Kar'eth Fortress - Dawn of the Seventh Day
The war horns sounded different this time.
Not the urgent blare of an attack.
The measured, rhythmic calling that meant: Movement spotted. Unknown intent.
Arden was already on the walls, watching the northern ridge through the pre-dawn gloom.
Michel appeared beside him, unusually alert for this early.
"Scout reports?"
"Single Berserker war party. Three hundred strong. Moving north, parallel to the fortress. Not toward us."
"Hunting party," Arden said immediately.
"What?"
"They're hunting. The Overlord needs to feed his forces. War Essence depletes without combat or sustenance. He's sending out foraging parties."
Voss joined them, studying the distant movement.
"If they're hunting in our territory, they'll encounter the supply caravans coming from the south."
"Exactly." Arden's mind raced. "This is an opportunity. We can't let them establish secure hunting grounds. Need to eliminate this party before they report back."
Michel's eyes gleamed. "An expedition. Counter-hunt the hunters."
"Risky," Voss noted. "We'd be operating in their territory."
"Not their territory. Contested ground." Arden pointed to the map in his mind.
"They're moving through the western valleys. Thick forest. Terrain that favors ambush over numbers."
"How many would we need?" Michel was already calculating.
"Fifty. Mixed force. Rangers for tracking, knights for direct combat."
"I'll lead it," Voss said immediately.
"I'm coming too," Arden added.
"Absolutely not," Thorne's voice cut in. He'd arrived without anyone noticing.
"You're too valuable to risk on a hunting expedition."
"The Berserkers are hunting monsters for sustenance," Arden explained patiently.
"If they succeed, they extend their operational timeframe. If we stop them, we force the Overlord to commit to his final assault sooner, while his forces are still depleted."
Thorne was quiet for a long moment.
"Fifty soldiers. Rangers primarily. Michel's Knights for heavy combat if needed."
"I'm going," Arden repeated.
"Fine. But you stay with the main group. No heroics."
We'll see about that.
An hour later, fifty soldiers assembled at the western gate.
Thirty rangers from Voss's eastern patrols.
Fifteen Knights led by Michel.
Five Kar'eth veterans who knew the western terrain.
And Arden.
Plus one unexpected addition.
"I'm coming with you."
Elara stood at the gate, fully armed and armored.
Arden blinked. "Elara, this is—"
"Dangerous. I know. That's why I'm coming."
"You don't have authorization," Michel said, though he looked amused.
"I'm a first-year combat specialist. My authorization is my sword and the fact that I'm volunteering." She met Michel's gaze steadily.
"Besides, I heard you're hunting Berserkers. I can help with that."
Something in her tone made Arden pause.
She knows something. About herself.
"Fine," Michel decided. "But you follow orders. No freelancing."
"Understood, Commander."
They moved out into the western valleys.
The terrain shifted quickly from open snow fields to dense forest.
Ancient pines towering overhead, blocking most of the light.
Perfect ambush territory.
The rangers spread out in a wide formation, tracking the Berserker party's movements.
"They're moving fast," one scout reported. "Following monster trails. Hunting something big."
"How far ahead?" Voss asked.
"Two hours. Maybe less."
As they pushed deeper into the forest, Arden fell back beside Elara.
Keeping his voice low so others wouldn't hear.
"You wanted to come on this expedition. Why?"
She was quiet for a moment, then answered equally quietly.
"Because I need to talk to you. Away from the fortress. Away from everyone else."
"About?"
"About what I am. What's inside me."
Her hand rested on her sword hilt—just an ordinary blade.
But the way she held it suggested it was anything but.
"I've been having... dreams," Elara continued softly.
"Memories that aren't mine. Or maybe they are, but from someone else who lived in my blood. A woman who walked when titans ruled the earth. Who killed things that made mountains tremble."
Arden listened intently.
"She was called the Moon-Crowned. A monarch descended from an ancient bloodline. Her people worshipped the twin moons and carved their kingdom from the corpses of giants."
"Titan slayers."
"Yes. But it came at a cost."
Elara's eyes flickered—just for a moment—with that sickly yellowish-red.
"The bloodline carries hunger. An endless, consuming hunger for the flesh of corrupted beings. Recently when I smell War Essence, when I'm near creatures steeped in that kind of power..."
She took a shaky breath.
"Something wakes up inside me. Something that wants to kill. To feast. To paint the earth red with their blood."
"That's what you meant about needing an anchor."
"Yes. When it takes over completely, I'll lose myself. Become something that kills everything in reach until nothing's left."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because we're about to fight three hundred Berserkers in close combat. And if I let it out—" She looked at him directly.
"I need you to promise again. When I can't stop, when I've gone too far, you'll pull me back. Your voice. Your presence. Something about you calms the hunger."
"How do you know that?"
"I don't know how I know. I just... do. Like I've known you before. Like we've stood together on battlefields I can't quite remember."
She's describing the same thing I feel. Like echoes of timelines that hasn't happened yet.
"I promise," Arden said firmly. "But Elara, if we're doing this, I need to know everything. What happens when the bloodline manifests?"
"I become faster. Stronger. My sword cuts through things it shouldn't be able to penetrate."
She looked away before saying "And there's... poetry. Words that flow from somewhere deep inside. Not mine, but spoken through me."
"Combat poetry?"
"Older. More primal. The words my ancestor used when she carved kingdoms from titan flesh."
She gripped his arm suddenly.
"Promise you won't let me kill our own people. If I turn on the soldiers—"
"I won't let that happen."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I'll be right beside you. Every step."
Relief flooded her features.
"Thank you."
They continued in silence for a while, following the main group.
Then Arden spoke again, quietly.
"This stays between us. No one else needs to know about your bloodline."
"Why?"
"Because bloodline abilities make people nervous. They'll start treating you differently. Watching you like a weapon that might misfire."
"I am a weapon that might misfire."
"You're a person. With a dangerous gift. There's a difference."
Elara smiled slightly—the first genuine expression he'd seen from her all morning.
"Thank you for that."
A ranger appeared ahead, signaling urgently.
"Found them. Two klicks north. They've cornered something big."
Voss called the group together.
"What are they hunting?"
"Can't tell from this distance. But it's massive. Fighting back hard."
Michel grinned. "Perfect. They're distracted. We hit them from behind while they're engaged."
"Standard ambush formation," Voss ordered. "Rangers create a perimeter. Knights prepare for direct assault when I give the signal."
The soldiers moved into position with practiced efficiency.
Arden and Elara moved with the main group.
As they got closer, sounds reached them.
Roaring. Bellowing. The crack of breaking trees.
And underneath it all—Berserker war cries.
They crested a small ridge.
The valley below opened into a clearing.
And Arden's breath caught.
The Berserkers had cornered an Ironback Ogre.
Fifteen feet of pure muscle and fury.
Covered in natural armor plates that shrugged off most attacks.
At least twenty Berserkers were already dead, scattered across the clearing.
But two hundred more surrounded it, wearing it down with coordinated strikes.
A Berserker champion led them—not a Warden, but close.
Nine feet tall, covered in battle scars, wielding a massive halberd that glowed with War Essence.
"Berserker Noble," Voss breathed. "That's rare."
"And dangerous," Michel added. "Those are elite commanders. Stronger than regular warriors by an order of magnitude."
Arden watched the battle unfold.
The Ogre was losing.
Slowly. Bloodily. But inevitably.
Already missing fingers on one hand.
Deep cuts across its legs.
"When do we strike?" Michel asked.
"Wait," Arden said. "Let them finish. Let both sides exhaust themselves."
"That's cold," a Knight muttered.
"That's strategy," Voss corrected. "Arden's right. We hit them when they're weakest."
They watched.
The Ogre fought with desperate fury, crushing Berserkers with each wild swing.
But the Noble was too skilled, too experienced.
Coordinating his warriors with grunted commands.
Focusing attacks on the Ogre's weak points.
Finally, the Ogre fell to one knee.
The Noble's halberd found its neck joint.
The beast collapsed, twitching.
The Berserkers roared victory.
"Now," Voss commanded.
Thirty rangers opened fire simultaneously.
Arrows darkened the sky.
Berserkers fell by the dozens, caught completely by surprise.
The Noble roared orders, rallying his forces.
"WIRE KNIGHTS! CHARGE!"
Michel led fifteen knights in a wedge formation.
Crashing into the Berserker flank while they were still disorganized.
The clearing erupted into chaos.
Arden moved with Elara, staying on the perimeter.
"Not yet," he told her. "Wait for—"
A group of Berserkers broke from the main fight.
Heading directly toward the ranger line.
Thirty warriors, led by a sub-commander.
"That," Arden finished.
Drew his sword.
Elara did the same.
The reddish-gold aura beginning to shimmer around her.
"Remember," she whispered. "Pull me back."
"I will."
The Berserkers crashed into their position.
Arden engaged two immediately, his hybrid style flowing seamlessly.
Beside him, Elara moved.
And everything changed.
Her ordinary sword flashed.
A Berserker's head separated from its body.
She spun, blade cutting through corrupted flesh like it was paper.
Words beginning to flow from her lips:
"From ancient earth rose titan bones
Their flesh became the mountain stones
My blood remembers their defeat
And I, their slayer, the deed repeat."
Each word seemed to accelerate her movements.
The aura intensified—reddish-gold becoming almost blinding.
Her eyes flickered between black and that sickly golen-red.
Three Berserkers surrounded her.
She didn't slow.
First one fell with a severed leg.
Second took her blade through the throat.
Third tried to flee—
She was on it in two steps, sword punching through its spine.
Arden kept fighting beside her, protecting her flanks.
But it was becoming clear she didn't need protection.
She needed restraint.
More Berserkers charged them.
Elara met them with that terrible, hungry smile.
"With giant's blood I paint the ground
With titan's flesh the earth I crown
The ancient hunger knows no peace
Until the wretched monster's heartbeats cease."
Her blade moved faster now.
Cutting patterns that shouldn't be possible.
A Berserker tried to block—his weapon shattered.
Her sword continuing through to open his chest.
Another attacked from behind—
She spun without looking, blade finding its heart with perfect accuracy.
Not technique.
Pure instinct.
The bloodline guiding her movements.
The sub-commander noticed her.
Roared a challenge.
Charged with his massive axe raised.
Elara met his charge without hesitation.
The axe came down with force that should have split stone.
She sidestepped at the last instant.
Her sword lashed out—
Severed the commander's hand at the wrist.
He bellowed in pain.
She was already moving, dancing around him.
"I am the heir of moon and blood
I feast upon corrupted flood
Your essence feeds my hunger's call
Before me, all corruption falls!"
Her blade found his throat.
The sub-commander collapsed.
Dead.
But Elara didn't stop.
Thirty Berserkers had attacked their position.
Twenty-five were dead.
The remaining five were fleeing.
She pursued.
"Elara!" Arden called.
She didn't respond.
Just kept running after the fleeing Berserkers.
Her laughter echoing through the trees—
That same terrible sound he'd heard in his nightmares.
Not joy.
Hunger.
Arden shadow-stepped ahead of her.
Appeared directly in her path.
"ELARA!"
She nearly ran into him.
Skidded to a stop, blade raised.
For a terrible moment, her eyes—completely red now—focused on him.
Saw him as prey.
"Elara," Arden said firmly. "Look at me. Really look."
The blade trembled in her hands.
"You're at Kar'eth Fortress. Fighting Berserkers. You promised to help develop strategic doctrines with me."
A flicker of recognition.
"Arden...?"
"That's right. And the fight's over. The Berserkers are dead or fleeing. You can stop now."
"Can't... stop... hunger's too strong..."
"Yes, you can. Because I'm here. And I'm pulling you back. Like I promised."
He stepped closer.
Carefully placed his hand over hers on the sword.
"Come back, Elara. I need you to come back."
The red flickered.
Wavered.
Her eyes clearing slightly.
"It's so hard..."
"I know. But you're stronger than the hunger. You control it. It doesn't control you."
The red faded more.
Brown returning to her eyes.
"Say my name."
"Arden." Her voice was her own again.
"Good. Now drop the sword."
Her fingers opened.
The blade fell.
She collapsed forward.
Arden caught her before she hit the ground.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against his chest. "I almost... I nearly attacked you..."
"But you didn't. You came back."
"Only because you were there."
Around them, the battle was ending.
The Berserker force was broken—caught between Michel's knights and Voss's rangers.
The Noble had fallen to three Wire Knights working in concert.
Michel appeared, blood-spattered but grinning.
"That was INSANE! Elara just killed—" He stopped, seeing her condition.
"Is she okay?"
"Exhausted. Pushed too hard." Arden kept his voice neutral.
"Her Integration ability drains her quickly."
Not a complete lie.
Just not the full truth.
Michel accepted it, moving on to coordinate the cleanup.
Voss lingered, studying Elara with sharp eyes.
"That wasn't a normal Integration ability."
"No," Arden admitted quietly. "It's not."
"Should I be worried?"
"Only if you give me a reason to be."
Their eyes met.
Understanding passing between them.
"She's under control," Arden continued. "As long as she has proper support."
"And you're that support?"
"Yes."
Voss nodded slowly.
"Then I'll trust your judgment. But Arden—if that ability ever becomes a threat to our own forces—"
"It won't. I'll make sure of it."
"Good enough for me."
He walked away to help secure the perimeter.
Arden carried Elara to a clear spot away from the carnage.
She was conscious but drained, trembling with aftershocks.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For keeping your promise."
"Always."
"I killed so many. And I enjoyed it. The hunger—" Her voice broke.
"Made me want to keep killing until nothing was left."
"But you stopped. When I called you back."
"Because you're my anchor." She looked up at him, eyes haunted.
"What does that make us?"
Arden didn't have an answer.
Only the growing certainty that their connection ran deeper than he understood.
They rested for an hour while the soldiers secured the area.
Fifty-three Berserkers dead.
The Noble eliminated.
The Ogre's corpse already being butchered for materials.
Three soldiers wounded.
None killed.
A complete tactical victory.
Michel was ecstatic, already planning how to report this to Thorne.
Voss was more pragmatic, coordinating the return march.
As they prepared to move out, Elara pulled Arden aside.
"What I told you. About my bloodline. About needing an anchor."
"Stays between us," Arden confirmed. "No one else needs to know."
"Why are you protecting me?"
"Because you asked me to. Because you trusted me with the truth. And because—"
He hesitated.
"Because something tells me we've stood together before. In battles I can't quite remember. And we'll stand together again."
Elara smiled—tired but genuine.
"I feel that too."
They rejoined the main group.
Marching back toward Kar'eth through the forest.
Behind them, the western valley lay silent.
Painted red with Berserker blood.
A successful hunt.
A tactical victory.
And the awakening of something ancient in a girl who carried the blood of monarchs.