Kael stood on the village wall, the cold wind biting his skin as the silver dragon's necklace hung heavy around his neck. Below, Telmar slept uneasily; its people were wary after the last attack. Lira approached quietly, her spear resting against her shoulder.
"You haven't slept," she said.
"Neither have you," Kael replied, his gaze fixed on the dark forest.
The moonlight reflected off the distant trees, making the forest appear like a restless sea. Kael felt it again—a pull, a whisper deep in his blood. He tightened his grip on the necklace.
His grandfather's words echoed: "This power is not a gift." It is a burden meant to be awakened only when there is no other choice."
The night deepened. The watchtower bells rang once, twice—then the sound of horns split into the silence. Lira's eyes widened. "They're here... again?"
Kael's breath turned to mist as he stepped forward. The horizon flickered with distant firelight, the shape of demon raiders moving like shadows between the trees.
The alarm spread through the village. Doors slammed. Archers took their positions.
Kael's hands trembled as the necklace grew warm against his chest, and the roar of the demons echoed closer.
The first wave struck fast, clawed silhouettes darting through the gate as the villagers clashed with them, the night erupting into chaos.
Kael found himself in the thick of it, blade in hand, Lira at his side. The demons were stronger than before—more organized, more vicious. Arrows and fire slowed them, but they pressed on.
A glint of silver flashed in the distance; a shadow sweeping past the moon. The air grew heavy with the taste of iron and ash.
Lira shouted over the clash of steel, "Kael! Whatever that necklace can do—this is the time!"
Kael's breath became ragged; the dragon's whisper stirring again in his mind, louder now, urgent. The choice was pressing in on him from all sides, as the villagers began to falter, and the demon's horde surged forward.