The crackle of flames licked at the cold night air, casting jagged shadows over the wooden palisade. Rhea Draegath tightened her grip on the greataxe in her hands,
her breath visible in the chill. From the vantage of the guard tower, she could see the raiders moving below, their torchlight dancing through the forest like a swarm of angry fireflies.
They were coming.
She glanced down at her daughters, spread out along the perimeter. Each of them prepared in their own way—Nyssa crouched low among the rocks, her bow strung and an arrow already nocked.
Eira stood atop a boulder, her spear’s frosted tip glinting in the firelight. Zarya murmured an incantation, her quarterstaff glowing faintly with runes of protection. Vira hefted her massive shield,
planting herself firmly at the gate, while Lira darted from shadow to shadow, her twin daggers gleaming. Even Nala, the youngest, looked resolute, though her knuckles were white as they gripped her short sword.
The raiders emerged from the tree line moments later, shouting war cries that echoed through the valley. There were a dozen of them, clad in mismatched armor and wielding rusted blades, but their feral determination made them dangerous. They were scavengers—desperate and hungry, but no less deadly.
The first wave surged toward the gate. Vira met them head-on, her tower shield absorbing the brunt of the charge. The sound of metal striking wood reverberated like thunder. With a grunt, she shoved forward, throwing the attackers off balance. Rhea was already there, her axe carving through the air in a deadly arc. The nearest raider fell, his weapon clattering to the ground.
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From the flanks, Nyssa’s arrows rained down with deadly precision, each one finding its mark. A man crumpled as a shaft buried itself in his neck. Another stumbled, clutching at his leg as an arrow pierced his thigh. Eira leapt from her perch, her spear striking true as she brought down a raider with a single thrust.
Behind them, Zarya’s voice rose in a chant, and a wave of fiery energy surged forward, consuming a cluster of enemies in brilliant orange flames. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, but there was no time to hesitate. Lira took advantage of the chaos, darting in and slashing at exposed backs and legs, her movements fluid and precise.
The battle was brutal but brief. The raiders’ numbers were no match for the Thorned Sisters’ coordination and ferocity. Within minutes, the survivors were retreating back into the woods, their cries of pain fading into the distance.
Rhea surveyed the battlefield, her chest heaving. Blood stained the snow at her feet, and the acrid stench of smoke hung heavy in the air. She wiped her axe clean on a fallen raider’s tunic, then turned to her daughters. They were bruised and bloodied but alive.
“Good work,” she said, her voice steady. “But this isn’t over. They’ll be back, and we need to be ready.”
Her gaze fell to the body of a raider near the gate. Something gleamed in his outstretched hand—a small, intricately carved stone that pulsed faintly with a bluish light. Rhea frowned and crouched to pick it up.
“What’s that?” Nyssa asked, stepping closer, her bow still in hand.
“I don’t know,” Rhea murmured, turning the stone over in her hand. Its surface was etched with strange symbols, and it felt unnaturally warm to the touch. A sense of unease settled over her. “But I think we’re about to find out.”