Solomon and Henry sought out Ezra, determined to unravel the Nightwalkers' mysterious message.
"Ezra, tell us about the Nightwalkers," Solomon urged.
Ezra's eyes clouded, his expression grave. "The Nightwalkers were a secretive organization, sworn to protect the realm. But their loyalty was a facade."
Henry's brow furrowed. "What happened?"
Ezra hesitated. "Thirty years ago, the Nightwalkers betrayed Emberhaven's trust. They conspired with Persia, revealing our military strategies and weaknesses."
Solomon's face darkened. "The Battle of Raven's Peak. Our father, the king, led the campaign against the Nightwalkers."
Ezra nodded. "The Nightwalkers were decimated, their stronghold razed to the ground. It was believed that none survived."
Henry's eyes narrowed. "But the symbol, the crescent moon with an arrow... it's a warning."
Ezra's gaze dropped. "A reminder of their broken oath. The Nightwalkers once swore to protect the realm, but their loyalty was a lie."
Solomon's voice turned resolute. "We must uncover the truth behind this message. Is there any record of a surviving Nightwalker?"
Ezra's expression turned somber. "None. The Nightwalkers' fate remains a mystery. Some say a child may have escaped, but there's no proof."
Henry's eyes locked onto Solomon's. "The prophecy's warning... the Wolf in the Fold. Could it be a Nightwalker?"
Solomon's jaw clenched. "We must be vigilant. If a Nightwalker survived, they could be hiding in plain sight."
The shadows seemed to deepen, as if the Nightwalkers' dark legacy loomed over Emberhaven, waiting to strike.
Thirty years ago...
Young Thorn, only eleven winters old, crouched amidst the ruins of the Nightwalkers' stronghold. The stench of smoke and death hung heavy in the air. His eyes, once bright with promise, now burned with hatred.
"Father..." Thorn whispered, his voice trembling.
Arin, the Nightwalkers' leader, lay dying beside him. Thorn's heart ached as he clutched his Father's hand.
"Thorn, my boy..." Arin's voice weakened. "Remember our oath... avenge our fallen... bring Emberhaven to its knees."
Tears streamed down Thorn's face as his Father, Arin's eyes faded to darkness.
Thorn's gaze fell upon the Nightwalkers' symbol, etched into the rubble: a crescent moon with an arrow piercing its center. He vowed to honor Arin's memory.
"I will not rest until Emberhaven burns," Thorn whispered, his voice steel-edged.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Thorn vanished into the shadows, a small, determined figure fueled by vengeance.
Years passed, and Thorn grew into a skilled warrior, hiding his true identity behind a mask of loyalty. He rose through Emberhaven's ranks, earning the trust of the king and his sons.
But the Nightwalker's fire burned within him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Present day...
General Thorn stood in his chambers, his eyes locked onto the same symbol, now a reminder of his unyielding vow. His expression twisted into a cold smile.
"The time of reckoning draws near," he whispered.
The Nightwalkers' legacy lived on through Thorn, a shadow of the past, poised to unleash its wrath upon Emberhaven.