The southern gate of Aethercrest was a fortress in itself, braced for the oncoming onslaught. Its curtain wall, thick and sturdy, stretched wide and high, reinforced by stone buttresses that seemed to dig into the earth itself, as if the city were planting roots of defiance against the invaders. Crenellations lined the top of the wall, each merlon providing cover for the archers firing down on the enemy. Below, the gatehouse stood at the heart of the defense, its portcullis lowered and drawbridge raised, while the moat that circled the outwork formed an additional barrier between Aethercrest and those who sought its downfall.

Aelion and his fellow recruits held their positions on the battlements, nocking arrows with quick, practiced motions as the enemy forces continued their relentless advance. To Aelion’s left, Selara loosed an arrow that struck a soldier in the shoulder, sending him staggering backward. Just below, the mages and prospectors waited behind the gatehouse, each prepared to unleash their own brand of defense as soon as the enemy pressed closer.

The mages were poised, their war robes billowing in the wind, the runic embroidery along their sleeves glowing with latent power. Their leader, Seraphina in midnight-blue robes trimmed with silver and violet, raised her staff and began a low incantation. Her words reverberated through the air, and suddenly a shimmering barrier appeared above the gatehouse, a transparent dome that pulsed with blue light.

“Shield of Aegris,” Seraphina called out, her voice calm and resolute. “It will hold the line—archers, keep firing!”

The shimmering shield expanded, the blue light strengthening as arrows from the opposing forces struck it, dissolving into harmless sparks. Aelion watched in awe as the shield absorbed each impact, its magic shrugging off the onslaught.

“I’ve seen very basic use of magic before, but nothing of this level… its simply amazing!” Aelion spoke proudly.

As the mages held the shield in place, the prospectors moved into position, preparing their own unique arsenal. One prospector, a wiry man with a bracer full of small metallic spheres, pulled one free and twisted the top. With a flick of his wrist, he lobbed it into the midst of the enemy’s front lines. The sphere exploded upon impact, releasing a thick, gray mist that quickly spread across the battlefield.

“Mist grenade! They’re blinded!” he shouted, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as the enemy soldiers stumbled, their vision obscured by the dense fog.

Another prospector stepped forward, this one wearing goggles with several different lenses. He pulled a cylindrical device from his belt, its exterior crackling faintly with electric energy. He twisted the top, and the device began to pulse with a blue light.

“Electrostatic grenade!” he yelled, tossing it into the fog-covered ranks of the enemy. There was a bright flash, followed by a crackling surge of electricity that arced through the mist. The enemy soldiers convulsed as the shock hit them, their bodies momentarily paralyzed as the electricity danced across their armor, leaving them vulnerable to the archers’ arrows.

Selara’s jaw dropped with surprise, realizing the combination of mist and electricity working together. “That was incredible, and now this is our chance to do what we do best.”

With the enemy’s advance momentarily stalled, the mages seized the opportunity to launch their offensive spells. Seraphina lifted her staff, her eyes gleaming with fierce intensity as she called out an incantation.

“Scalding Vortex!”

A swirling column of fire erupted in the air above the battlefield, its searing heat distorting the air around it. With a flick of her staff, Seraphina sent the vortex hurtling forward, the flames twisting and spiraling as they descended upon the enemy ranks. The fire consumed everything in its path, leaving a trail of scorched earth and ash. Soldiers stumbled back, their armor glowing red-hot from the intense heat.

Another mage stepped forward, her robes adorned with intricate patterns of blue and silver, symbols of water and ice woven into the fabric. She raised her hands, conjuring a stream of water that coiled and twisted in the air like a serpent. With a word of command, the water solidified into shards of ice, each one glinting with deadly sharpness.

“Shards of Valtara!” she cried, her voice sharp and clear.

The shards shot forward like a hailstorm, piercing through the ranks of the enemy with chilling precision. Each shard struck true, leaving trails of frost on the ground as the icy magic spread through the battlefield.

Meanwhile, the prospectors continued their assault, drawing upon their own inventive weapons. One of them, a prospector with a mechanical glove fitted with rotating gears, activated a switch on his gauntlet. The glove extended, producing a small launcher, and with a quick motion, he fired a series of small, glowing capsules into the air.

The capsules burst above the battlefield, releasing a cloud of tiny, luminescent spores that drifted down over the enemy soldiers. As the spores made contact, they emitted a faint, greenish glow and began to release a pungent, nauseating vapor.

“Noxious spores!” the prospector called, his voice carrying over the sounds of battle. “That should slow them down indefinitely!”

The enemy soldiers stumbled, their faces contorting in discomfort as the spores clung to their armor, emitting a choking, sickening gas. The battlefield was now a chaotic mix of fire, ice, and smoke, the combined magic and technology of Aethercrest’s defenders creating a formidable barrier that kept the attackers at bay.

Despite the chaos unfolding before him, Aelion maintained his focus, nocking arrow after arrow as he aimed at the disoriented soldiers struggling below. Each shot felt more instinctive now, his training taking over as he adjusted his aim to account for the smoke and fog. He could hear Selara beside him, her arrows striking with deadly accuracy, her movements calm and precise amidst the bedlam.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

As arrows flew and spells crackled around them, Renar’s frustration seemed to reach a boiling point. He turned to Caidren, his expression twisted in contempt as they readied for another volley.

“You’re trash at this,” Renar spat, his voice a venomous hiss. “You should just turn and run, coward, before you drag us all down with you.”

Caidren’s face reddened, his jaw clenching as he held back a retort. His knuckles whitened on his bow, his gaze fixed firmly ahead, ignoring Renar’s taunts even as they cut deep.

“Enough!” Illirya stepped between them, her quiet, reserved demeanor replaced by a fierce determination as she looked from Renar to Caidren. “Save your strength for the battle, this is pointless!”

But Renar’s scowl only deepened. With a sneer, he reached out and shoved Illirya to the ground, brushing her aside like an unwanted distraction. Without a second glance, he moved forward, resuming his position on the wall and nocking another arrow, his eyes flashing with cold fury as he returned to the fight.

Caidren glanced down, his irritation toward Renar briefly forgotten as he knelt beside Illirya, offering her a steadying hand. She took it, dusting herself off as she rose, her expression a mixture of hurt and anger.

“Why is this guy such a dick, we’re literally on the same team. Come on, lets change positions and get away from this idiot.”

Illirya gave a small nod, her usual composure returning as she steadied herself. Together, they moved away from Renar, finding new positions farther along the battlement, away from his spiteful presence.

Suddenly, a voice boomed from below, cutting through the noise of battle.

“Everybody, together! We walk into the heart of their offense, let's destroy them!”

Aelion turned, catching sight of Seraphina and Garrick standing at the gate, their figures poised and unyielding. They were making their way forward, intent on leading a charge against the enemy.

The massive portcullis began to rise, the heavy iron gate clanking as it moved. Chains rattled, and with a loud thud, the drawbridge lowered, creating a direct path to the enemy forces. Seraphina strode forward, her staff glowing with power, while Garrick adjusted a lever on his gauntlet, his mechanical arm primed and ready.

“Stand ready!” Seraphina commanded, her voice ringing out over the din. “Prepare to strike!”

Aelion felt a surge of adrenaline course through him as the mages and prospectors took their positions just beyond the gate. The mages stood with their hands raised, tendrils of energy coiling around their fingers, while the prospectors checked their gadgets, each preparing to unleash the next wave of defense.

One of the mages, a tall man with dark robes bearing symbols of lightning, raised his hands, arcs of electricity sparking between his fingers. He brought his hands together, the energy building into a ball of pure, crackling light.

“Tempest Surge!”

He thrust his hands forward, and a bolt of lightning shot across the battlefield, striking the ground with an explosive burst. The shockwave rippled outward, sending enemy soldiers tumbling as arcs of electricity crackled through the air, connecting from one soldier’s armor to the next in a deadly chain reaction.

Beside him, a prospector with a bracer of small, metallic grenades pulled a blue-tinted capsule from his belt, twisting the top before lobbing it into the midst of the enemy ranks. The grenade exploded, releasing a shimmering wave of frost that coated the ground and the soldiers’ armor in a thick layer of ice, slowing their movements to a sluggish crawl.

“Cryo-burst!” the prospector called, his voice filled with grim satisfaction.

Aelion watched in awe, the sight of the combined might of the mages and prospectors filling him with a renewed sense of hope for his city. They were holding the line, pushing back against the overwhelming odds with a fierce, unyielding strength.

But even as they fought, Aelion knew the battle was far from over. The enemy forces continued to press forward, their numbers vast and unrelenting. For every soldier that fell, more seemed to take their place, their relentless advance showing no signs of stopping.

Amidst the turmoil, Aelion felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back from the edge of the battlement. He turned to see the archery instructor, his face set with grim determination as he assessed the situation below.

“Aelion,” the instructor said, his voice low but firm. “Gather the other recruits. You’re needed elsewhere.”

Aelion’s heart pounded as he followed the instructor’s gaze, watching as two large horse-drawn carriages pulled up behind them, their wheels grinding against the cobbled streets. The horses snorted and stamped their hooves, their riders steadying them as they prepared to move.

“The path will be cleared shortly,” the instructor continued, his tone urgent. “When it is, you and the other recruits are to board these carriages and head for Moonglade. The city is under siege, and we need to spread word to our allies. You’re to report to the Archery Guild there and await further orders.”

Aelion swallowed, the weight of the command settling over him. He had never expected to leave Aethercrest under such dire circumstances, and the thought of abandoning the fight filled him with a sense of dread.

“But sir, you need as many bows as you can get to protect the gates. Plus with the northern entrance clearly facing a much more difficult battle,” he struggled to figure out the words he wanted to say, “what if our presence ensures our city’s victory?”

The instructor’s gaze softened for a moment, but his resolve remained unbroken. “I know it’s hard, but this mission is crucial. The people of Moonglade need to know what’s happening here. The city’s survival may depend on your success. The north is not of your concern, what is your concern is to adhere to your peers’ demands. Now, I demand you and the other recruits to prepare yourself for these carriages. You must continue your training, you all fought hard today, but you must survive for not only Aethercrest, but for Eldravale.”

Aelion nodded, his chest tight with the weight of responsibility. He looked over his shoulder at Selara, Caidren, and the other recruits, each of them wearing the same expression of trepidation and a mix of fear, except Renar. Together, they were about to undertake a journey that would carry the fate of Aethercrest in their hands.

The instructor turned, shouting to the remaining defenders to hold their positions. He raised a hand to signal the mages and prospectors, who prepared a final assault to clear a path for the carriages.

“Ready yourselves!” he commanded, his voice ringing out over the battlefield.

Aelion took a deep breath, the grip on his bow tightening as he braced himself for the journey ahead. The fate of Aethercrest and its people depended on them now, and he would not fail; they needed the backup from Moonglade, their city’s most trusted companion out of the four major settlements.