“An entire elven village… gone? How is this even possible?” Her voice, normally calm, cracked with disbelief and fury.

Sylvan’s jaw clenched, his gaze hard as stone. “This isn’t just an attack. It’s a violation. Our family’s land, our people—obliterated without a trace.” He met Aric’s eyes, a quiet but unmistakable challenge in his gaze. “The Valenwoods will not let this go unanswered. If these cultists are bold enough to target our villages, then they’ll learn the wrath they’ve provoked.”

Aric took a deep breath, steadying himself in the thick atmosphere of anger and grief that now filled the room. He kept his tone calm. “What forces do the Valenwood family have ready? Surely you’ve mobilized beyond simple patrols?”

Sylvan’s eyes blazed. “We have three orders of knights. The Verdant Sentinels—formidable in nature magic, unmatched in close combat. The Starbound Archers, scouts and snipers with a reach that stretches beyond sight. And the Emerald Seekers, who specialize in tracking; they’re relentless, able to sense even the faintest trace of our foes.” His fists tightened, and Aric caught a flash of something fierce in his friend’s eyes—a mix of grief, rage, and the desire for retribution.

Aric nodded. “Then we rally them all. A unified front will send a clear message. And if we’re going to stop these cultists before they strike again, we need to move now. The other families should be warned; we’re all vulnerable if they’re targeting villages like this.”

Lyra’s voice had lost its tremor, replaced with icy resolve. “This won’t be just retribution—it’ll be a reckoning.”

Sylvan glanced out the window, his jaw tight. “Agreed. The Valenwoods will lead the charge.”

Just as Aric stood to leave, a shiver ran through the room, a deep, foreboding chill that stilled them all. The air grew dense, almost suffocating, and shadows seemed to creep along the walls. Aric’s pulse spiked. “Did anyone else feel that?”

Sylvan’s brow furrowed. “It’s like something massive disturbed the air itself…”

A loud crash resounded through the hall, and the doors burst open, revealing a guard, his face pale and trembling. “Lord Aric! There’s something—a creature—flying over the northern peaks. It’s massive!”

Aric’s eyes narrowed. “What did it look like?”

The guard swallowed, glancing nervously over his shoulder as if the creature itself might hear. “Dragon-like… but darker. Wings like shadows stretching across the sky.”

Without a word, Lyra pushed past, her face hardened. Sylvan followed close behind, his usual calm replaced with a sense of urgency. Together, they raced through the palace’s halls and emerged outside, where a low, ominous rumble reverberated through the sky. Above, a silhouette passed over the peaks—a creature, its vast wings cutting through the clouds, casting the land below into darkness.

Sylvan’s face tightened with grim recognition. “It’s a wyrm,” he muttered, anger threading through his voice. “They haven’t been seen since… since centuries.”

Lyra’s gaze locked onto the creature, a fiery determination blazing within. “This is no coincidence.”

As Aric stared up, a sense of gravity settled over him. The ancient creatures were stirring, and with them, echoes of a history long buried—a war that once demanded the sealing of an entire continent, a struggle against powers that nearly touched godhood but were corrupted beyond salvation.

“Prepare your forces,” Aric said, his voice low but unyielding.

And as the wyrm faded into the distance, its shadow cast a foreboding pall across the palace. The message was clear: the forgotten were rising, and the land of Aeloria would once again be a battleground for powers both divine and damned.

---

In Aetheris

The halls of the Aethari Citadel gleamed with ethereal light, the marble floors and vaulted ceilings a testament to the mastery of Aetheris’ architects. Silvery beams of magic floated through the air, illuminating the palace with a serene yet otherworldly glow. It was hard to believe that such beauty could house such treachery.

Aela Sylphais strode down the corridors, her wings trailing faintly luminous feathers that glowed with a pearly sheen. Her expression, however, betrayed none of the serenity around her; it was hardened, determined. The weight of her discovery pressed upon her, each step fueled by a simmering anger that had taken root upon learning the truth.

The door to her father’s council chambers loomed before her, casting a shadow that stretched across the marble floor like a dark omen. Aela stopped just short of the entrance, willing herself to steady her breath. Her pulse thudded in her ears, the enormity of what she was about to reveal weighing down on her like an iron shackle. This was no ordinary confrontation; it was the unmasking of a truth that had cut through the heart of Aetheris, a truth so vile it was unimaginable.

With a final deep breath, she pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside. Her father, Lord Sylphais, stood near the far end of the chamber, his figure bathed in the ethereal glow streaming through the arched window. The city of Aetheris sprawled beneath them, the silvered beams of the Veil casting a serene light over the city. But tonight, that light felt cold, an indifferent witness to the truth she bore.

At the sound of the door closing, he turned, his gaze softening as it settled on her. “Aela,” he greeted, his voice warm. “I didn’t expect you at this hour. Is something troubling you?”

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Aela clenched her fists at her sides, her face composed but taut with the weight of her resolve. “Yes, Father,” she replied, her voice steady but edged with an urgency she could no longer contain. “I’ve uncovered something—something that cannot wait.”

The faint warmth in Lord Sylphais’s gaze faded as he studied her face, a shadow of worry knitting his brow. “Go on.”

Aela took a step forward, holding his gaze, her voice dropping to a whisper as if to ward off the walls themselves from hearing. “There is a traitor among us, Father. Someone close. Someone we trusted.”

The silence that followed her words was thick and brittle, a tension so palpable she could almost hear it crackling in the air. Her father’s face remained expressionless, but she saw the tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers clenched behind his back.

“A traitor?” he echoed, his voice low and laced with disbelief. “Who would dare betray us? And what proof do you have?”

She took another step, her gaze unyielding. “The proof is undeniable. I’ve seen the communications, hidden correspondences detailing secret meetings and the exchange of information. Father, we are not dealing with mere discontent; this is treachery of the highest order.”

Lord Sylphais looked away, his eyes shifting to the city sprawled below, as if seeking comfort from its familiar lights. “And you’re certain?” he asked, his voice carrying a weight he could not disguise. “There is no room for doubt?”

Aela swallowed, a pang of sorrow slipping into her resolve. “I wish I could doubt, Father. I wish it were nothing more than shadows. But the messages I intercepted… the plots… they all point to someone close. Someone you consider family.”

Her father’s gaze snapped back to hers, a faint tremor in his usually unshakeable composure. “Aela, tell me—who is it? Who would turn against Aetheris?”

And then, with a voice steady and quiet, she spoke the name. “It’s Lord Eryndor.”

Lord Sylphais shook his head, a faint smile crossing his lips. “Eryndor? My most trusted advisor? Aela, this is absurd. I’ve known him for years, watched him defend our people—he would never betray the Aethari.”

“Father, please,” she pressed, her wings quivering with restrained emotion. “This isn’t just some rumor. I’ve seen evidence, communications between him and known Cultist operatives. He’s planning something, something that could risk our entire kingdom.”

Lord Sylphais turned away, clasping his hands behind his back. “You’re too quick to judge, Aela. Lord Eryndor has guided our people with loyalty and wisdom for decades. Misinterpretation is inevitable with tensions this high.” His voice held a note of dismissal, distant and authoritative, as if he were addressing a young, naive girl rather than his daughter.

Aela’s fists clenched, her breath coming shallow with the struggle to keep her composure. “Father! I swear on my life, by the goddess herself, that I speak the truth. If I’m lying… may my soul know eternal suffering after death.” Her voice broke with conviction. “Eryndor has betrayed us.”

The words struck like a fatal blow, reverberating through the chamber. Aela watched as her father turned towards her, his expression faltered, his daughter has never acted this way before, the indomitable Lord Sylphais crumbling for a brief, rare moment. Vulnerability etched itself onto his face, disbelief flickering alongside betrayal. He stumbled back, gripping the window ledge as though the room itself were shifting beneath him. “No…” he whispered, barely audible, “that’s… impossible.”

As her father’s pain mirrored her own, Aela’s throat tightened. Doubt gnawed at her insides, her own heart rebelling against the very truth she’d unearthed. Memories of Eryndor surfaced unbidden—moments of warmth, encouragement, and gentle guidance that had shaped her as much as her own father’s teachings. She recalled how Eryndor had filled the spaces her father’s duties left empty, how his words had instilled within her a sense of justice and honor, the very traits that now propelled her to expose him.

The cherished fragments of her past now felt like twisted, piercing thorns, reminders of the lie she’d been living.

Eryndor had been more than a councilor, more than an ally to her father. He had been a father figure in his own way. She remembered being a small child, looking up at him with wide eyes as he kneeled beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his gaze warm with the wisdom and affection of someone who understood the world’s harshness yet shielded her from it. He’d taught her compassion, humility, and the importance of justice, molding her sense of right and wrong with a gentle hand that she had often wished her own father could emulate in his stead.

When Lord Sylphais was away on his duties—often for long months, sometimes even a year—Eryndor would fill the absence with tales of honor, of courage, and of kindness. She could still hear his voice, rich and calming, recounting the myths of the gods and the strength that came from upholding their values. Those evenings by the fire, she would listen, entranced by the way his voice wove stories that made her feel connected to something larger than herself, part of a legacy that demanded her vigilance and integrity.

It was Eryndor who’d guided her through her first mission, the day she had stood trembling, her hands unsure as she faced down her first real threat. He’d been at her side, his presence a steady anchor, his voice quiet yet strong as he told her, “Aela, strength is not in victory alone, but in the courage to stand in the face of fear.”

She had carried those words within her heart, using them to fortify herself through countless battles and decisions, his wisdom becoming her own foundation.

Now, the same man who had shaped her into the woman she was today, who had taught her the meaning of honor, was aligned with forces that sought to tear down everything he once claimed to cherish. The sting of betrayal was almost unbearable. She struggled to reconcile the Eryndor she had known, the one who had cared for her, with the man she’d now uncovered in the shadows.

Her voice wavered as she continued. “Father, I didn’t want to believe it, either. But Eryndor has been meeting with operatives of the Cultists. He believes our alliance with the gods is failing, that our power is dwindling. He seeks another way, one that risks everything we hold sacred.”

Lord Sylphais was silent, his face still twisted with disbelief. Finally, he looked at her, and she saw the pain in his eyes—eyes that had known Eryndor as a brother-in-arms, a confidant, a friend. She understood that look because it was the same one she wore. The enormity of Eryndor’s betrayal didn’t just shake the foundations of their family; it shattered parts of themselves that they could never truly rebuild.

“Aela…” Her father’s voice was almost a whisper, as if he feared that any louder might splinter the fragile moment. “Eryndor was like a brother to me. If he has truly turned against us…”

Aela’s fingers trembled as she held back the torrent of conflicting emotions within her. “I don’t know why he’s done this, Father,” she admitted, her voice raw. “But if he believes that the only path forward is through the Cultists… then he’s abandoned everything he once taught me.”

In that moment, she realized that it wasn’t just her father’s trust that had been shattered—it was her own.

Aela approached him, her hand reaching for his shoulder in a rare gesture of comfort. “I know, Father. I know how much he meant to you. But that’s why this treachery cuts so deeply. He’s put our entire kingdom at risk, allying with those who would bring ruin to Aetheris.”

Lord Sylphais closed his eyes, gathering his strength as he straightened, a steely resolve settling over him. “If what you say is true, then we have no choice. We must root this treachery out before it spreads further.”

Aela nodded, her own resolve mirroring her father’s, yet a flicker of sadness remained.

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