of power answering his call. He tightened his grip on his pack straps, hoisting the weight higher onto his shoulders. "Focus, Einntyr, focus. Destiny awaits, and you're already fashionably late!"

A streak of red blazed against the white sand, sprinting along the same path. Red curls bounced, kicking up sand devils in their wake.

"Hey Fyrvren!" He threw his voice over the rhythmic waves, a smile splitting his face before he even knew if it was truly her.

The figure spun, a bright grin confirming his hope. "Einntyr! I thought you’d left already! Thank Solus!" Her laughter was like a wave rolling in, bright and refreshing. "What’s with the mountain of a pack?"

He chuckled, adjusting the straps of the pack. "Ah, this? Just a few essentials for the journey." He patted the bulging sides. "You know, a hammock for those lazy wanlights, and maybe a spare catapult or two." He winked. "And of course two extra compasses. Can't be too prepared, right?”

"Right, right," Fyrvren said, rolling her eyes. She pulled out two lagrings, their green energy swirling. "Here, your lagrings. Supercharged with air energy, just like you asked."

He carefully took the lagrings. The energy thrummed against his palms, making them tingle. "Thank you Fyrvren, you're the best!"

The village entrance was crowded. Faces he'd known since childhood – every one of them, it seemed! - stared back at him as he approached. "Whoa! Everyone's here! Who knew this hero had such a following?"

Fyrvren snorted, her laughter a burst of air beside his ear. "Don't get a big head, Einntyr."

"WHOA THERE… YOU LOT!" he bellowed, cupping his hands around his mouth. His pack, threatening to topple him over, bounced with each step as he rounded the bend. Sweat trickled down his forehead, mingling with the sand.

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He met the gaze of the villagers, their faces drawn and tight-lipped. A child clung to its mother's skirt, its face screwed up in a silent cry. But as his grin widened, he saw a flicker of response. A chuckle escaped a young man near the front, and then another, and another, until a wave of laughter spread through the crowd. The worried frowns softened, replaced by hesitant smiles.

Hirua snorted, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Just what the Empire needs, another boulder-beast."

He stumbled into the village entrance, sweat stinging his eyes. "Just... in the nick... of time... eh?" He winked, panting. "Wouldn't want to start... the whole saving-the-world thing without... well... me, right?"

The sand swallowed him whole as his legs gave way, the pack thundering onto the ground with a muffled thud. "Oof! Someone tell provisions they don't need to fight back..." He chuckled, pushing himself to his feet. "Hey, no time to waste! This boulder-beast of a bag won't lift itself!"

Hirua scoffed, “We might've made better time without your…” gestures to the pack “...unforeseen logistical delays, my slowpoke friend.”

A full-blown guffaw erupted from him, head thrown back. A hearty slap landed on Hirua's back. "And deprive the Empire of my unmatched heroism? Where's the fun in that?" He winked. "Besides, this boulder-beast may be slow, but he's what'll bring 'em down when the storm comes!"

He slapped Hirua's back once more, the force of it nearly sending his brother tumbling. He blinked, surprise widening his eyes. "Wait! You're coming along too, Hirua?" he smiled and squeezed Hirua's shoulder. "That's great! We'll face this together!"

The crowd parted, revealing Pythair, his back stooped like an old tree. The air went still, and he felt a chill despite the waxing light.

"My sons," the elder’s voice rumbled. Every word sounded heavy, like stones dropping one by one. "This journey is Craiddhol's hope."

His grin faded. He gripped the straps of his pack, feeling a strange mix of excitement and fear bubbling in his gut. He caught Deynfif's eye, then Hirua's – both their faces grim, jaws set.

“A chance to win back what's been taken, bring back peace, and heal the wounds." Pythair’s voice wavered. The elder gripped his shoulder, then Hirua’s and Deynfif’s, a tremor running through the elder's fingers. "Remember the values that shaped you. Solus' radiant heart burns within – let it guide you through the darkest shadows."

Pythair stepped back, leaving him feeling strangely cold. Deynfif’s mother, Moyra, rushed forward, clutching Deynfif tight. Her face was buried in his shoulder, her whole body shaking.

She fastened colorful Eardian Bracelets on his and his brothers’ wrists. "These for protection, my champions," her voice, usually soft as a summer breeze, was tight, like a drawn bowstring. "Though my embrace can't follow, the Light guides you. Promise me..." she choked, "...your hearts will stay true! Remember – like the colors woven into these stones, you're different, yet bound together by Eard's heart."

Deynfif hugged his mother so tightly. Fyrvren was right behind her, a blur of red hair and laughing as she squeezed into the hug.

He could feel the warmth radiating off the three of them. Deynfif, all serious and focused. Hirua, grumpy but deft. And him? Well, he was the glue – the one who kept things from falling apart. Right?

"The Empire isn't going to conquer itself!" Zevas' voice boomed, cracking like thunder. He felt Deynfif stiffen beside him, breaking the hug with his sister and mother. A baby's wail pierced the air, thin and sharp. The giant mercenary captain crouched, looming over the babe, twisted his face, lips pulling back, eyebrows shooting up. "BOING!"

The crowd, tense a moment ago, melted into laughter. Even the baby's cries softened, bubbling up into gurgles.

Zevas spun around, one meaty hand waving them forward. "For Solus' sake, let's move before the shroudlight! KHAHAHA-KHAHAHA!"

“From Kreginnia's soil we rise…” a villager exclaimed.

“To Kreginnia's soil we fall…” another boomed.

They extended their right arm straight toward the Solus’ Tower, as if grasping for the Light from its tip. They then brought their clenched fists down, thumping their chest over their hearts. The three shouted together. “...But Kreginnia will never die!”

He hefted his pack, its weight a comforting reminder of all the 'essentials' he'd crammed in. The villagers' faces, a range of emotions, stuck with him. All those hopes, all those worries... He winked at Hirua with a grin. "Ready to make 'em proud, brothers?" Deynfif, all serious as always, just nodded, but he caught a glint in his brother’s emerald eye.

They fell into step behind Zevas, the path ahead as daunting as a giant crack that could swallow a mountain whole. He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through his frame. "Just a little bump in the road, lads! We'll be like one of Gran's stews – all different bits, but tastier together. Time to show 'em what happens when you mix a pinch of crazy, a dash of brains, and a whole lotta heart!"

He nudged Hirua, his pack letting out a “FWUMP!” as it threatened to drag him to the ground. "See? Told you a little delay wouldn't hurt."