Thessaly’s eyes opened slowly, the sharp jolt of pain in her abdomen dragging her into consciousness. She found herself cradled in Aldric’s arms as he moved swiftly through the settlement. Every step sent a faint throb through her body, but his grip was steady and strong, as though he wouldn’t let anything harm her further.

The sounds of chaos reverberated in the distance--screams, crashes, and the unmistakable clash of steel. She tried to speak, to ask him what was happening, but the effort sent a wave of pain through her body, forcing her to wince.

“Save your strength, Holy Sister,” Aldric said, glancing down at her. He tried to offer a reassuring smile, but something about it felt off--strained, almost hollow. “We’ll need you again soon.”

Behind them, a young girl followed closely, her auburn hair bouncing with every hurried step. Her wide, dark eyes darted between the surrounding shadows and the small house at the end of the path. She seemed tense, gripping her hands tightly against her chest, her movements jittery.

The girl pointed toward the door of the small house. Without hesitation, Aldric kicked it open and carried Thessaly inside. The interior was simple but cozy, with a modest kitchen to one side and a single shared bedroom straight ahead. The air smelled faintly of ash and herbs.

Aldric laid her carefully on the bed, adjusting the pillows behind her to make her as comfortable as possible. Her robes were stained with blood, the bandages around her abdomen showing faint patches of red where the wound had bled through.

Thessaly’s hand instinctively moved to her abdomen, brushing over the cloth. “It really happened…” she muttered to herself, her voice weak. She tried whispering a prayer to summon healing light, but the cold silence that followed filled her chest with unease.

“She’ll need rest,” Aldric said, turning to the young girl. “Stay here and keep the door barred. Don’t open it unless you’re sure it is one of us.”

The girl nodded nervously, her hands trembling at her sides. Her eyes darted toward Thessaly, then back to the door. Aldric hesitated for a moment, then turned and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. The girl slid a heavy wooden bar into place, securing it before stepping back.

For a moment, the room was silent. Thessaly studied the girl, noticing her pale face and the way her shoulders trembled. She was young, likely no older than fifteen or sixteen, her auburn hair tied back in a loose braid. Her dark eyes were brimming with fear.

“Come here,” Thessaly said softly, her voice weak but gentle. She patted the edge of the bed. “Sit with me.”

The girl hesitated but eventually shuffled over, sitting stiffly at the edge of the mattress. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her dress, and her gaze flicked toward the door as though expecting it to burst open at any moment.

“What’s your name?” Thessaly asked, keeping her tone calm and soothing.

“Annelise,” the girl replied quietly.

“Annelise,” Thessaly repeated, offering a faint smile. “You’re doing very well. Thank you for helping Aldric get me here.”

Annelise’s lips quivered. “I… I didn’t do anything. I… I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s alright,” Thessaly said softly. “You’re here, and that’s enough.” She hesitated, watching the girl’s trembling hands. “What’s happening out there, Annelise? Can you tell me?”

Annelise swallowed hard. “It’s… monsters. A lot of them. They came out of the forest--skeletons and… other horrible things.” Her voice wavered. “They’re everywhere. They’ve been attacking all night.”

Thessaly’s brow furrowed. “Skeletons…?” She tried to sit up but winced, the pain in her abdomen holding her back. “And the others--the half-elf, and the kid--are they fighting?”

Annelise nodded quickly. “Ms.Sylwen and the boy are helping, but… but there are so many. Aldric brought you here because it wasn’t safe. People…” She trailed off, her voice catching. “A lot of people have been hurt.”

The words hit Thessaly like a blow. “I see…” she said, her voice trailing off. Her mind raced, trying to process the situation. She had fought monsters before, but this? The scale, the coordination--it didn’t make sense, not for these types of creatures.

Annelise’s hands clenched in her lap. “The guards… they were protecting us, but there are so many of them…” She sniffled, her voice breaking.

Thessaly reached out, placing a hand on the girl’s trembling ones. “Annelise, listen to me,” she said firmly but kindly. “You’ve done well. Just stay with me, alright? We’ll get through this.”

Annelise nodded weakly, her tears spilling over as she clung to Thessaly’s hand. The cleric’s mind churned with questions, but for now, she focused on calming the frightened girl.

The cold air bit into Thorne’s face as he stumbled backward, his staff trembling in his hands. The skeletal monsters pressed closer, their jagged forms outlined by the dimming light of the setting sun. The fiery hues of dusk painted the sky in streaks of orange and red, casting long shadows across the battlefield. Each shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally, merging with the darkness that crept closer from the forest’s edge.

The clash of steel and the desperate cries of villagers filled the air, a chaotic symphony of survival.

“Hold the line!” Aldric bellowed, his voice a lifeline in the chaos. Blood seeped slightly from a gash on his side, his presence an anchor amidst the storm.

Panic clawed at Thorne’s chest as he tightened his grip on the staff, its faint warmth a tenuous connection to the power coursing within him. The skeletal monsters pressed forward, their jagged forms illuminated by the dim, fading light.

He drew a shaky breath, raising his staff. “Ignis Flammae,” he whispered, his voice trembling. A small ember flickered at the staff’s tip, wavering as though uncertain. Thorne focused harder, his mind reaching for the magical threads that lay just beyond his grasp.

The ember expanded into a steady flame. “Embrace and cleanse,” he murmured, completing the spell. With a crackling roar, the flame surged outward in a sweeping arc. The fire engulfed a cluster of skeletons, their bones glowing red-hot before crumbling to ash.

But the effort left him shaking. Each cast was like drawing water from a nearly dry well, the strain evident in the way his body trembled. The warmth of the magic faded quickly, leaving only the chill of the night and the oppressive presence of the horde.

A wave of weakness swept over him, his legs trembling as if they could no longer bear his weight. His grip on the staff faltered, and a dull ache bloomed behind his eyes, clouding his thoughts. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from his mind, but it clung stubbornly, growing thicker with each spell he cast.

Gritting his teeth, Thorne reached into the small pouch strapped to his belt and pulled out a vial of shimmering blue liquid. The potion sloshed inside, its faint glow a deceptive promise of relief.

He grimaced, the memory of its vile taste already clawing at the back of his throat. “I hate these,” he muttered under his breath, uncorking the vial with a sharp twist. Without giving himself time to hesitate, he tilted his head back and drank it in one go.

The potion burned as it slid down his throat, its bitter, metallic tang making his stomach churn. For a moment, he thought he might retch, but then warmth spread through his chest, chasing away the fog in his mind and rekindling the flame of his focus. The ache behind his eyes dulled, replaced by a sharp clarity he hadn’t felt in hours.

Sylwen’s voice broke through his momentary disgust. “Thorne! Keep your focus!” Her bow sang as she released another arrow, her movements steady despite her exhaustion.

Thorne nodded quickly, shaking off the lingering taste as he gripped his staff. The renewed strength coursing through him steadied his stance. He raised the staff, whispering, “Ignis Orbis.” A sphere of fire erupted at its tip, glowing brighter than before, fueled by his reinvigorated spirit. It spun wildly before launching toward a cluster of skeletal beasts, detonating with a fiery roar.

The creatures recoiled under the force of the explosion, but they pressed forward undeterred. Thorne wiped the sweat from his brow, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as the potion’s effects settled into his veins. Though his thoughts cleared, his body still felt sluggish, the weight of exhaustion clawing at his limbs. The acrid aftertaste of the mana potion lingered, bitter and unyielding.

“There’s got to be a better way than this,” he thought grimly, gripping his staff tightly as he scanned the battlefield.

The skeletal beasts surged again, their jagged claws glinting in the dim firelight. Some crawled on all fours, their grotesque maws snapping. Others were larger, their hulking frames moving with unnerving speed. Each step they took echoed like thunder, shaking the earth beneath his feet.

A scream tore through the chaos, sharp and gut-wrenching. Thorne turned, his heart lurching as he spotted a guard pinned beneath one of the larger skeletons. The man struggled, his shield barely holding back the beast’s weight as its claws scraped against the metal with deafening screeches.

Thorne’s mind raced. He lifted his staff, but his arms trembled under its weight. The fog that had receded moments ago threatened to creep back, his renewed clarity teetering on the edge of collapse.

“You have to,” he whispered to himself.

He steadied his breath, the words of the spell forming on his lips. “Ignis Ferus,” he whispered hoarsely. A surge of heat shot through him, igniting the staff with wild, erratic flames. The fire coiled and twisted like a living thing, and with a desperate thrust, he sent it hurtling toward the creature.

The firestorm engulfed the monster, reducing it to charred fragments. The guard scrambled away, his shield falling with a clang as he stared at Thorne with wide-eyed relief.

“Good work, kid!” the blacksmith’s gruff voice called, his hammer crashing down on another skeleton’s head, shattering it like brittle glass.

Thorne didn’t have time to respond. Another group of skeletal hounds surged toward him, their elongated bodies moving unnaturally fast. His pulse quickened, his grip on the staff tightening.

“Thorne, left!” Sylwen’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding.

He pivoted instinctively, barely avoiding the jagged claws of a beast as it lunged. The creature’s momentum carried it past him, and he seized the opportunity. His staff crackled with power as he whispered, “Infernum Spirae.” A swirling column of fire erupted from the ground, consuming the creature and two of its companions in a single, roaring inferno.

The heat singed his skin, but the beasts fell back, their charred remains crumbling into ash. Thorne stumbled, his knees buckling. His vision blurred for a moment, and he clutched his staff for support.

“Thorne!” Sylwen was beside him in an instant, her bow still drawn. Her green eyes flicked to his pale face, her concern visible even in the chaos. “You’re pushing too hard. Pace yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Thorne said through gritted teeth, forcing himself to stand straighter. The truth was, he wasn’t fine. Every spell left him feeling like a thread unraveling, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

As he steadied his breath, a flicker of a memory surfaced, warming the edges of his fraying resolve. He saw her—the mage who had first shown him the beauty of magic. Her bluish hair shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the guildhall windows. Her bright smile had been a beacon of encouragement to him as a young boy who had barely understood the power he held.

“Elemental magic isn’t just destruction, Thorne,” she had said, kneeling beside him as he struggled with his first incantation. Her voice had been calm, patient. “It’s a force of will, a manifestation of your spirit. Let it flow with your intent, not against it.”

She had placed her hand over his trembling one, guiding him as a small flame danced to life between his fingers. “See? Not so scary when you trust yourself.”

Thorne clenched his jaw, her words echoing in his mind. Trust yourself. She had always believed in him, even when he doubted himself. He couldn’t let her down now—not after all the years he had spent refining the magic she had taught him.

He exhaled slowly, the fog in his mind receding just enough to let clarity take hold. Gritting his teeth, he whispered the incantation, “Infernum Spirae.” His staff flared to life, the fire spiraling upward before lashing out at the advancing creatures. The flame consumed two skeletons in its fiery embrace, their twisted forms crumbling into ash.

The night stretched on, the battlefield bathed in a mix of flickering torchlight and the eerie glow of magical fire. Hours seemed to blur together as the defenders fought in a grim rhythm, their movements growing slower with every surge of undead. The creatures attacked in waves, each one testing the limits of their endurance.

Thorne’s arms ached, his grip on his staff slick with sweat despite the chill in the air. His robes clung to his back, damp and heavy, as though they bore the weight of the night itself. Around him, the defenders held their ground with grim determination.

Sylwen moved through the chaos like a shadow, her arrows flying with unerring precision. Blood streaked her hands, and her breaths had grown shallower with each volley, but she showed no signs of slowing. Aldric, his armor streaked with grime and blood, remained at the front, his warhammer rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The guards rallied around him, their shields locking and swords striking in unison.

Thorne had long lost count of the spells he had cast. Each incantation left him feeling more drained, his thoughts growing sluggish. The warmth of the fire he summoned no longer felt reassuring—it burned in his mind, an insistent pull on his dwindling strength.

The Shattered Moon hung low on the horizon, its fragmented glow casting uneven light across the battlefield. It was one of three celestial bodies that alternated in the night sky each week, but its presence tonight felt particularly foreboding. The jagged outlines of its broken surface refracted the pale light, throwing strange, shifting shadows across the village.

As the hours wore on, the moon sank lower, its glow fading. The first faint hues of dawn began to creep into the eastern sky. The shadows lengthened, and Thorne’s heart raced as the screeching sound ripped through the night, as sharp and jarring as a blade drawn across stone.

His heart sank when the hooded creature stepped forward, its grotesque silhouette illuminated by the dim light. The elongated arms swung with unnatural grace, each clawed hand scraping the ground, leaving faint, jagged marks in its wake. The sound it emitted—a screeching, bone-chilling wail—stabbed into Thorne’s mind, sending shivers down his spine. He froze, the weight of fear coiling around his chest like a vice.

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"Focus," he told himself, but the word felt hollow.

The creature’s presence demanded attention. Even the relentless undead paused for a brief moment as if acknowledging its presence. Thorne’s pulse quickened, his mind racing to piece together a plan, but every option felt insufficient. He tightened his grip on his staff, the smooth wood now slick with sweat.

“Thorne,” Sylwen’s voice cut through the haze, grounding him. She stepped closer, her bow raised, her green eyes sharp and unwavering despite the blood streaking her fingers. “We need you.”

The simplicity of her words struck him. She didn’t demand; she trusted. He swallowed hard, nodding as determination ignited in him. He whispered the incantation, “Cinder Veil,” and flames spiraled from his staff, forming a barrier of flickering fire that surged toward the hooded monster.

The flames licked its form, and for a fleeting moment, Thorne dared to hope. But then, it stepped through the fire as if the heat were no more than a warm breeze. The screeching intensified, reverberating in his chest, filling him with an almost primal dread.

“Damn it,” Thorne hissed under his breath. He felt the heat of Sylwen’s presence beside him as she loosed three arrows in rapid succession. Each found its mark—one in the shoulder, one in the leg, and one embedded deep into its chest. The monster staggered but remained upright, its elongated arms twitching as though mocking their efforts.

The monster moved with a speed that defied its grotesque form, its long arms sweeping through the air in arcs of deadly precision. Sylwen’s arrows flew toward it, each one aimed to cripple or at least slow it down. But the creature’s movements were unnaturally fluid, its hooded form weaving and twisting as if the projectiles were no more than an annoyance. Every missed arrow sent a pang of frustration through Thorne, who watched helplessly as the beast closed in.

The screeching rose again, grating and relentless, as the monster lunged toward Thorne. Its claws gleamed faintly in the fractured light of the moon, a terrifying blur aimed directly at him.

Fear rooted him to the ground, his staff clutched uselessly in his hands.

Time seemed to slow. Sylwen shouted something—a warning, perhaps—but the words were lost in the roaring chaos of the battlefield. The monster’s claw was mere inches away, and Thorne could see the jagged edges glinting with malice.

Then, like a thunderclap, Aldric’s armored form crashed into the monster. The force of his charge sent the creature careening to the side, its screech faltering as it skidded across the dirt. Thorne stumbled backward, the sudden impact breaking the spell of fear that had held him in place.

“Move, boy!” Aldric barked, his voice a harsh contrast to the unrelenting clash of steel and bone. His warhammer swung in a wide arc, forcing the creature to retreat further as it regained its footing. The knight’s eyes blazed with fury, his teeth clenched in a snarl.

Thorne scrambled to Sylwen’s side, his heart pounding. “How did he…?”

Sylwen, too, looked momentarily stunned. Her bow lowered for a fraction of a second, her green eyes wide as she took in the scene. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think he’d get there in time,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

The monster rose, its hood tilting toward Aldric. It let out a guttural hiss, the sound reverberating through the air as its claws flexed, readying for another attack. But Aldric didn’t waver. He stepped forward, his warhammer striking the ground with a deafening thud that sent small tremors through the dirt.

“You want him?” Aldric growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ll have to go through me.”

The creature screeched again, louder this time, the noise grating like nails on a chalkboard. It launched itself toward Aldric, claws slicing through the air with deadly intent. Aldric sidestepped the first strike, his movements surprisingly quick for someone clad in heavy armor. He countered with a powerful swing of his hammer, but the monster twisted mid-air, evading the blow with an unnatural agility.

Sylwen recovered quickly, her bow snapping up as she loosed another volley of arrows. Each one was precise, aimed at the creature’s joints and weak points. But again, the beast moved with uncanny grace, its hooded form twisting and contorting to avoid the onslaught.

“It’s too fast,” Sylwen muttered, her voice tight with frustration. She glanced at Thorne. “We need to slow it down.”

Thorne nodded, his grip on his staff tightening. His mind raced, the fog of exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. He forced himself to focus, whispering the incantation for Cinder Veil. Flames erupted from his staff, forming a fiery barrier between Aldric and the creature. The sudden burst of heat forced the monster to hesitate, its screeching faltering as it recoiled slightly.

Taking the opportunity, Aldric surged forward, ramming into the creature with his shoulder. The impact sent it crashing to the ground, its claws scraping furiously at the dirt as it tried to rise. For a moment, Aldric stood over it, his warhammer raised high.

“Now, Sylwen!” Aldric shouted.

Sylwen’s bowstring sang as she loosed an arrow aimed straight at the creature’s exposed torso. The arrow struck true, embedding itself deep into its side. The monster thrashed, its screeching turning to a low, growl.

Thorne’s heart pounded as he watched Aldric and Sylwen struggling to keep the monster at bay. Its movements were relentless, its elongated arms sweeping through the air like scythes, leaving deep gouges in the ground where they struck. Aldric’s warhammer crashed against its claws, sparks flying with every impact, but the knight’s movements were slowing, his breaths labored. Sylwen darted around the creature, her arrows finding their marks, but even her precision couldn’t seem to stop the monster's unrelenting assault.

Thorne clenched his staff tightly, a surge of determination cutting through his fear. He searched his mind desperately for a way to turn the tide. Then, like a spark in the darkness, a memory surfaced—a spell his teacher had once tried to teach him, one that he’d never been able to master.

He swallowed hard, the memory flashing vividly in his mind.

“Sylwen! Aldric!” Thorne shouted, his voice strained but resolute. “I need time—just a little more time! Can you hold it off?”

Aldric grunted in response, his warhammer smashing against the creature’s claws as he blocked another attack. “Do what you need to, boy. We’ll keep it busy.”

Sylwen, her movements swift and precise, darted to Thorne’s side. Her green eyes met his briefly, her expression fierce but trusting. “Make it count,” she said, nocking another arrow and loosing it in one fluid motion.

Thorne stepped back, retreating just far enough to find a pocket of relative safety. His hands trembled as he raised his staff, his mind racing. The words of his old teacher echoed faintly in his memory, her warm smile and gentle encouragement blending with the chaos around him.

“You’ll know when the time comes,” she had said, her bluish hair framing her face in the light of the training yard. “Trust yourself.”

Thorne closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. The incantation began as a whisper, “By the breath of frost, where fire fades… ignite the void within.” His voice carried a rhythmic cadence, the words weaving together in a resonance.

Aldric and Sylwen fought with everything they had to keep the monster at bay. Aldric roared as he threw his weight behind his warhammer, his strikes shaking the ground with their force. The gem embedded in his armor flared to life, shattering in a burst of light that sent a surge of power coursing through his body. His swings grew faster, more devastating, but the toll was visible in his ragged breaths and faltering steps.

Sylwen danced around the creature, her arrows flying in rapid succession. The monster weaved through her attacks with unnatural agility, its movements jerky yet purposeful. One of its claws lashed out, tearing through the air just inches from her head. She rolled to the side, her bow snapping up to fire another shot that struck the creature’s arm, though it hardly seemed to notice.

“Hurry, Thorne!” Sylwen muttered, her voice tinged with desperation as she dodged another swing.

The monster turned suddenly, its hooded face snapping toward Thorne as if sensing the growing threat. It screeched again, the sound so piercing that Thorne’s knees buckled. The creature lunged toward him, its claws outstretched.

“Not this time!” Aldric bellowed, charging forward with a ferocity that took even the monster by surprise. His warhammer connected with its side, the impact sending it staggering. Sylwen seized the moment, loosing a flurry of arrows that drove the creature back even further.

His staff trembled in his grip, the faint light at its tip beginning to swirl and intensify. At first, it glowed with the warm hues of fire, familiar and comforting, but as Thorne’s focus shifted, so did the energy. He replaced the searing heat of flame with the piercing, unrelenting chill of the void, reshaping the mana with the direction of his will.

The air around him grew colder, the warmth leeching away with each whispered phrase. The light at the tip of his staff transformed, its fiery glow dimming into a deep, crystalline blue that pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat. A biting frost spread from his feet, tendrils of cold mist curling along the ground as the mana coalesced.

Thorne’s mind felt heavy, the spell itself demanded every ounce of his focus. He could feel the mana within him shifting violently, the raw force threatening to spiral out of control. But he held firm, his teacher’s words echoing in his thoughts: “Magic bends to the will of the caster. Never let it dictate the terms.”

Sylwen’s keen eyes caught the shift in Thorne’s stance, the growing intensity of the spell coalescing at the tip of his staff. “Aldric!” she called out, her voice sharp. “Fall back! Now!”

Aldric, mid-swing, turned his head toward Thorne. His hammer came down in a final, defiant strike against the hooded monster before he leaped back, his boots skidding against the frozen ground. Sylwen, ever graceful, darted away, her bow still trained on the creature, ready to fire should it try to pursue.

The monster stood there, momentarily disoriented, its elongated arms twitching and its hood swaying. It let out another bone-rattling screech, a sound that pierced the air like nails scraping against steel. But even the monster seemed to hesitate as it noticed the swirling, cold aura gathering around the boy.

Thorne's voice dropped to a near whisper, the incantation carrying a weight that seemed to ripple through the air. "Glacier's Requiem." His eyes flared with an ethereal blue light, the glow so intense it seemed to spill out, tracing faint, shimmering streaks across his cheeks.

A pulse of energy emanated from Thorne’s trembling frame, and the monster froze mid-step, as if held by an unseen force. A faint blue light began to glow from deep within its chest, dim at first but steadily intensifying. The glow pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat, growing brighter and brighter until it shone through the gaps in the monster’s flesh and bone, casting eerie shadows on the battlefield.

Then, it happened.

The light reached a crescendo, and a deafening, bone-shaking crack split the air. The creature’s body convulsed violently as the blue flames ignited from within, bursting outward in a dazzling, blinding eruption. Tendrils of frost-fire spiraled like serpents, tearing through the monster’s grotesque frame, reducing it to a spectacle of burning shards. The once-solid figure seemed to disintegrate from the inside out, each fragment consumed by the ethereal, icy blaze.

The explosion sent waves of frigid air rippling across the battlefield, extinguishing nearby fires and freezing the grass underfoot. Frost crystals formed in the air, catching the flickering blue light and scattering it like shattered stars.

Sylwen and Aldric stumbled back, shielding their faces from the blast. Their eyes widened as the frost-fire expanded, curling upward into a brief, towering inferno that painted the sky with shades of azure and silver. The heatless flames roared for one breathtaking moment before they dissipated into the frigid air, leaving nothing behind but an empty, frozen patch where the creature had once stood.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, Thorne’s legs gave out. His staff fell from his grasp, hitting the frost-coated ground with a hollow thud. His eyes, once glowing with overwhelming blue energy, dulled as exhaustion overtook him. His body crumpled forward, the last vestiges of his strength completely drained.

Sylwen darted toward him, her bow clattering to the ground as she caught him just in time. "Thorne!" she shouted, her voice raw with concern, her breath misting in the cold air. Aldric, still clutching his warhammer, stood nearby.

The shattered moon above dimmed, giving way to the soft golds and purples of dawn. The remaining monsters hesitated, their twisted forms wavering in the encroaching light. Then, as if commanded by some unseen force, they turned and slithered back into the shadows of the forest.

Sylwen released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, lowering Thorne carefully to the frost-covered ground. Her sharp green eyes scanned his pale face, her own trembling hands betraying the toll of the battle. "Thorne?" she called softly.

He stirred, his breath visible in the chilled air. His eyes fluttered open, their glow now gone, leaving only exhaustion etched in their depths. "I... I’m okay," he muttered, his voice hoarse but steady.

"You shouldn't move," Sylwen cautioned, her tone laced with concern.

But Thorne shook his head weakly, pushing himself up with trembling arms. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, yet he forced himself to stand. His legs wobbled, threatening to buckle beneath him, but he leaned heavily on his staff for support. Frost clung to his robes, the remnants of his spell shimmering faintly in the morning light.

Aldric approached, his armor streaked with dirt and blood, the edges of his warhammer frosted over from the spell's lingering effect. His eyes, shadowed by exhaustion, studied Thorne with a mixture of respect and unease. "You should rest, boy," he said gruffly, though his tone was softer than usual.

Thorne managed a faint smile. "I will," he replied, his voice quiet but resolute. "But not yet."

Sylwen placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, her bow hanging limply at her side. "You did it, Thorne," she said, her voice carrying a note of pride.

Thorne’s gaze drifted to the frost-coated ground where the monstrous figure had once loomed. A faint pulse of energy still lingered in the air, the aftermath of his magic. "Voidfire," he murmured, almost to himself. The name felt fitting for what he had unleashed—a fire that burned cold, devouring from within.

The sunrise brought a tentative calm to the village. The guards, battered and bruised, began to regroup, their weary faces brightened by the sight of the retreating monsters. The blacksmith leaned heavily on his hammer, his soot-streaked face breaking into a tired grin as he nodded toward Thorne. "Not bad, kid," he called, his voice carrying a warmth that offset the cold.

Thorne straightened as best he could, his staff trembling in his hand. His heart swelled with pride and relief, though his body ached with the weight of his efforts. He turned to Sylwen and Aldric, his voice steady despite his fatigue. "Thank you... both of you. I couldn’t have done it without you."

Sylwen’s lips curled into a rare smile. "You’re not a kid anymore, Thorne," she said, her tone light but sincere.

Aldric grunted, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe not. But don’t let it go to your head."

Thorne chuckled softly, the sound dry but genuine. The rising sun painted the sky in hues of gold and orange, its warmth slowly chasing away the chill of the frost-fire. For the first time since the battle began, hope began to seep into the air.

“Is everyone accounted for?” Aldric finally asked, his voice low but firm.

One of the villagers, a blacksmith with soot-streaked hands and a hammer still clutched tightly, nodded. “Aye. No casualties this time. Just injuries. We held.”

Aldric gave a curt nod. “Good. We’ll regroup at the house.”

Thorne followed behind as the group made their way to the house at the edge of the village. His steps were slow, each one heavier than the last, but he pushed forward. He had seen Sylwen’s trembling hands, had noticed the strain in Aldric’s voice despite his stoic demeanor. If they could keep going, so could he.

As they approached the house, Thorne’s gaze fell to the bloodied bandages peeking out from under Sylwen’s makeshift wraps. She hadn’t said a word about her injuries, hadn’t let anyone see the toll the battle had taken. He wanted to say something, but the lump in his throat stopped him. Instead, he stayed close, watching her closely for any signs of strain.

Inside the house, Thessaly was sitting up in bed, her complexion still pale but showing signs of improvement. Annelise hovered by her side, her hands clutching a small wooden cup as she offered Thessaly water. The girl’s tense shoulders had relaxed slightly, her expression softening with the sight of her father stepping into the room.

“Dad!” Annelise exclaimed, rushing to the blacksmith and throwing her arms around him. Her voice trembled slightly, but there was relief in her tone. The blacksmith gently patted her head, his presence calming the lingering fear in the room.

“Good to see you’re holding strong, lass,” he said, his voice gruff but warm.

Aldric placed his warhammer against the wall and turned to Thessaly. “The creatures retreated with the sunrise, but we can’t assume it’s over. We should use the main road and get these people out before they regroup.”

Thessaly shook her head, her expression grave. “The roads aren’t safe. These creatures… they’re coordinated, Aldric. That shouldn’t be possible. They’re watching the roads.” She glanced at the blacksmith , then back at Aldric. “You saw it yourself. The ambush yesterday --it wasn’t random. Someone or something is controlling them.”

Aldric’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. “If we stay, we risk another attack. And I won’t have blood on my hands.”

“And if we leave?” Thessaly countered, her voice calm but firm. “What if the roads are being watched? What if the moment we step out, we’re surrounded again? We can’t just assume we’re safer on the move.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Annelise, still holding tightly to her father, glanced nervously between the adults. Her grip on his sleeve tightened, and her gaze dropped to the floor.

“I…” Annelise hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know a path.”

The blacksmith's brows furrowed, but he placed a reassuring hand on his daughter's shoulder [https://img.wattpad.com/2089c1701694f3377ad09b0f2b97588e14fda88b/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f425378716f476e4c334b536456773d3d2d313530323030383937392e313831303137653838383337376333353233353036343230383130352e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]

The room went silent. All eyes turned to her, and she shrank slightly under their gaze, her grip on her father’s sleeve tightening.

“A path?” Thessaly prompted gently, her tone softening.

Annelise nodded slowly. “Through the forest. It’s not used much… just a trail. Me and a friend used to take it when we went foraging for medicinal herbs. It’s longer, but it avoids the main roads.”

The blacksmith's brows furrowed, but he placed a reassuring hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “You’re sure about this, lass?”

“It’s… it’s not perfect,” Annelise stammered. “But it’s better than the main roads, right?”

Thessaly exchanged a look with Aldric. “It’s risky,” she admitted. “But it might be our best option.”

The sound of the door opening drew their attention. A woman entered, her face tired but kind. She carried a basket filled with fresh bread and simple provisions. “I thought you all could use some food,” she said softly, her gaze lingering on Annelise before shifting to the others.

“Thank you,” Aldric said, taking the basket from her with a nod. “We’ll need our strength.”

The group shared a quiet meal, the warmth of the bread offering a brief respite from the night’s horrors.