The dense fog of Eryndark hung over the fortress like a scourging veil, tinging with gray the black ramparts and the red banners that fluttered in the biting wind.
In the war room, an oval chamber of dark stone lit only by blue torches, General Vex stood before the central table, where a detailed map of the continent occupied nearly the entire surface. Around him, the main military leaders of Eryndark—each in armor marked by scars and ancient runes—waited in silence, their somber faces reflecting the tension of the moment.
The general, tall and broad-shouldered, with glacial blue eyes and close-cropped hair, traced imaginary lines on the map with his finger.
"The attack on Frostgard's eastern border failed," Vex growled, his deep voice echoing through the hall. "Our basilisks were decimated by the ice giants. And now, Sky Reaper has reinforced the northern defenses. If we don't act, we will lose momentum."
One of the captains, a man with a square face and a scar over his left eye, leaned forward.
"We should retreat and consolidate the lines, sir. The enemy is stronger than ever."
"Retreat?" Vex slammed his fist on the table, making the crystal pieces tremble. "We are not rats to flee before storms. Eryndark does not bow to the cold nor to floating gold."
Another leader, a woman with dark hair pulled into a tight bun, intervened:
"General, there are reports of unusual movement in Sky Reaper. The Arcane Hunters are restless. And Frostgard… well, there are rumors that Maeve Black herself is leading the troops."
Maeve's name hung in the air like an invisible threat.
"Sky Reaper and Frostgard together are a real threat," murmured the cavalry captain, his eyes fixed on the map. "We need to divide their efforts, force them to choose between themselves and Frostgard."
Before Vex could respond, the hall doors creaked open with an icy sound. A female figure entered, the sound of her boots echoing in the silence. Tall, slender, with pale, almost translucent skin and hair as black as coal falling in waves to her waist. Her eyes, a deep violet, shone with supernatural intensity. She wore a black leather mantle adorned with silver runes and light, flexible armor that molded to her body like a second skin. It was Nyra Vael, leader of the Arcane Hunters.
Those present instinctively straightened. Even Vex, who didn't hide his disdain for Nyra, inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
"Nyra Vael," he greeted, his voice laden with forced respect. "I did not expect your presence."
Nyra smiled, a cold, calculated gesture.
"Listening to your strategies, I noticed an excessive concern with Sky Reaper," she said, walking to the table. "Let me take care of them. You concentrate on crushing Frostgard once and for all."
The cavalry captain frowned.
"And how do you intend to deal with Sky Reaper? They have Rogan Black and Queen Gália. They are no ordinary opponents."
Nyra rested her slender hands on the map.
"Sky Reaper's power lies in unity. I will separate them. I will lure Rogan and Gália away, using the floating city itself as bait. Meanwhile, my hunters will initiate terrorist attacks, sowing chaos and forcing them to divide. You, then, advance on Frostgard without interference."
Vex crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed.
"You speak as if it were easy. But I don't trust indirect methods. I prefer the blade to the shadow."
"And that is why Eryndark bleeds," Nyra retorted, her eyes flashing. "Power is respect, General. And respect is earned with results, not bravado."
A tense silence settled. For an instant, the air seemed to grow thicker, charged with magic and rivalry.
"Do it your way, then," Vex said at last. "But if you fail, don't expect mercy from this council."
Nyra smiled, a smile as sharp as a blade.
"I don't need mercy, General. I need freedom to act."
***
The corridor leading to Nyra's chambers was a labyrinth of shadows and ancient tapestries. Upon entering her room, she smelled the metallic scent of dried blood and candle smoke. The chamber was spacious, with tall windows covered by black curtains and shelves filled with grimoires and potion vials. In the center, a canopy bed was covered with wolf pelts.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in bloody bandages, was Kael Draven. His face, partially hidden by the bandages, displayed intense green eyes filled with hatred and exhaustion. His body, marked by scars and bruises, trembled slightly with each breath.
Nyra closed the door, approaching in silence.
"I thought you were dead," she said, her voice low.
Kael let out a hoarse laugh.
"Almost. But hatred is a powerful medicine. I will not die before I see Logan and Rogan Black dragged into the abyss."
Nyra sat before him, her eyes fixed on his.
"We have little time. Eryndark's leaders want results. I will focus on Sky Reaper. You, on the school. Logan Black is yours."
Kael clenched his fists, veins bulging beneath his skin.
"He won't escape me this time. The Aldaria Academy is full of arrogant fools. I will infiltrate… and kill him. No matter who has to fall with him."
"Do it," said Nyra, her voice like cold steel. "Meanwhile, my hunters will sow terror in Sky Reaper. Coordinated attacks, explosions, selective assassinations. Rogan won't be able to abandon the city to rescue his son. We will divide their power."
Kael nodded, hatred overflowing in every word.
"Rogan took everything from me. My name, my honor, my life. Now, I will take everything from him."
Nyra stood up, adjusting her mantle.
"And remember, Kael: in Eryndark, power is respect. Do not fail."
Kael smiled, a broken smile.
***
Frostgard's council room was a spectacle of imposing grandeur and tradition. The vaulted ceiling, supported by columns of eternal ice, reflected the bluish light of suspended crystals, casting silver gleams upon the faces of those present.
The cold there seemed more intense, as if the room itself were a constant reminder of the kingdom's harshness. In the center, a round table of bluish stone displayed detailed maps of the continent, marked with flags and war runes.
Maeve Black, Frostgard's general, stood erect at the head of the table, her golden eyes analyzing every detail of the map. Beside her, King Thorvald Frostborn, imposing in his ice armor, observed in silence, his expression grave. On the other side, Arthur Ironheart, commander of Sky Reaper's army, stood out with his martial posture and attentive gaze, his close-cropped black hair and gray-flecked beard betraying years of battle.
"Reports from the northern patrols indicate unusual movement on the borders," Maeve began, her voice cutting the silence like an ice blade. "Eryndark is massing forces, and Arcane Hunters have been sighted near three villages. It's no coincidence."
Arthur, arms crossed, leaned over the table.
"They are testing our defenses, looking for breaches. The pattern is clear: swift attacks, immediate retreat, and they always leave traces of dark magic. Kael Draven survived the last assault, but I don't believe he has fully recovered. Still, it's dangerous to underestimate him."
Maeve nodded, her face impassive.
"I agree. Kael has already proven to be lethal. But what worries me is the alliance between Eryndark and the Hunters. If Sky Reaper and Frostgard are attacked simultaneously, they will have to divide their forces. That's what they want."
Thorvald, his voice deep and resonant, intervened:
"Eryndark's army has never been so audacious. They rely on reinforcements of creatures corrupted by the Hunters' rituals. Basilisks, shadow drakes, hybrids… None of these abominations would exist without forbidden magic."
Arthur cast a somber glance at the Gelidian king.
"And that is why Sky Reaper is here, Your Majesty. Do not underestimate Rogan. He has returned to the city to reinforce defenses and prepare our own protective rituals. But if they attack Sky Reaper, I will have to choose between defending my homeland or maintaining support for Frostgard."
Maeve looked directly at Arthur, mutual respect evident, but also the tension of those who have shared battlefields—and the weight of decisions.
"We cannot afford to lose Sky Reaper. If they fall, Frostgard will be the next target. Arthur, we need a plan that allows us to react quickly, even if we divide our troops."
Arthur approached the map, pointing to the access routes between the kingdoms.
"I propose mobile elite units at strategic points, ready to act at any sign of attack. If Sky Reaper is attacked, we will send reinforcements immediately. But I want the freedom to act as the situation requires. We cannot be tied to a single strategy."
Thorvald nodded, his heavy hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
"I agree. Flexibility will be our greatest weapon. But we need real-time information. Maeve, can your mages maintain active magical communications?"
"They can," she replied, already pulling out a rune scroll. "And we can also use Gália's familiars for espionage. If Eryndark attempts a surprise attack, we will know before it's too late."
Arthur took a deep breath, his gaze determined.
"And what about Aldaria Academy? With Kael alive, Logan is in danger. I don't trust the rules of neutrality when it comes to Eryndark."
Maeve pressed her lips together, thoughtful.
"I have already sent a message to Headmaster Gryphon. Logan must be protected, but without drawing attention. We cannot risk open war in neutral territory—but, if necessary, I will not hesitate to act."
The ensuing silence was heavy, laden with responsibility. Thorvald raised his crystal goblet, the gesture solemn.
"May the old gods be with us. And may our enemies taste the bite of ice and steel."
Arthur, with a half-smile, responded:
"And the fire of Sky Reaper, if they dare cross our borders."
Maeve allowed herself a brief smile before returning to a serious tone:
"Then it is decided. We will reinforce the lines, keep communications active, and act swiftly. No matter what Eryndark plans, we will be ready."
The meeting dissolved into swift orders and precise movements. Each leader knew the weight of the moment: the fate of Frostgard and Sky Reaper was, more than ever, intertwined by the tenuous thread of trust and strategy.
***
While the fate of the continent was debated in councils and war rooms, Logan, Blake, and Kassia walked the halls of Aldaria Academy of Magic, oblivious to the gathering storm. The central courtyard, filled with students from all kingdoms, vibrated with the energy of the start of classes. Sunlight filtered through the stone arcades, casting golden patterns on the polished floor.
"Magical Forging and Alchemy today, huh?" Blake commented, trying to hide his nervousness with a smile. "I bet I'll blow something up before lunch."
"If you do, just don't include me in the report," Kassia replied, adjusting her bag strap on her shoulder. "I want to get out of here in one piece."
Logan laughed, but his attention was divided. There was something in the air, a sense of unease he couldn't explain. Perhaps it was just the anxiety of the new, or maybe it was the distant echo of the tensions growing beyond the academy walls.
***
High in the towers of Eryndark, Nyra Vael observed the horizon, her violet eyes fixed on the thin line where the sky met the horizon. The icy wind whipped her hair, and a cold smile curved her lips.
"Let the games begin," she murmured.
And, in the shadows, the fate of all began to be drawn.