The wind howled through the village of Hallow’s End, carrying with it the scent of rain and the distant rumble of thunder. Arion Velraen stood on the porch of his small home, watching as the clouds churned in the darkening sky. There was something wrong about the storm; a weight in the air that made his skin crawl.
His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, a simple but well-crafted blade passed down through his family. It was more of a tool than a weapon, used to fend off the occasional wolf or boar. But tonight, Arion sensed something far worse was coming.
“Arion!” His mother’s voice called from inside. “Come in, the storm’s getting worse.”
He turned to reply but froze as a flash of light split the sky. It wasn’t lightning. It was red, like the flames of a distant fire, and with it came a sound, like a scream, twisted and distorted by the wind.
Before Arion could react, the ground beneath him trembled, and the clouds above began to swirl unnaturally. From the heart of the storm, a shape emerged—black as night, with glowing eyes of molten gold. It moved with unnatural speed, crashing into the village with a force that shook the very earth.
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Arion’s heart pounded as he drew his sword, running toward the chaos. Villagers screamed, and flames erupted as houses were torn apart by monstrous creatures, their skin shimmering with the otherworldly energy of the rift. These were not beasts of Eldralor—they were something else, something from beyond.
He slashed at the nearest creature, a hulking, clawed beast with eyes burning like coals. His sword barely cut into its thick hide, but it was enough to draw its attention. With a snarl, the creature lunged at him, claws raking the air just inches from his chest.
Arion ducked, his instincts taking over, and drove his blade into its side. The creature let out a deafening roar, but even as it fell, more appeared, swarming the village like shadows born from the storm itself.
Suddenly, the red light returned, brighter this time, and Arion felt a surge of power deep within him—a power he had never known existed. His sword, still embedded in the creature, began to glow, pulsing with the same red light as the storm.
Before he could comprehend what was happening, the light exploded outward, sending the creatures flying. The storm above roared in response, and Arion collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.
When he looked up, the village was in ruins, the creatures retreating back into the shadows of the storm. But the red glow in the sky remained, and with it, a voice—a whisper carried on the wind.
“Find the blade… the one that will seal the realms.”