[First Era – Year 3 of the Divinity War; Phiira, near Haphron’s Temple]

  Even if Moraithe could do nothing for himself, his friends might survive this. And they could fight back.

  The Severed roared in frustration, their power shattered by the protection he had given his friends. They couldn't destroy them. Not now.

  And Moraithe, though still trapped in the icy grip of fear, held onto that one, fragile hope.

  The world was still burning. The fear still whispered in his ear. But for the first time, he knew that even in these darkest of moments, he could help them survive.

  A distant bellow of horns echoed across the battlefield, a sound that froze the air. It was a rallying cry, a signal to retreat, to regroup. But it was also a challenge to the Severed, daring them to come forth. The invaders—those twisted horrors—were pulling back, regrouping as well. But Moraithe, Norgoth, and Saffrael had no such luxury. The battle had been long and fierce, and now the enemy was closing in again, relentless in their assault.

  “We need to find somewhere safe. I think that call came from the great fortress on the downs. They say its lord can entangle himself with the entire structure.”

  “An entire fortress?” Norgoth scoffed, and fired an entangled arrow, blowing apart one of their attackers. “And they expect us to believe that?”

  Saffrael threw spear after spear, grabbing each from her revenescent, the scent of winterblossoms wafting around her. “I say it's our best bet.”

  Norgoth nocked another arrow and held it between the fingers that clutched his bow. “Better than here I guess.”

  “I'm going to pack up the house. Be ready to move.”

  Moraithe tried to stagger to his feet, feeling his legs buckling under him, the fear, paralysis, and strain of holding the protective shield almost too much to bear. The shield held firm, but he felt a creeping numbness in his limbs. His vision was blurred, his mind frayed. Horrific hallucinations still bled into his thoughts—twisting shadows, strange faces, figures he had never seen before.

  “Norgoth,” he gasped, barely able to form words, “I—I can't—”

  But Norgoth was already there, his face grim, his jaw clenched. “Hang on, Moraithe. We're getting out of here. Just stay with me.”

  Without hesitation, Norgoth hoisted Moraithe onto his back, his strength like an unyielding mountain, unwavering even as the Severed pressed closer. Saffrael put the house away in her revenescent and moved to keep pace beside them, her sword drawn, a fierce protector even in the face of overwhelming odds. The shield was now their only bulwark against the oncoming tide of shadowy foes.

  “Move!” Saffrael cried, and Norgoth surged forward, his legs pumping and luminous veins bulging as they sprinted for the long distant fortress, their only hope.

  Now, seeing the fortress, that speck in the distance, he wondered how they had even heard the blast of the trumpet's call. It must have been entangled with bellows of such ferocity that the sound could travel a dozen miles.

  On and on they ran, Moraithe struggling with the hallucinations and pouring all his focus into keeping the shield over his friends as the bolts kept raining down upon them. His friend's breaths came in ragged gasps as they struggled to keep ahead of the Severed, from being blocked in by them. There was safety in the fortress, or so they trusted—if only they could make it.

  The eerie howl of the Severed echoed around them, but Moraithe, despite his paralyzing fatigue and wavering consciousness, pressed on, his will alone holding the shield intact around the trio. He could barely focus; his vision swam with mad images—twisted faces, contorted limbs reaching from the edges of reality, their mouths whispering horrors he couldn't fully comprehend.

  Moraithe’s shield flickered, its golden light wavering like a dying ember.

  “We must be getting close,” Saffrael's voice broke through the haze, though it sounded distant and muffled, like underwater. She reached out to hold Norgoth steady, then glanced at Moraithe with concern, the heavy weight of battle having worn them all thin.

  Moraithe gritted his teeth and dug deep into his remaining strength, desperate to keep the barrier up. It was not his well of gratitude that was running dry, never that, but his strength to project it over his friends. The shadows clawed at it, eager to break through, but each time they got too close, a surge of energy would send them reeling back. The shield was his, but so was the strain it caused him—each pulse of energy to sustain it made his limbs feel heavier, colder. The paralysis in his legs spread higher, inching up to his chest, but he held firm.

  Finally, they crested a hill and found the fortress looming ahead, an imposing structure on the horizon. Moraithe could barely hold his eyes open, his mind slipping further into delirium. But he knew they had to reach it. It was their only chance.

  They crossed the barren land, the ground beneath them cracked and scarred by battle, the sky dark with smoke and ash.

  “Moraithe,” Norgoth grunted, half-turning to face him. His voice was strained, but there was something in his eyes, a desperate plea for something more than just survival. “We can't keep this up much longer. You're bleeding energy—how much longer can you keep this going?”

  Moraithe didn't answer immediately. The shadows seemed to swirl around him, their phantasms growing in number as if his mind were giving way to the madness of such horrors. The hallucinations were becoming more vivid. Faces of his friends—now twisted and distorted—emerged from the darkness, their features dissolving like smoke as they screamed his name.

  “You've got to keep it together,” Saffrael urged. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the fog of his mind like a knife. “The fortress is right ahead—just a little more! Don't let go now!”

  Her voice seemed to echo from a distant shore. The world around him was warping. Was this reality? Or just another dream, another nightmare? How could he know if any of this was real?

  And then, through the chaos of his mind, he saw it—the fortress, its looming spires cutting through the twilight sky. It was a massive structure, a testament to its owner's power. The walls shimmered with faint, golden light, and though the gates were shut, Moraithe saw the intricate entanglements binding them. Those entanglements were the key—the fortress was sealed by a kind of magic so powerful, it was said no invader could breach it, and no enemy could tread there without being consumed by its will.

  But as they neared, the shadows of the Severed closed in, their howls growing louder.

  Moraithe's energy waned further. A tendril of darkness was winding into his mind, wrapping around his consciousness like a vice. His vision blurred, and for a split second, he thought he saw the form of a monstrous shadow, its glowing eyes staring directly at him. It called to him, beckoned him to let go, to surrender to the dark.

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  His grip on the shield faltered.

  The shadows surged forward, eager to tear into them. An army stood between them and their destination.

  “Moraithe!” Norgoth shouted, seeing the wavering shield. The Severed were close, too close.

  The fortress gates—already shimmering with the power of the owner's entanglements—began to glow brighter, but they weren't opening. Not yet.

  “I … can't … hold it.” Moraithe whispered through clenched teeth.

  He was losing the fight. He knew it, felt it in his bones. The pain from the effort of holding the shield was too much, his power drained.

  How were they to break through those ranks of Severed to the fortress? “I have an idea,” Saffrael shouted. “Grab onto that tree.”

  They surged toward a lone tree at the edge of the horde of Severed. Their arms wrapped around it and suddenly, they were inhaling water and struggling to hold on against a massive weight, so much water. How had the ocean suddenly poured out on their heads? Moraithe struggled to hold his breath, but just as his lungs were burning with the need to breathe the water stopped. He choked and gasped for breath, breathing in Saffrael’s winterblossom scent.

  Norgoth sucked in a breath. “How did you store an entire lake in your revenescent?”

  The way was clear, at least most of it. Maybe they could break through the final ranks and reach the gates.

  With wild desperation they slammed into the line of Severed, only to be rebuffed. They couldn't break through. Moraithe had passed the edge of his strength to extend the shield over his friends. Now the Severed that had been swept away in the flood were returning to surround them.

  But then, just as the shadows reached out to break through, there was a tremor. A ripple in the air, as if the very fabric of reality were shifting. The gates of the fortress slowly creaked open, and an enormous wave of golden light poured out, engulfing the Severed.

  Stone fingers of the entangled fortress stretched out, reaching far beyond its walls. The Severed began to scream as they were caught, bound by the power of the lord of the fortress. The shadows flailed, pulled into the fortress like ragdolls trapped by an invisible force. The night air grew thick with tension, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. The enemy's assault faltered.

  Moraithe's shield finally began to give way. Norgoth and Saffrael collapsed to their knees, exhausted beyond measure. The shield flickered and then vanished completely as his focus snapped. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he looked up just as Saffrael and Norgoth crawled to his side. The golden light from the fortress walls illuminated their faces, but his vision was still clouded, the hallucinations lingering.

  “Stay with us, Moraithe,” Saffrael urged, her voice softer now as she hung over him, those stardust freckles painting her purple skin like a starscape.

  But Moraithe's body felt like stone, heavy and unyielding. He tried to speak, to tell them it wasn't over, but no words came. His mind swirled in a haze of confusion, the remnants of his shield still flickering in his vision.

  And then, a new voice cut through the chaos—a deep, resonant voice filled with power, so commanding it made the very air tremble.

  “You're safe now. But we should hurry.”

  Moraithe barely managed to lift his gaze toward the source of the voice. A figure stepped through the shimmering light of the gates, tall and imposing, a cloak of green and silver billowing behind him. The man's eyes were like pools of molten gold, and in them Moraithe saw not just power—but the weight of untold knowledge. The walls of the fortress bent around him, binding itself to him in a way that seemed truly alive.

  “You've come just in time,” Norgoth said, his voice tight with exhaustion.

  The man nodded, his expression weary.

  “We're not done yet,” the lord of the fortress said, his voice carrying the certainty of someone who had seen the worst the world had to offer—and survived it. “Get inside. We have work to do.”

  Saffrael and Norgoth helped Moraithe to his feet, and together, they staggered into the fortress, the gates closing behind them with a final, resounding boom. The Severed were locked out, but they could still feel their presence, like a cold wind at their backs.

  And as the darkness encroached upon the walls, Moraithe felt a flicker of hope—thin, fragile, but there. They had made it. For now.

  Defenders manned the battlements, their weapons ready, and refugees huddled together within the walls, their faces drawn with fear and exhaustion.

  Once inside, the sheer magnitude of the fortress's power hit them like a wave. Moraithe took a deep breath as the fear that had gripped him for so long finally released its hold. He blinked, his body slowly coming back to life as his senses sharpened. The world was clearer now, the hallucinations fading away.

  “What is this place?” Saffrael whispered, her eyes wide as she surveyed the fortress. The walls seemed to pulse with energy, and Moraithe could feel the entanglement suffusing the place—an overwhelming, suffocating presence that made it feel as though the very earth beneath them was alive, aware.

  From the walls, the defenders unleashed a barrage of arrows, entanglements, and siege weapons against the Severed. But it wasn't just the weapons that struck fear into the enemy—it was the walls themselves. The massive stone structures seemed to move and shift with a life of their own, forming an impenetrable barrier, crushing the Severed with an almost casual disdain.

  Saffrael stretched her legs and back, kneading her cramped, stardust-freckled muscles. “So it was true, what they said about the lord of this fortress entangling the whole of it.”

  “How is it possible?” Norgoth wondered. “He's standing against an entire army. How could such power even exist?”

  Moraithe stared in awe, his mouth dry. He wasn't the only one in shock. The other refugees, the defenders—everyone within the walls was staring, struck silent by the raw, unearthly power of the fortress. It was as though the land itself was under the control of a single, unfathomably strong will. At the sight of it, Moraithe’s mouth slipped into a customary mystic grin, like an unknowable secret.

  But the Severed didn't stop coming. They were drawn to the fortress, like moths to a flame. No matter how many were destroyed, more poured in, driven by some insatiable hunger for destruction.

  Moraithe checked for his weapons, his quiver still held arrows, but something was missing. “Where's my bow?”

  “Don't worry” Saffrael grabbed something out of seemingly nowhere and presented it to him. It was his bow. “I stored it in my revenescent when you fell.”

  He took it, mounted the battlements, and turned toward the Severed. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to get in more practice with entanglements. Especially if he ever wanted to get even remotely as strong as the lord of this fortress. He lined up his shot …

  Then a blast of force seemed nearly to rupture his eardrums. The wall covered them to stop a massive wall of anger as it roared over the fortress. What was that?

  A new presence had entered the battlefield. A Severed of such power that his every step caused tremors to shake the earth. His was a blackness that seemed to drink in light, turning it to tendrils of midnight. Fiery hatred bloomed in his eyes like the rays of a thousand suns.

  From the corners of his eyes Moraithe saw heads fall lifeless from the shoulders of hundreds of defenders, and their bodies dropped an instant later.

  Moraithe stood untouched by the attack, but shaken to the core.

  The horrified faces of the defenders told volumes. And a shout rang out, “The Severed brought a baron to the battle.”

  “What is a baron?” Moraithe asked one of the surviving defenders who stood beside him.

  “One of the highest ranked beings in existence, higher even than our lord. With power to exceed him.”

  “Bring him down!” Someone cried. An entire volley launched at the baron. Moraithe fired his shot, and finally timed the entanglement perfectly, he could hear the sound of the strike from here, but the baron didn’t even notice.

  His next step forward broke the earth, rending the walls of the fortress itself. Moraithe lost his footing, falling to his knees as the walls shook.

  Then the world went white, and the sky itself seemed to shudder.

  A presence descended—a man of impossible power, floating in the sky above the battlefield. He was like a storm incarnate, his very presence dwarfing the stars themselves. The Severed recoiled, panic spreading through their ranks as they saw him. With barely a flick of his hand, he unleashed a wave of destructive force that carved through the ranks of the Severed, scattering and obliterating all their forms in an instant, even disintegrating the imposing bulk of the baron. A massive canyon cleaved the land in the wake of the strike, a testament to his sheer might.

  In an instant, the godlike lord of the fortress and even the Severed baron had been utterly eclipsed by this being of unimaginable power.

  He descended slowly as if the earth itself bent to his will, landing before Moraithe and his friends with quiet grace. The air around him thrummed with power, and every step he took seemed to make the ground tremble.

  Moraithe's world slowed as the man reached toward him and lifted his chin, locking eyes with him. “You seem well,” he said, his voice like thunder, yet strangely calm.

  Moraithe could barely speak, still reeling from the overwhelming display of power. His mind raced to comprehend what had just happened. This man—this force of nature—was more powerful than anything he had ever imagined.

  And yet, there was something in his eyes—something familiar. A recognition.