Aelion sat in the dining hall, his hands carefully working to restring his bow. His gaze was fixed on the finely carved wood, each curve and line a memory of his father’s skill and care. This bow was no ordinary weapon, it was a piece of artistry, and his greatest possession. The wood was polished to a warm sheen, and intricate carvings of wind and clouds swirled across the surface, a nod to their family’s name.

The hall was quiet, the hum of voices subdued as many of the recruits lingered over their morning meals, preparing for another day of training. Aelion sat with Selara and Caidren, the three of them sharing the easy silence that had grown between them over the weeks. He ran his fingers along the bowstring, tightening it with slow, deliberate movements, allowing himself a rare moment of reflection.

His father had given him this bow on his sixteenth birthday, a promise that he was ready to begin a serious pursuit of the archery craft. Aelion could still remember the pride in his father’s eyes that day, the way he’d spoken about the Silverwind family’s legacy and the tradition of archery that had defined them for generations. This bow was his father’s hope, his encouragement, Aelion thought, releasing a light-hearted release of air.

He glanced up, noticing Selara watching him, her amber eyes sharp with curiosity.

“That's no ordinary bow, I can tell it's crafted using elderwood, and those patterns etched into it, beautiful. It looks much better than the basic bows they give us here.”

Caidren leaned over, looking at the intricate details carved into the wood with clear admiration.

“Where’d you get that? Rich mommy and daddy money?” He chuckled, as if he thought he was actually being funny.

Aelion chuckled, brushing off Caidren’s comment with a smile. The three of them continued their conversation, the warmth of their companionship making the dining hall feel almost like home.

But then, a sudden, piercing sound shattered the calm.

The shrill wail of an alarm filled the air, echoing off the stone walls of the guildhall. Aelion froze, his fingers still on the bowstring, as a wave of unease washed over him. Around them, the other recruits exchanged glances of confusion, their expressions mirroring the fear that began to settle in his own chest.

The alarm’s blaring tone was unmistakable, this wasn’t a drill or a minor alert. It was a call to arms.

In an instant, the veteran archers who had been scattered around the hall sprang into action, their faces hardening with determination as they dashed toward the barracks. The heavy sound of boots echoed through the hall as they rushed past, their movements quick and efficient. Aelion watched as they began donning battle armor, their expressions tense, their eyes steely.

The sight was both mesmerizing and terrifying. These were seasoned warriors, archers who had seen countless battles. For them to react this way meant something serious was happening, something that required every ounce of their strength.

“What do you guys think it is?! Are we gonna die?!” Caidren wailed.

“Calm down man, we need to wait and see what is going on before assuming the worst.” Aelion replied, though he certainly felt unsettled.

“Maybe it’s just a drill or test or something,” Selara shrugged, “I don’t think we need to worry.”

Aelion’s stomach twisted with anxiety. He’d never seen the guild in such a state of chaos before. His gaze darted around the room, searching for Zuro, hoping that someone could explain what was going on. And then, as if summoned by his thoughts, Zuro appeared, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear.

Zuro rushed over to them, his expression taut with worry. He seemed to be breathing hard, as if he had been running from one end of the guild to the other. When he reached Aelion and his friends, he took a shaky breath before speaking.

“You three! An attack on the northern end of the city has happened, don’t ask me how, I don’t know. But this is real, we don’t even know who the attackers are or how they got in through our gates!”

Aelion felt his pulse quicken, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. An ambush? In Aethercrest? The idea seemed impossible, and yet the urgency in Zuro’s voice told him it was all too real.

Before they could process the information, one of the veteran archers shouted from across the hall, his voice booming over the din.

“Recruits! Get to the southern gate, now! The city is under attack!”

The words sent a chill through Aelion’s spine. His instincts urged him to move, to act, but a part of him felt frozen, rooted to the spot by the sheer gravity of the moment. This wasn’t training, this was real.

“Forget our things, we don’t need them, but I will be taking my bow. Let’s go, before things get too bad here.”

The three of them broke into a run, joining the other recruits as they hurried toward the southern gate. The streets of Aethercrest were filled with a tense energy, townsfolk hurrying to find shelter while guards directed people away from the southern side of the city. The normally bustling city was now eerily quiet, save for the occasional shout of warning and the distant clash of metal.

Aelion’s heart pounded as he sprinted through the streets, his bow clutched tightly in his hand. His mind raced with questions, each one more pressing than the last. Who could be attacking? Why would anyone dare to strike at Aethercrest? But there was no time for answers, only action. As he sprinted through the streets, he noticed many fully equipped warriors, brandishing the popular aethersteel suits of armor, no regular arrow could just simply pierce them.

When they reached the southern gate, the scene that met them was one of controlled chaos. The city’s guards were stationed along the walls, their faces set with a resemblance of fear and lacked integrity. Above them, arrows whistled through the air, and Aelion caught sight of several figures moving in the distance, shadowy shapes that seemed to melt in and out of view.

The instructor who had led their training sessions stood at the front of the group, his face a mask of concentration as he surveyed the recruits. He gave them a quick, assessing glance before addressing them, his voice cutting through the noise.

“You are here to defend Aethercrest,” he said, his tone unyielding. “This is not a drill. You may be recruits, but today you will learn what it means to fight. Stay close, follow instructions, and do not, under any circumstances, leave your post.”

Aelion and the others nodded, the weight of the moment settling heavily on his shoulders. He tightened his grip on his bow, glancing at Selara and Caidren beside him. They looked just as tense, their faces pale but resolute.

The instructor turned to Zuro, who was standing nearby, his expression taut with worry. “Take your group and position them along the wall. Prepare for incoming fire.”

Aelion followed Zuro as they ascended the stone steps that led to the wall overlooking the southern side of the city. The wall provided a clear view of the land beyond, a sprawling landscape that was normally quiet and serene. But today, it was filled with the advancing forms of soldiers, an enemy force, their armor gleaming in the morning sun, their weapons raised and ready.

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“But I thought the attack happened in the north.” Aelion spoke nervously.

“That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t come to the south gate as well. Think about it, strategy speaks for itself, we only have two gates in the city, the boats on the east, or escaping by aircraft.” Zuro replied quickly.

Aelion felt his breath catch in his throat. The enemy soldiers moved with precision, their formation tight, their faces obscured by helmets. He had never seen anything like it. This wasn’t a band of raiders or mercenaries, this was a trained, organized army.

He took his position on the wall, nocking an arrow and drawing the bowstring back. His hands trembled slightly, but he forced himself to focus, taking steady breaths as he aimed at the advancing figures.

The instructor’s voice rang out from behind them, directing the recruits to hold their fire until the enemy was within range.

“Wait... wait...” he commanded, his tone steady but urgent.

Aelion’s eyes locked onto the closest figure, his mind focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the feel of the bowstring under his fingers. The weight of his father’s bow felt reassuring in his hands, grounding him, reminding him of the skill and determination he had been building for years.

Finally, the instructor shouted, “Now!”

Aelion released his arrow, watching as it sailed through the air and struck one of the soldiers, embedding itself in the man’s shoulder. The soldier staggered, momentarily thrown off balance, but quickly righted himself, continuing forward with a face of a berserker. Around him, the other recruits loosed their arrows, a rain of sharp, deadly points that filled the air with a fierce hum.

“I hit him in the shoulder, another shot should take him down!” Aelion shouted, looking to his fellow recruits for reassurance.

The enemy soldiers continued their advance, and Aelion quickly nocked another arrow, his mind racing as he tracked the nearest target. The training had prepared him for accuracy, precision—but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of battle, the visceral intensity of facing a real enemy.

Beside him, Selara loosed an arrow, her movements swift and controlled. She hit her mark cleanly, the arrow striking the enemy soldier in the thigh, sending him to one knee. Aelion glanced at her, impressed by her composure, but there was no time for words.

The enemy had closed in, and a second wave of archers on the opposing side raised their bows, retaliating with a hail of arrows that whistled through the air toward the city walls. Aelion ducked instinctively, feeling the rush of wind as an arrow passed just inches above his head.

“Brace yourselves! Cling to the walls and hit them with everything you got!” Zuro shouted.

The recruits around him scrambled for cover, their movements frantic but focused as they continued to fire back. Aelion’s heart raced, his thoughts a blur of instinct and training. He pulled another arrow from his quiver, his mind zeroing in on his next target, his fingers moving on their own as he nocked, drew, and released.

An enemy soldier fell, struck by one of Aelion’s arrows. But for every one that went down, more seemed to take their place. The battle raged on, and Aelion found himself caught in the rhythm of it, the tension in his bowstring matching the frantic beat of his heart.

“Who the hell are these people?! Their insignia doesn’t resemble any of the four cities!” Caidren pointed out. The instructor scratched his chin, understanding that the recruit was right, but this was a mystery for later.

The recruits fought with everything they had, their arrows flying true as they defended the wall. The weight of their duty pressed down on Aelion’s shoulders, but he pushed through the fear, the doubt. He was here to protect Aethercrest, to prove himself worthy of his father’s legacy.

As the battle continued, Aelion felt thoughts of uncertainty, was life about to become one of war and death? He snapped out of this trance, realizing that even if it was, he would need to do everything possible to produce a better future for humanity. His aim sharpened, his movements became smoother, each shot an echo of the countless hours he had spent training. He glanced at the bow in his hand, feeling a deep connection to it, a bond forged through struggle and hope.

This was what he had been preparing for, and he would not falter.

The recruits held their ground as the enemy forces wavered, the tide of battle shifting with each passing moment. Aelion’s resolve hardened, his focus unbreakable, even as warriors and archers of Aethercrest fell beside him.

He would fight. And he would endure. No, they would fight, and they will give it everything they got.

As the recruits and veteran archers continued their defense, arrows flying through the air in an unbroken stream, Aelion stole a quick glance over his shoulder. His gaze moved past the rows of archers lined along the wall and onto the familiar cobbled streets beyond. In the distance, a new group was approaching, moving with purpose and precision toward the southern gate.

At the forefront were the mages, their robes billowing with each step as they walked in formation. The robes were crafted of rich, dark fabric embroidered with silvery thread that glinted in the sunlight. The designs woven into the cloth were intricate—celestial symbols, stars and moons, woven in delicate patterns that traced down the sleeves and around the hem. Aelion noticed that each mage’s robe bore unique markings, subtle hints of their individual magical discipline. Some robes were adorned with symbols of fire, small crimson threads catching the light, while others bore cool shades of blue and silver, marking the wearers as masters of water and ice.

Their faces were calm, resolute, eyes sharp with the unmistakable focus of those who wielded magic not just as a tool but as an extension of their very being. At their lead was the Mage Guild leader, Seraphina Moondrake, a tall figure with flowing midnight-blue robes trimmed in violet. She carried a staff etched with runes, the crystal at its tip pulsating softly with a pale, ethereal glow.

The mages moved with a quiet but powerful grace, their presence alone radiating a sense of control and power. Aelion felt a surge of confidence as he watched them approach, their expressions unyielding as they prepared to join the fray.

Behind the mages came the prospectors, their appearance starkly contrasting the flowing robes and mystical energy of their magical counterparts. Clad in sturdy leather vests reinforced with metal plating, the prospectors looked every bit the engineers of Aethercrest, their belts weighed down with a variety of tools and gadgets. Aelion noted the metallic glint of mechanical contraptions strapped to their belts, complex devices with gears, small pipes, and dials that clicked and whirred softly with each step. Some wore thick, circular goggles with tinted lenses, likely enchanted to provide protection from magical elements or to enhance their vision in battle.

Their attire had a steampunk aesthetic, practical yet innovative, each prospector outfitted uniquely according to their specialty. One prospector carried a small hand-held cannon on his hip, a device with intricate etchings and a coiled fuse. Another wore a bracer fitted with small, rotating gears and a set of retractable, rune-inscribed knives. Despite their differences, they shared a singular purpose and focus as they approached the gate, their expressions grim but ready for the task ahead.

The Prospector’s Guild leader Garrick Stoneforge, a broad-shouldered man with a braided beard, wore a vest lined with metal plates and an assortment of small, powerful-looking vials strapped across his chest. He nodded at Seraphina as they approached the southern gate, their presence unspoken but commanding.

As the two leaders reached the gate, they exchanged a brief look before turning their attention to the archery instructor, who had already been directing the recruits and veterans on the wall.

“Open the gate,” Seraphina called, her voice calm but unyielding. Her words carried over the sounds of battle, drawing the attention of everyone on the wall.

The archery instructor turned, a momentary look of surprise flashing across his face before he stepped back, nodding his approval. With a swift motion, he signaled for the archers nearby to pull the iron lever that controlled the gate’s massive bolts.

Aelion watched as the mages and prospectors moved into position, lining up in formation just inside the now-open southern gate. The tension in the air grew thick, the silence heavy as they prepared themselves for the confrontation ahead. Aelion could feel his pulse quicken, the presence of the mages and prospectors filling him with a strange mixture of awe and envy.

Seraphina raised her staff, her voice ringing out over the field as she spoke to her group. “Stand strong. Stand united. For Aethercrest.”

Beside her, Garrick adjusted his gauntlet, the gears clicking into place with a sharp, metallic sound. His gaze was steady, unflinching, as he addressed his own team.

“We’ve defended this city before, and we’ll defend it again. Ready yourselves!”

With that, the mages raised their hands, the faint hum of magic crackling in the air around them as they prepared their spells. The prospectors, too, stood ready, their gadgets primed and their weapons at the ready. They stood as one, a line of strength and resilience, each warrior and mage prepared to face the oncoming enemy.

Aelion felt pride swell in his chest. They were no longer just archers, warriors, mages, and engineers, they were the defenders of Aethercrest. And together, they would hold the line.

The gate was open, and the battle awaited.