"Ranger, eh?" the captain said, his voice pitched to carry just far enough for Val to hear without adding to the crowd''s agitation. "From Willow Creek, Tomas says?"


    "Yes, sir," Val confirmed. "Valtha Hearne, Ranger Company Two. I have urgent information about the attacks."


    The captain studied him for another moment, then made his decision. "Get him in here," he ordered the guards. "Now."


    Two guards moved to create a narrow gap in the barricade, just wide enough for Val to slip through. As he did so, the crowd surged forward again, voices rising in protest at this apparent favoritism.


    "What about us?" someone shouted. "We''ve been waiting all day!"


    "Why does he get to go in?" demanded another voice. "My children are hungry!"


    The guards pushed back against the press of bodies, their shields forming a wall as they restored the barrier. The captain grabbed Val''s arm and pulled him toward the guardhouse adjacent to the gate, his grip firm but not rough.


    "Move quickly," he muttered. "Crowd''s on edge. One spark and we''ll have a riot on our hands."


    They entered the guardhouse, a sturdy stone building built into the city wall itself. The interior was sparse but functional—a large table covered with maps and documents, weapon racks along the walls, and a handful of guards taking brief respites from their duties outside. The air inside was notably cooler than the late afternoon heat, the thick stone walls providing insulation.


    The captain released Val''s arm once they were inside, gesturing toward a chair beside the table. "Sit before you fall down, Ranger. You look half-dead."


    Val sank gratefully into the offered seat, his legs trembling now that the immediate need to remain standing had passed. "Thank you, Captain...?"


    "Holt," the man supplied. "Darin Holt, East Gate Company." He filled a cup with water from a pitcher and placed it before Val. "Drink. Then tell me what brings a ranger from Willow Creek to my gate looking like he''s fought his way through the nine hells."


    Val drained half the cup in one long swallow, the water soothing his parched throat. He set it down and met the captain''s gaze directly. "Willow Creek is under siege, Captain. A coordinated assault by undead forces, hundreds of ghouls, along with more powerful beasts. We''ve held them off so far, but the village teeters on the brink."


    The captain''s expression darkened. "Sounds familiar. We started getting refugees from Stonebridge at midday." He gestured toward the door, indicating the crowd beyond. "Their stories match yours, organized attacks, overwhelming numbers, tactical coordination beyond what we''ve seen from the undead before."


    "It''s not random," Val said, confirming what he''d suspected since hearing about Stonebridge. "These attacks are deliberate, targeted. Someone or something is directing the undead with purpose."


    "A necromancer?" Holt suggested, the word heavy with implication.


    Val nodded grimly. "Or worse. Whatever it is, it''s targeting our northern settlements. Willow Creek, Stonebridge, the other villages may have fared worse."


    The captain moved to the map table, running a weathered finger along the marked locations. "Clearwater and Emberfell lie between Stonebridge and us. If the pattern holds, they''ll be hit next," he muttered, more to himself than to Val. "We''ve already dispatched riders to warn them, but if the undead move as quickly as the refugees claim..."


    He shook his head, then looked back at Val. "The council''s been in session since the first refugees arrived. The militia is being raised, and the army is preparing to march. But they need information, accurate reports from the field, not just panicked accounts from civilians."


    Val finished his water and rose to his feet, his body protesting but his resolve firm. "That''s why I''m here. I need to report to High Captain Unta, then address the council directly."


    Holt nodded approvingly. "Good man. He''ll be at the ranger quarters, coordinating the response." He moved to the door, opening it to reveal the continued chaos at the gate. "The streets are crowded with refugees and citizens preparing for... whatever comes next."


    Before Val could leave, Captain Holt caught his arm once more. "One more thing, Ranger Hearne. The council is divided on how to respond. Some argue for defense of the city only, abandoning the outlying settlements." His grip tightened slightly. "Make sure they understand what''s at stake."


    Val met the captain''s gaze, recognizing a kindred spirit in the older man. "I''ll make them understand," he promised. "One way or another."


    Holt released him with a nod of satisfaction. "Good hunting then, Ranger. And may the Oakspire watch over you."


    Val followed his young escort out of the guardhouse and into the controlled chaos of the entry plaza. The guards had established a cordon around the immediate area, creating a clear path toward the inner city while continuing to process refugees at the checkpoints.


    The young guard led him along this protected corridor, bypassing the worst of the crowd. Once past the entry plaza, they entered the wider streets of the Outer City, where the situation was marginally better. The streets were still crowded, but there was more order to the movement, with city guards directing traffic and maintaining calm.


    Refugees who had already been processed moved in groups toward designated shelters, carrying what possessions they had managed to bring. Citizens of Oakspire hurried in the opposite direction, some bringing food and blankets to aid the newcomers, others carrying weapons and supplies toward the walls. The mood was tense but purposeful, a city preparing for a siege.


    Their path took them through the Greystone Quarter, where the narrow streets wound between workshops and modest homes. Blacksmiths worked feverishly at their forges, hammers ringing against metal as they produced weapons and tools for the coming conflict. Carpenters sawed and nailed, reinforcing doors and shutters, building barricades for vulnerable points in the city''s defenses.


    The air was thick with sawdust and smoke, with the shouts of laborers and the general din of a district transformed from peaceful industry to wartime production. Through gaps between buildings, Val caught glimpses of the Oakspire itself, the colossal tree rising at the center of the city, its enormous canopy spreading over much of the Inner City like a protective umbrella.


    As they moved deeper into the city, the streets became broader and better maintained, the buildings larger and more ornate. They passed from the Outer City into the Inner City through a checkpoint at the Second Wall, a less imposing barrier than the outer fortifications, but still a significant defensive structure.


    The guards at this checkpoint recognized Val''s ranger uniform immediately and waved them through with minimal delay. The difference between the two districts was immediately apparent. Where the Outer City had been chaotic and crowded, the Inner City maintained a veneer of calm, though the increased activity and serious expressions belied the underlying tension.


    Wealthy merchants secured their shops and homes while servants carried goods to safer locations. Members of the various guilds gathered in small groups, discussing their roles in the city''s defense. Scholars from the Grand Library hurried past with armloads of books and scrolls, preserving knowledge that might be vital in the days to come.


    Val''s escort led him efficiently through the winding streets, clearly familiar with the quickest route to their destination. They passed the Scholar''s Quarter, where the Grand Library stood with its impressive stone fa?ade and intricate carvings. Under normal circumstances, Val might have paused to admire the architecture, but today his focus remained singular.


    The ranger quarters were located in the Military District, a section of the Inner City reserved for the various defensive forces that protected Oakspire. Unlike the more ornate buildings they had passed, the structures here were functional and sturdy, built for purpose rather than show.


    The Ranger Headquarters was a three-story building of solid stone, its entrance marked by the symbol of the Oakspire Rangers, a stylized tree with a bow and sword crossed beneath it. Guards stood at attention on either side of the main doors, their posture perfect despite the evident tension in the air.


    The interior of the ranger headquarters buzzed with controlled activity. Rangers moved purposefully between rooms, carrying messages, equipment, and supplies. Maps covered tables and walls, marked with the locations of settlements, known undead sightings, and potential defensive positions.


    Val approached a senior ranger who stood directing the flow of traffic near the central staircase. "Ranger Valtha Hearne, Company Two," he introduced himself. "I need to see High Captain Unta immediately. I have critical information from Willow Creek."


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    The senior ranger assessed him with a quick, professional glance. "Third floor, strategy room," she replied without hesitation. "He''s organizing the response companies now. They''re expecting reports from the field, though not many rangers have made it back yet."


    Val nodded his thanks and headed for the stairs, forcing his tired legs to carry him upward. Each step sent a jolt of pain through his various injuries, but he pushed the discomfort aside, focusing on the urgency of his mission.


    The third floor was quieter than the lower levels, with fewer rangers moving about. The strategy room was located at the end of the main corridor, its double doors standing open to reveal a large chamber dominated by a massive table.


    Around this table stood a group of senior rangers, their attention fixed on a detailed map of Yelden Valley. Val recognized several squad leaders and captains, all of them bearing the grim expressions of those preparing for conflict. And at the head of the table, directing the discussion with calm authority, stood High Captain Unta.


    Unta was a towering figure, broad and imposing, with the muscular build of a lifetime warrior. His body showed the blend of muscle and the slight heaviness of middle age, a testament to the years spent leading the Oakspire Rangers through countless campaigns and skirmishes. Despite his size, there was a quiet fluidity in his movements as he indicated points on the map, a lethal grace forged through years of mastering the spear and bow.


    A limp was visible as he shifted positions, moving around the table to address different officers—a lingering injury from some forgotten battle that had never fully healed. It slowed him but had never diminished his presence or authority.


    Val hesitated at the doorway, reluctant to interrupt what appeared to be a critical planning session. But as he stood there, Unta looked up, his sharp eyes immediately focusing on the newcomer. A flash of recognition crossed his face, followed by surprise and then concern.


    "Hearne?" Unta''s deep voice cut through the murmur of conversation, silencing the room. "From Company Two?"


    Val stepped forward, suddenly acutely aware of his disheveled appearance—the torn uniform, the dried blood, the exhaustion written in every line of his body. "Yes, sir. Reporting from Willow Creek."


    Unta straightened, his full attention now on Val. "Willow Creek? We''ve had no word from there in days. Captain Jorin was due to report in yesterday." His voice held a question, and a dread.


    "Sir." Val said, his tone conveying the urgency of his news. "Willow Creek is under siege. Organized undead forces attacked two days ago. We''ve sustained heavy casualties, but the village still holds, at least it did when I left this morning."


    A tense silence fell over the room. Unta studied Val''s face for a long moment, then turned to the assembled officers. "Clear the room," he ordered. "Continue preparations as discussed. I''ll join you shortly."


    The other rangers filed out quickly, their expressions a mixture of concern and grim determination. When the last had gone, Unta gestured for Val to approach the map table.


    "Report, Ranger. Everything, from the beginning."


    Val stepped forward, gathering his thoughts. He began with the initial patrol, the discovery of the merchant''s insignia, and the first skirmishes with the ghouls. He described the journey to Dead Peak Pass, the abandoned village of Blackthorne, and the ambush that had revealed the coordinated nature of the undead attack.


    As he spoke, Unta''s expression grew increasingly grave, his weathered features setting into hard lines. He asked occasional questions; sharp, incisive queries that cut to the heart of the situation, but mostly he listened with the focused attention of a commander assessing a threat.


    Val continued, detailing the return journey to Willow Creek, the organized attacks on their camp, and finally the siege of the village itself. He described the undead bear that had breached the eastern wall, the necromantic ogre at the southern gate, and the countless ghouls that had swarmed the defenses.


    "We held them off," Val concluded, "but at a cost. We lost one ranger and nearly a hundred villagers. More were injured. The village''s defenses are compromised, and supplies limited. Captain Jorin sent me to request reinforcements and evacuation assistance."


    Unta was silent for several heartbeats after Val finished, his gaze fixed on the map where Willow Creek was marked with a small wooden token. Finally, he looked up, his eyes sharp with decision.


    "I had assumed the attack on Stonebridge was isolated," he said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "A raid or a random surge from the Deadlands. But this..." He gestured toward the map, where Val could now see multiple markers indicating reported undead activity. "This is coordinated. Deliberate. An invasion. The first in a century."


    He turned fully to Val, his imposing presence somehow larger in the quiet room. "You''ve done well, Ranger Hearne. Extraordinarily well, to make it here with this intelligence. The council needs to hear this directly from you."


    Val straightened despite his exhaustion. "Yes, sir."


    "They''re meeting now, debating how to respond to Stonebridge. Your report changes everything." Unta moved toward the door, his limp more pronounced after standing for so long. "Come. We''ll go immediately."


    Val followed the High Captain from the strategy room, down the corridor, and back to the stairs. As they descended, Unta spoke over his shoulder. "The council has been divided. Some advocate abandoning the outlying settlements, concentrating our forces to defend Oakspire alone. Others argue for a forward defense, meeting the threat before it reaches our walls."


    They reached the ground floor and strode toward the main entrance, rangers moving respectfully out of their path. "Your firsthand account may tip the balance," Unta continued. "Especially if you can convince them of the organized nature of these attacks."


    They emerged into the late afternoon sunlight, the streets of the Military District still bustling with activity. Unta set a brisk pace despite his limp, clearly in a hurry to get to their destination.


    Their path took them deeper into the Inner City, through increasingly affluent neighborhoods where the buildings showed greater architectural sophistication and artistry. The streets here were wider and lined with trees, creating a sense of spaciousness and calm that contrasted sharply with the tension evident on the faces of those they passed.


    As they moved closer to the center of the city, the Oakspire itself began to dominate Val''s field of vision. The massive tree had been visible from anywhere in the city, of course, but as they approached, its true scale became overwhelming.


    The trunk rose hundreds of feet into the air, wider than the largest building in Oakspire, its surface a complex tapestry of ridges, hollows, and ancient bark that seemed to tell the history of the valley itself. Enormous roots, thick as city walls, emerged from the ground around its base, creating natural arches and buttresses that had been incorporated into the oldest structures of the city.


    Above, the canopy spread like a vast green ceiling, its countless leaves filtering the sunlight into a soft, dappled glow that bathed the surrounding area in emerald light. Even from this distance, Val could sense the power emanating from the ancient tree; a subtle vibration in the air, a feeling of timelessness and deep, abiding strength.


    As always when returning to the Heartwood after time away, Val felt a sense of awe at the Oakspire''s presence. It wasn''t merely the physical size of the tree that inspired this feeling, but the knowledge of what it represented. The heart of Yelden Valley, the source of the unique magical properties that had allowed their isolated community to survive while surrounded by the Deadlands.


    Unta noticed his expression and nodded in understanding. "No matter how many times I see it, the effect is the same," he said, his voice softening for the first time. "Reminds us what we''re fighting for, doesn''t it?"


    They passed through the final district of the Inner City and entered the Heartwood itself. Here, the buildings gave way to a more organic architecture, structures built in harmony with the massive roots and natural contours of the land around the Oakspire. The ground was covered not with cobblestones but with a living tapestry of moss and flowering vines that softened the edges of the ancient roots and wound their way up the towering trunk.


    Small shrines and altars, crafted from polished wood and adorned with offerings of flowers and fruit, nestled amongst the roots. People moved through this sacred space with quieter steps and hushed voices, their manner respectful even amid the urgency of the day''s events.


    As they drew closer to the base of the Oakspire, Val began to feel a subtle warmth spreading through his body. A gentle radiance that seemed to emanate from the great tree itself. It was a familiar sensation to anyone who had spent time in the Heartwood, but today it felt particularly potent, as if the Oakspire itself was responding to the threat facing the valley.


    The warmth seeped into his tired muscles, easing some of the aches and pains from his long journey. His mind felt clearer, his senses sharper, the fog of exhaustion temporarily lifting. Even his aether core, depleted from the battles and the journey, seemed to respond to the proximity of the ancient tree, the familiar glow brightening slightly within him.


    Unta led him toward a structure built directly against the base of the Oakspire, where one of the massive roots curved to form a natural arch over the entrance. Unlike the other buildings they had passed, this one showed clear signs of official purpose. Guards stood at attention on either side of the door, and the symbol of Oakspire''s governing council was carved into the polished wood of the fa?ade.


    "The council chambers," Unta said, slowing his pace as they approached. "Prepare yourself, Ranger Hearne. The debate has been heated, and your news will only add fuel to the fire."


    Val straightened his posture and brushed ineffectually at the worst of the dirt and blood on his uniform. There was no time for proper preparation, no opportunity to present himself as anything other than what he was, a ranger who had fought his way through the valley to deliver a warning.


    Perhaps that was for the best. The council needed to understand the reality of the situation, not a sanitized version of it.


    Unta paused at the entrance, meeting Val''s gaze with a look of grim determination. "Ready?"


    Val nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders once more. "Ready, sir."


    The High Captain turned to the guards, who snapped to attention at his approach. "High Captain Unta and Ranger Valtha Hearne, to address the council with urgent information from the field."


    The guards exchanged a glance, then the senior of the two nodded. "They''re in session now, sir. Debating the military response."


    "Perfect timing, then," Unta said with a tight smile. "Lead the way."


    The guard opened the door, revealing a short corridor that led to another set of doors, these more elaborately carved with scenes from Oakspire''s history. From beyond them came the sound of raised voices, the council''s debate in full swing.


    The doors swung open, revealing the council chamber beyond—a circular room built within the very heartwood of the Oakspire''s base. The walls were living wood, polished smooth but still very much a part of the great tree. The ceiling arched high overhead, carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift in the light cast by dozens of softly glowing lanterns.


    At the center of the room stood a large round table, crafted from a cross-section of an ancient branch of the Oakspire itself. Around this table sat the council members, representatives from the various districts and guilds of the city, along with military leaders and other officials.


    Their heated discussion fell silent as the doors opened, all eyes turning to the newcomers with expressions ranging from curiosity to annoyance at the interruption.


    Val straightened his back, ignoring the pain of his various injuries, and prepared to state his case. Behind him, the doors closed with a soft but final sound, sealing him in with the leaders who would decide the fate of the valley.