Chapter Five: Ir'Agera

  Screeching cries like nails on a chalkboard mixed with the scream to create a cacophony of horror and chaos. Ash looked around, backing up as his heart slammed against his ribs. His mouth went dry with fear as the wooden floorboards creaked beneath his retreating steps. The cheerful decorations of Remembrance Day, the white flowers and banners, seemed grotesque now, a mockery of safety in the face of what was unfolding.

  He saw Uncle Derrick stand, the man's large frame casting a shadow in the firelight. The storyteller's tale of heroism and sacrifice had given way to real horror. Uncle Derrick's voice rose above the noise, carrying the authority of someone who had seen battle before.

  "Everyone! Hear me! Go out the back! Do not run! But be quick! Move!"

  His uncle's voice had changed, Ash realized. Gone was the familiar gentle tone of the shepherd, replaced by something harder, sharper, like steel forged in fire. It was the voice of a soldier, not a farmer.

  The guests began to move, their faces twisted with terror. Some were crying, others were frozen, unable to process what was happening. A child wailed somewhere in the crowd. The scent of fear hung thick in the air, mixing with the woodsmoke from the fireplace that had moments ago provided comfort.

  Amalia stepped forward, her staff in hand, her movements deliberate and confident. The fire cast dancing shadows across her face as she moved to meet a creature straight out of a nightmare. It was the size of a large dog, standing upright on two legs, with puss-colored scales that caught the firelight in a sickly gleam. Its beady eyes were like mud balls, lifeless yet filled with malice. The creature's elongated snout opened to reveal rows of yellowed fangs, dripping with saliva that hissed when it hit the wooden floor. It wielded a crude spear and was dressed in tattered leather that looked like it had been stripped from some unfortunate victim.

  Ash's mind flashed back to the children's rhyme he had heard earlier that day. The Ir'Aegra, the twelve dark lords on dragons. This couldn't be a coincidence. The purple smoke, the dying flowers... all the signs had been there.

  The creature lashed out with a cry that pierced Ash's ears, thrusting its spear at Amalia. The storyteller showed no fear as she calmly batted the attack away with a fluid motion of her staff. Her body moved like flowing water, graceful and precise. With a single step to the side, she swept the monster's legs out from under it with the end of her staff, sending it crashing to the floor.

  Before the creature could recover, Amalia brought her staff down with a sharp jab. The end of it sank into the monster's eye with a sickening, slick, moist sound that made Ash's stomach turn. Green slime burst forth, splattering across the floorboards. The creature thrashed, its limbs flailing wildly as it screeched horribly, a sound that crawled into Ash's mind and nested there. Then, suddenly, it went still, its body twitching once before becoming motionless.

  The smell of the creature's innards was acrid and alien, like nothing Ash had ever encountered before. It stung his nostrils and made his eyes water.

  As Amalia engaged the monster, the people began to leave, pushing toward the back door. Children were swept up into their parents' arms, their faces buried against shoulders to shield them from the horror. Neighbors helped the elderly, supporting them as they hurried outside.

  Before Ash could follow, Amalia's voice, colder than the frigid waters of a lake in winter, stopped him in his tracks.

  "Ash, with me."

  He felt rooted to the spot, his legs suddenly unwilling to move. His instinct screamed at him to run, to follow the others to safety.

  "But..." he began, his voice sounding small and far away to his own ears.

  Amalia's violet eyes hardened, becoming like twin amethysts, beautiful yet unyielding. The look she gave him brooked no argument, and Ash swallowed his words, his protest dying on his lips. He had known her only as the storyteller who visited on Remembrance Day, but now she seemed something more, something otherworldly and powerful.

  He noticed Rosalia standing as still as an ice sculpture, her face drained of color, her eyes wide with shock. He pulled at her arm, the warmth of her skin a stark contrast to the cold fear that gripped them both. She shook herself, looking around as if waking from a trance before following him. Her red hair was disheveled, and her green dress had a tear at the hem.

  "What's going on?" she asked, her brows furrowing with worry, her hands shaking as she clutched at his sleeve. The freckles across her nose stood out starkly against her pale skin.

  "Follow, but not too closely," was all Amalia said, her voice betraying no emotion as she led them toward the door.

  They went outside, and the scene that greeted them tore a cry from Ash's throat. The night air was cold against his skin, but he barely noticed it, transfixed by the carnage before him.

  All of the sheep were dead, their bodies strewn across the field, a bloody mass of white and shredded skin. The animals he had cared for, fed, and protected lay broken, their blood soaking into the earth. Wolves howled in the distance, their cries carrying on the wind, but these were no ordinary predators. Creatures like the one Amalia had just killed flooded the area, emerging from the darkness like a tide of nightmares.

  The air was thick with the copper scent of blood and the smoky tang of burning wood. Ash could taste fear on his tongue, metallic and bitter. The farm that had been his home, his safe haven, was being consumed before his eyes.

  A roar echoed through the land, so grotesque and alien that Ash shivered at hearing it. The sound reverberated through his bones, primordial and wrong, as if the world itself recoiled from it.

  "No..." Amalia whispered to herself, a note of dread in her voice that Ash had never heard before. The storyteller, always composed, now looked genuinely afraid, and that frightened Ash more than anything else.

  A shadow descended over the farm, blotting out the stars and moon. Stygian fire fell from the sky in a wave that ate at the land, burning the stables and fields in dark purple flames that cast an unnatural light. The heat from the fire reached them even from a distance, but it was not the warmth of a hearth; it was consuming, devouring everything in its path.

  As the shadow descended, Ash's mouth fell open as he realized the massive form was a living creature, a monster straight out of the darkest tales. Great wings, spanning wider than their entire house, folded against a serpentine body. Scales painted midnight blue shone in the moonlight, each one the size of a dinner plate. Its angular head had two great black horns curling from it, like obsidian daggers reaching for the heavens. Its eyes were glittering rubies, reflecting the blood and fire around them, soulless yet intelligent, filled with ancient malice.

  Ash had never imagined such a creature could exist outside of stories. It was magnificent in its terrible beauty, awe-inspiring in its destruction.

  From the creature's back, a man slid down with fluid grace, landing on the ground without a sound. He was dressed in dark clothes that seemed to drink in the light, with a blade that gleamed like crushed pearls and silver moonlight in his hands. His features were a distorted version of a warrior king, noble yet cruel, as if some artist had tried to capture power and had added too much shadow. His skin was dark mahogany, smooth and unmarked by time. His eyes were cinder orbs, glowing with an inner fire that promised nothing but pain. A cruel smile curled his lips as he stalked forward, each step purposeful and predatory. His hair was the precise shade of the scales on the creature behind him, a blue so dark it was almost black.

  "Stay behind me, children," Amalia said firmly, standing tall, her back straight as a sword. Her white staff gleamed in the firelight, a beacon in the darkness.

  "No, Amalia, take them and go."

  Ash turned, eyes widening in surprise. Uncle Derrick walked up to them, his face haggard, his shoulders slumped as if under a great weight. There was something broken in his expression, something that made Ash's heart clench painfully in his chest.

  "Uncle Derrick? What happened?" Ash asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Tears were streaming calmly from his uncle's eyes as he stared at the man walking toward them. Not tears of fear, Ash realized, but of grief, of a loss too fresh to bear.

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  "Dara is dead," Uncle Derrick said, his voice hollow. "Those creatures were waiting for us behind the house. Like they knew we'd go that way. Villagers are scattered, being chased down by those things."

  The words hit Ash like a physical blow. Aunt Dara, dead? The woman who had raised him, who had bandaged his cuts, dried his tears, and filled their home with warmth and love, was gone? It couldn't be true. There had to be some mistake.

  But the truth was written in the tears on his uncle's face, in the slump of his shoulders, in the resignation in his eyes.

  Uncle Derrick pointed toward the road, away from the farm, away from the advancing figure.

  "Go, Amalia. Take the kids. Leave this one to me."

  Amalia shook her head, her eyes never leaving the approaching man.

  "He will kill you," she stated, her voice flat and certain.

  Derrick smiled grimly, a smile that held no humor, only acceptance.

  "Yes. But he'll have to earn it." He paused, his eyes reflecting the purple flames. "We knew this day would come. I knew something was off, but I ignored the signs."

  Derrick looked over at Ash, and there was something in his uncle's eyes that Ash couldn't identify. Love, certainly, but also regret, and something deeper, a knowledge that seemed to weigh on him.

  "I love you, lad. Always have," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Now go, get out of here. Save who you can."

  "Uncle, no!" Ash screamed, lunging forward, only to be held back by Amalia's surprisingly strong grip. He couldn't leave his uncle here to die. He couldn't lose both his guardians in one night. "Please, come with us!"

  Rosalia began to cry beside him, her sobs quiet but heartbreaking. She had known his aunt and uncle nearly all her life as well, had been welcomed into their home countless times.

  Amalia stared at Derrick for a moment, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange. Then she took a breath, her face softening just slightly.

  "Hail, warrior," she said softly, a formal acknowledgment that seemed weighted with significance.

  His Uncle Derrick stood straighter at her words, his posture changing, becoming that of a soldier rather than a farmer. His tears continued to fall, but there was pride in his stance now, dignity in his grief. From somewhere Ash couldn't see, he pulled a sword, the metal catching the light of the flames. This was not the shepherd's staff he carried during the day; this was a warrior's weapon, and he held it with the familiarity of long practice.

  He walked forward to meet the cinder-eyed man, his steps steady despite everything.

  "An old soldier," the man muttered, his voice carrying on the night air, sounding like gravel sliding down a mountainside.

  "But not the one," he added, his eyes flicking briefly to Ash, a look that sent ice sliding down Ash's spine.

  The man's cruel smile grew wider, revealing teeth that were too perfect, too sharp. He lifted his blade, the light dancing along its edge.

  Amalia's grip on Ash tightened. She gestured urgently at them with her free hand.

  "Let's go. Move!" she hissed, her voice urgent.

  Ash didn't want to leave his uncle, wanted to stay and fight, to help somehow. But he was being swept along by Amalia's inexorable force, pulling him away from the only home he had ever known.

  The last thing he saw as they fled was his uncle raising his own blade, his form blurring toward the dark figure like a rushing wave, determined and fierce. There was a clash of metal, a spray of crimson in the firelight. Blood painted the air in a terrible arc.

  His uncle's body fell to the ground, a puppet with its strings cut.

  Ash cried out as they ran, a sound of pure anguish that tore from his throat. He felt something shatter inside him, something fundamental and irreparable.

  And they ran. Away from the burning farm, away from the bodies of his aunt and uncle, away from everything he had ever known and loved.

  The night closed around them, shadows swallowing their fleeing forms as the farm continued to burn behind them, a funeral pyre for a life that would never be regained.

  The stars above were cold and distant, uncaring witnesses to the end of Ash's childhood.

  He had no idea how long they ran, but some miles away, they heard a cry of fury echoing through the night.

  "Get away from me, you light-fucked lizards!"

  The voice was familiar, a gruff bellow that cut through the darkness.

  "That's Nick!" Ash called, pointing down the road, his voice hoarse from running and grief.

  Sure enough, his stout dwarven friend was there, his sturdy form visible in the moonlight. He was waving his hammer about at three of the lizard-like creatures who hissed and clicked their tongues at him, their spears at the ready. The moonlight glinted off his dark skin and the metal of his hammer as he held the monsters at bay.

  Amalia held out a hand for them to stay, her gesture commanding. A faint violet glow surrounded her as she moved like a dark bolt, her white staff flashing in the night. Her robes billowed around her as she streaked toward the confrontation.

  Ash had no idea what happened next. It wasn't even a fight in any real sense. Amalia's form was a shadowy blur of violet and white, too fast for the eye to follow. One moment the creatures were advancing on Nick, and the next they were dead, their bodies crumpled on the ground. Nick was left standing there with his hammer in hand and his mouth open in astonishment.

  "Wow," he said, blinking rapidly. "Right then, the storyteller is a fucking badass. Who would have guessed that one, eh?"

  Despite everything, despite the horror of the night and the loss that weighed on him like a stone, Ash felt a flicker of almost hysterical amusement at his friend's reaction. It was so typically Nick, blunt and colorful even in the face of terror.

  The dwarf slipped his hammer back into his belt at his side, nodding his head respectfully to Amalia.

  "My thanks, storyteller," he said, his voice gruff but sincere.

  Amalia flicked a hand dismissively, her face impassive once more.

  "You should follow us. We are leaving," she stated, her tone allowing no argument.

  Nick shook his head, his beard rustling with the movement, his dark eyes troubled.

  "Not until I check on Will," he insisted. "These things..." Ash saw him swallow, looking away momentarily, his hands clenching into fists. "They speared my Ma'. Will couldn't make it tonight, his Pa is sick. I'm going to check on them."

  His voice was firm, unyielding. Nick might be coarse, even crude at times, but he was fiercely loyal to his friends.

  Amalia shook her head, her expression remaining unchanged.

  "I'm sorry, child, but he's dead. Better you come with us."

  Her words fell like stones in still water, heavy and final. Ash felt a chill run through him at her certainty, but something in him rebelled against it.

  Ash planted his feet, his grief giving way to a stubborn determination. He couldn't save his aunt and uncle, but perhaps there was still a chance for Will.

  "You can't know that," he challenged, his voice stronger than he felt.

  The storyteller turned to look at him, her violet eyes piercing. Ash found it hard to continue under that gaze, feeling as if she could see straight through to his soul. But he did continue, driven by something deeper than fear.

  "You can't know that he's dead. We should look," he insisted. "Will is a friend, and if you don't go, I am."

  He met her gaze steadily, refusing to back down. He'd already lost too much tonight; he couldn't bear to abandon another friend without at least trying.

  Rosalia still looked scared, her face pale in the moonlight, but the red-haired girl nodded, standing beside Ash.

  "Me too," she said, her voice trembling but determined.

  Amalia sighed, the sound barely audible over the grinding of her staff into the dirt. For a moment, irritation flickered across her features, quickly suppressed.

  "Children, make no mistake, I can make you come with me," she warned, a dangerous edge to her voice.

  Ash crossed his arms, a familiar stubbornness coming over him. He stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated.

  "Yeah? How easy is that? Dragging three unwilling kids along with you, screaming and making a fuss," he countered. "Much easier for you to just come look with us. Besides, you aren't our parent."

  A dark look crossed her eyes at that last statement, a flash of some deep emotion that Ash couldn't identify. There and gone in an instant, replaced by her usual composed expression.

  "No, I'm not," she admitted, her voice cool. "I'm just the one who saved you. But fine, you are right that expending the energy to force you is unwise. We will see if young Will is alive."

  Nick's face relaxed, his relief evident in the slump of his shoulders and the release of tension around his eyes.

  "Thank you," he said, nodding to Amalia. "Come on, it's not far."

  Ash had visited Will's farm before, they all had. It was a modest place, smaller than Uncle Derrick's, but well-kept, with fields of wheat and a small orchard. Will's father was known for his skill with bow making, crafting some of the finest hunting bows in the region.

  They walked at a quick pace, the night air cool against their skin. The stars continued their silent watch overhead, distant and uncaring. Ash's legs ached from running, and his lungs burned, but he pushed on, driven by concern for his friend.

  As they approached Will's farm, the familiar silhouette of the farmhouse came into view. But something was terribly wrong. The building was on fire, purple smoke rising high into the sky like a beacon of destruction. The flames cast eerie shadows across the landscape, turning the familiar into something alien and threatening.

  The lizard monsters were there, hissing and spitting as they clustered around a tree at the edge of the property. On a high branch, a figure stood defiant, a bow in his hands.

  It was Will, his lean form silhouetted against the flames. His face was streaked with soot, and his clothes were torn, but he was very much alive. As Ash watched, Will nocked an arrow, drew back the string with practiced ease, and let fly. The arrow whistled through the air and pierced a lizard creature's chest with deadly accuracy. The monster stumbled back, green slime oozing from the wound, before collapsing.

  "Back ya filthy monsters!" Will shouted, his voice carrying across the yard. "Or ya'll get another arrow, I swear it!"

  "Thank the Light, he's fucking alive!" Nick whooped, his face splitting into a relieved grin.

  Amalia growled, her expression darkening as she realized their presence had been noticed.

  "You idiot child!" she snapped, her composure finally cracking.

  The monsters turned from the tree, their attention drawn by Nick's loud exclamation. Their beady eyes fixed on the newcomers, and they hissed, spears raised, malicious intent clear in their posture.

  Nick's grin faded as he took in the situation, replaced by a grimace of realization.

  "Well, fuck," he muttered, reaching for his hammer once more.

  The creatures began to move toward them, their bodies low to the ground, their movements unnaturally quick. The firelight caught their scales, making them gleam with a sickly light. More seemed to emerge from the shadows with each passing moment, drawn by the prospect of fresh prey.

  Ash felt his heart pounding in his chest as he reached for a weapon he didn't have. The night had already taken so much from him; he wouldn't let it take his friends as well. He glanced at Amalia, hoping the storyteller had one more miracle to perform.

  The violet glow began to surround her once more as she raised her staff, her face set in grim determination. Whatever happened next, Ash knew that his life had been forever changed this night. Nothing would ever be the same again.