The sky above Eldris was painted in the hues of the dying sun, streaks of crimson and gold casting long shadows over the towering spires of the Citadel. The streets bustled with life, but within the Council Chamber, a heavy silence loomed, disturbed only by the flickering of enchanted torches lining the ancient walls.


    A sudden burst of golden light tore through the stillness.


    From the heavens, a radiant eagle descended, its feathers shimmering like molten gold. It streaked through the great open skylight of the chamber, spiraling downward in a controlled dive. As it neared the stone table where the Elders convened, its form shifted mid-air, and in a final burst of energy, it transformed back into Aegis Solis—Ilara’s shield.


    The impact reverberated through the chamber, sending a ripple of light pulsing across the floor. Gasps filled the room as the shield quivered, its golden surface flickering with residual power.


    The eldest of the Council, Elder Sareth, stepped forward, his gnarled fingers brushing the shield’s glowing surface. "A message," he murmured, his expression dark with foreboding. "And not one sent lightly."


    The shield trembled, and from its surface, a shimmering projection unfolded—a memory, hazy but clear enough to strike fear into those who watched. The battle within Maldrak’s castle played before them. Ilara and Varrian fighting desperately. Maldrak emerging from the shadows. Chains of darkness ensnaring them. A final glimpse of Ilara’s golden eagle breaking free before the vision dissolved into silence.


    The chamber remained still for a long moment, only the crackling torches breaking the hush.


    Elder Sareth turned to the nearest attendant. "Summon the Guardians. At once."


    The great bells of Eldris tolled, their solemn peals ringing through the city. People in the streets paused, glancing toward the Citadel, knowing that when such a call was made, something grave had occurred.


    Within the Council Chamber, the Guardians gathered one by one.


    Nyroth Solvain was the first to arrive, his presence alone casting a shadow of authority across the chamber. He strode forward, his crimson eyes flickering toward the shield upon the table. His gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, jaw tightening. "Ilara’s shield. She only would’ve sent it if there was no other way."


    Elian was close behind, tension evident in the sharpness of his movements. "Ilara and Varrian... they''re in danger." His fists clenched at his sides. "We have to act."


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    Kael and Siris entered together, their usual air of ease absent. "Captured?" Kael muttered, shaking his head. "And we only find out now?"


    Siris crossed his arms, watching the shield as if expecting it to speak. "Ilara wouldn’t have sent this unless they were beyond saving themselves. This is worse than just an ambush."


    Dren, silent as ever, took his place near the back, his expression unreadable. Neither spoke, but their presence alone was answer enough.


    Elder Sareth surveyed them all before speaking. "Ilara and Varrian have fallen into Maldrak’s hands. This much is certain. But his motives remain unknown. This is no mere act of war. This... is something else."


    "It was reckless to send them alone," Dren finally said, his voice low but unwavering. "Even under peaceful terms, Maldrak was never to be trusted. Going to Theradrin to question his dealings with Hell—without reinforcement—was a mistake."


    Elian straightened, his mind already working. "Then that confirms it," he said. "There’s no doubt anymore. Theradrin and Hell are connected. This was a trap from the beginning."


    Nyroth exhaled sharply, his voice cutting through the room like steel. "We leave at dawn. We don’t have time to waste."


    The chamber stirred with tension, but Elder Sareth raised a hand. "This is no hasty assault. Maldrak’s strength is formidable. You must tread carefully. We do not yet know his full hand."


    Kael scoffed. "Careful or not, we’re not sitting around while they rot in some dungeon."


    Elian stepped forward, his gaze flickering to Nyroth. "And Zyrran?"


    Nyroth’s jaw tightened. "Unreachable. He’s too far north. We act without him."


    Elian’s fists clenched, but he nodded. "Then we go in full force. We don’t just walk into Theradrin with a handful of warriors—we bring our best."


    Nyroth gave a sharp nod. "Agreed. We take our elite forces—the ones who answer only to us."


    Outside the Citadel, horns of war sounded. Across Eldris, warriors stirred. They were more than just soldiers; they were the chosen, the fiercest fighters in the land, bound to the Guardians by loyalty and blood.


    From the great barracks, the Sentinels of Ilara emerged—stalwart defenders, their armor gleaming like the dawn, shields lined in celestial engravings. Their leader, Captain Edris, stepped forward, his face set in stone. "Our lady is captured. We march through fire to bring her home."


    In the forges below, the Ironbound of Varrian prepared—giants among men, their weapons heavy enough to crush boulders, their fury barely restrained. Their leader, Commander Oris, slammed a fist against his plated chest. "Varrian is our shield. If he stands, we stand. If he falls, we burn the world to get him back."


    From the shadows, the Silent Blades of Siris watched—assassins, ghosts clad in midnight, their eyes like daggers in the dark. At their head, Shade gave a slow, knowing smirk. "One order, my lord, and not even Maldrak''s shadow will be safe."


    And then there were the Phantom of Dren—warriors of precision, moving like the wind itself, their strikes swift as death. Their leader, Vaelis, bowed before Nyroth. "The enemy will never see us coming."


    The city pulsed with an energy unseen in years. War was coming. And they would answer.


    Nyroth’s eyes flickered. "Good. They’ll need that fire. We march at dawn."


    Elian stepped forward, but before he could speak, Nyroth fixed him with a steady gaze. "You’re not coming."


    Silence. A stunned pause.


    "What?" Elian’s voice was sharp, his stance rigid. "You’re leaving me behind?"


    "You and Kael will stay in Eldris," Nyroth said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "The city cannot be left undefended. If this is a larger scheme, we cannot risk an open flank."


    Kael sighed but didn’t argue. "Babysitting duty. Just my luck."


    Elian, however, wasn’t so accepting. "You’re sidelining me. I can fight. I should be there."


    Nyroth’s expression darkened slightly, his eyes scanning the chamber. "I know you can. That’s why you’re staying. This attack… something about it feels too easy. Like a move meant to pull our eyes away from something else." He let the words settle before finishing, "Eldris must stand. And I need someone I trust to hold it. That’s you."


    Elian clenched his jaw, frustration visible, but he gave a short nod. "Fine. But don’t expect me to sit idly. If anything happens, Kael and I move."


    "Fair enough," Nyroth said.


    The bells tolled once more. And as the echoes faded into the night, the Guardians knew—war found them much earlier than they expected.