The first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a pale glow on the landscape as the world slowly came to life. The air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the scent of dew-covered grass and the earthy aroma of damp soil.

Birds began their morning choirs, their melodies echoing through the trees, while the gentle murmur of a nearby stream provided a soothing atmosphere. It was a peaceful morning, the kind that whispered promises of calm and tranquility. But beneath this serene facade, the land stirred with an undercurrent of dread.

Far from the peaceful scene of dawn breaking, many groups of covered knights made their appearances, appearing out of thin air and quickly moving with purpose through the foreign land, their armor gleaming coldly in the dim light.

Each group was a grim force of inevitability, their presence carrying a fate that could not be denied. They rode in silence, the only sounds accompanying them being the clink of their armor and the steady rhythm of their mounts' hooves on the hard ground.

Each group heading toward their own destinations, sealing the fate of innoncent mortals who weren’t expecting them.

…

In a village hidden deep within the earth, a place known only to those who sought refuge from the outside world. This village, carved into the walls of a vast cavern, was a sanctuary for those who wished to remain unseen. The entrance was concealed by a waterfall that tumbled down from the cliffs above, its roar masking the sounds of life within.

The villagers had built their homes into the rock, using bioluminescent mushrooms to light their paths and their lives. The soft, pulsing glow of the mushrooms cast an eerie, otherworldly light throughout the cavern, illuminating the faces of those who called this place home.

As the knights approached, their presence was noted by the village leader, an old man with a face as weathered as the stone around him. His eyes, dark and deep, held the weight of many years of wisdom and sorrow. He knew what was coming before the knights even spoke, and his heart sank with the knowledge.

One of the knights stepped forward, his armor catching the dim light of the mushrooms. From within his gauntleted hand, he produced a small, glowing device. With a flick of his wrist, the device projected an image into the air—a faint, ghostly visage of a young man, his features obscured but unmistakable to those who knew him.

“Do you recognize this face?” the knight's voice echoed through the cavern, cold and devoid of compassion.

The village leader closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping as the weight of the question settled on him, it was his grandchild. He nodded slowly, the motion almost imperceptible.

The villagers, sensing the gravity of the situation, parted in silence to reveal a small figure standing at the back of the crowd. It was a boy, no more than seven years old, his wide eyes filled with confusion and fear. His mother clung to him, her hands trembling as she held him close.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice thick with desperation, “don’t take him. He’s just a child.”

The knight’s gaze did not waver. He took a step forward, and the villagers stepped aside, leaving the boy and his mother exposed. The old village leader stepped forward, placing a hand on the mother’s shoulder.

“We cannot defy the heavens,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation.

The mother’s grip tightened on her son, but the knights were unmoved by her pleas. With a practiced, unfeeling motion, they pried the boy from her arms. The cavern filled with the sound of her anguished cries as her son was led away, the echoes of her pain lingering long after the knights had gone.

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…

Scenes like this were repeating across the vast broad lands. Scenes of helpless tears and heartaches were unfolding across every corner of the realm.

In a vibrant village hidden deep within an ancient forest, where homes were made of luminous mushrooms, a stern village leader watched in grim silence as knights arrived to take a teenage boy. His father, too fearful to meet his son's eyes, stood helpless as the boy was handed over, leaving behind a village suffused with sorrow and regret.

High in the cold, isolated mountains, another village faced the same fate. The knights approached a small community clinging to the cliffs, where an elderly woman, held the last of her family. She clung desperately to her young granddaughter, while begging for her not to be taken away, but the knights, unwavering in their task, pried the girl from her grasp. As she was led away, tears streamed down her face, the grandmother's sobs echoed through the mountains, marking the end of her world as she knew it.

These tragic scenes of separation, fear, and despair repeated endlessly, village after village, as the knights carried out their grim mission across the land.

…

Far from the sorrow and misery that enveloped the villages, a group of five knights began to stir from their slumber. Their leader, was the first to rise, his movements slow and deliberate as he rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat. The weight of their mission hung over him, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the routine of the morning.

Stepping outside, he inhaled the crisp morning air. The landscape was peaceful, the gentle murmur of a nearby stream providing a soothing backdrop. He walked towards the stream, his breath visible in the chilly air, and found a small, cleared area where he could take a moment for himself. With a mere whisper, a bathtub materialized out of thin air, and with a focused murmur, he drew water from the stream. The water floated towards him, bubbling and steaming as it neared, before settling into the tub. The warmth of the water contrasted sharply with the cold morning air.

As he undressed, folding his tunic and pants neatly to the side, Thalan’s pale skin and chiseled frame came into view, marked by numerous scars—each a testament to battles fought and survived. Unfazed by the chill, he immersed himself in the steaming water, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, letting the warmth seep into his muscles, easing the tension of the previous days.

His brief moment of peace was interrupted as the door to their residence swung open. The boy with fiery red hair emerged, wearing only shorts, his well-defined body catching the early light. He smirked at the sight of man relaxing in the tub.

“Are you going to be in there all day, Thalan?” he teased, his voice playful yet impatient.

Thalan smiled and stood, water cascading off his body in a series of small streams. A towel appeared out of nowhere, and he wrapped it around himself. “All yours,” he replied, stepping aside.

Real nodded and approached the tub, whispering a few words. Flames flickered around the water, not burning it but instead purifying and reheating it. He slid into the tub, sighing with relief as the warmth enveloped him.

Before he could fully relax, a rustling sound caught their attention. Both men tensed, readying themselves for whatever might emerge from the shadows. The boy began muttering incantations, his fingers twitching in preparation for a confrontation.

But Thalan, sensing a familiar presence, raised his hand to stop him. “It’s just the guard from yesterday,” he said.

Sure enough, the guard emerged from the bushes, his expression a mix of wariness and determination. “Elder Aren is waiting to speak with you,” he informed them, his tone respectful.

Thalan nodded, gesturing for the guard to wait outside. The guard, understanding, took his post outside the cabin, his eyes occasionally drifting to the boy as he continued his bath.

Returning to the cabin, Thalan retrieved a small bell and rang it. The sound was loud and clear, resonating through the morning air and startling those still in slumber. They stirred with annoyance but quickly became alert, the urgency of the day pulling them from their grogginess.

The women in the group snapped on their armor with practiced ease, a quick flick of their fingers banishing the last traces of sleep from their eyes. Despite their readiness, their expressions were far from cheerful—each wore the weight of their mission in the set of their shoulders and the furrow of their brows.

The quiet man with dark hair finished dressing and turned to Thalan. “Will we need the beasts?” he asked, his voice low.

Thalan shook his head. “No, we’ll likely just be visiting the nearby shrine,” he replied.

Meanwhile, the red-haired boy, now feeling a great deal of irritation, found himself no longer in the mood for his bath. With a flick of his finger, he incinerated the remaining water, leaving the tub spotless. The guard, watching with wide eyes, could hardly believe what he had just seen. ‘What did he just do?’ he wondered, trying to wrap his mind around the mysterious powers these people wielded.