The Scarlet Harbinger

  The night was cloaked in darkness, the kind that swallowed sound and light alike. Beneath the blood-red moon, the Black Sepulcher stood like a sentinel, its massive stone form stretching into the hills as if it belonged to another time. The air around it was still, almost oppressive, and yet it pulsed with the energy of something long forgotten.

  Deep beneath the mountain, a secret lay dormant, guarded by powerful wards and curses so old even the lich Vhalzaren dared not disturb them. Yet, somewhere in the shadowed recesses of the world, the agents of the Scarlet Raven had learned of it. And now, the Raven would strike.

  At the Red Veil, the hidden fortress of The Scarlet Raven, the Scarlet Harbinger paced before a large, worn map of Cindralore. Their face was hidden beneath a crimson mask, eyes glinting with an otherworldly coldness. In the dim light of the hidden war room, they stood alone, a figure wrapped in shadow and bloodstained history. There was no room for uncertainty in their mind—Vhalzaren would be too focused on Sunspire to notice the true danger. The distraction was already in motion.

  Far to the north, Vhalzaren’s legions advanced, marching toward Sunspire Bastion, their war drums echoing through the night as they prepared to strike at the heart of the Phoenix Accord. Vaelthas the Undying stood ready, defiant against the tide of undeath, his voice ringing out in command. The battle would be fierce, but the Scarlet Raven was not concerned with the outcome of this clash. They had their own agenda.

  Through their network of spies, informants, and hidden eyes, the Raven had known of Vhalzaren’s plan for months. They knew the lich would seek to claim Sunspire—to break the last stronghold of the Solari and push the Phoenix Accord into chaos. But they also knew Vhalzaren’s greatest weakness: his pride. Vhalzaren believed in his own invulnerability, and as he marched toward Sunspire, he left the Black Sepulcher unguarded.

  That was all the Raven needed.

  The Harbinger moved like a shadow, their every step silent as death itself. The group of agents they commanded had infiltrated the Black Sepulcher with uncanny precision. They were ghosts, their presence masked by centuries of secrecy and the whispered dread of their name. They passed through the Sepulcher’s cold halls, undetected by the few lingering guards who still remained in the vast structure. It was a place of death, after all—there was no need to waste energy defending what was already forsaken.

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  At the heart of the Sepulcher, nestled beneath layers of stone and enchantments, lay the relic. It was not Vhalzaren’s phylactery—no, that would remain untouched. This artifact, however, was something altogether more dangerous. A book, bound in blackened leather, its pages etched with symbols of power. It contained the forbidden knowledge of the Solari, fragments of forgotten magic, and secrets that could alter the very fabric of reality. But its true purpose was unknown to all but the Harbinger.

  The agents moved swiftly, silently. The tome was hidden beneath layers of protective magic, but they had prepared for this. The Scarlet Harbinger had long studied the wards surrounding the relic. They knew how to unravel them, how to release the seal without triggering its defenses. As the Harbinger approached the pedestal, a low hum filled the air, the relic’s aura awakening in response to their presence. The agents were prepared. The Harbinger did not flinch as their gloved hand hovered over the tome.

  The whisper of words—ancient and forgotten—escaped their lips. In an instant, the seals were undone, the dark magic retreating as if afraid of what might come next.

  The relic was theirs.

  As the agents retreated into the shadows, Vhalzaren’s forces had already begun their siege of Sunspire Bastion, the ground trembling under the weight of their assault. But the Raven had already won. The Scarlet Harbinger had taken what was never meant to be touched. The book, stolen from the very vaults of the Black Sepulcher, would soon be in their hands, its secrets ripe for manipulation.

  At the Red Veil, the Scarlet Harbinger stood before the tome, their crimson mask glinting in the low light. The agents of the Scarlet Raven surrounded them, waiting for the next command. Their purpose had always been one of shadows, of working in the silence between moments, but now they had a weapon. And the Harbinger, standing silent before the relic, knew its power could change everything.

  No one, not even Vhalzaren, knew the true consequences of its theft. And as the Scarlet Raven gathered in the dark, far from the fires of the battlefield, they began to weave their next move.

  The relic was just the beginning.

  And from this shadowed corner of the world, the Scarlet Raven would set their sights on something far greater than any war.