Quiet...

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the village's outskirts. Rylan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the wooden railing creaking softly beneath his hand. Garran stood beside him, his eyes fixed on the treeline with unwavering focus.

"Boring shift," Rylan muttered, tapping the butt of his spear against the ground. "Bet you a week's rations we'll be out here all night without so much as a rabbit crossing the path."

Garran didn't respond. His attention was fixed on the woods, a faint movement catching his eye. He squinted, leaning forward slightly. "Hey… do you see that?"

Rylan sighed, straightening up. "What now? Another fox-caterpillar running circles around itself?"

"No," Garran said sharply, pointing toward the shadowed edge of the forest. "There's someone… someone coming out."

Both guards fell silent as the figure stumbled into view. It was a woman—her silver hair matted with dirt and blood, her gait unsteady as she staggered toward them. Garran's heart jumped into his throat when he saw the way she clutched her side, her armor torn and stained.

"She's hurt," Garran said, his voice urgent. He started forward, but Rylan grabbed his arm.

"Wait," Rylan hissed, his eyes narrowing. "Something's not right."

The woman collapsed just steps from the treeline, her body crumpling onto the dirt path. That's when they saw it—seven arrows embedded in her back, their black shafts glinting ominously in the fading light.

Garran cursed under his breath, wrenching free from Rylan's grip and sprinting toward her. He dropped to his knees beside the woman, his hands hovering uncertainly as he scanned her injuries. "She's still breathing!" he shouted back to Rylan.

Rylan approached more cautiously, his spear held at the ready. His gaze darted between the forest and the wounded scout, every instinct screaming that something was wrong. "Who is she?" he demanded.

The woman coughed weakly, blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, as she struggled to speak. "Run…" she rasped, her voice barely audible. "They're… coming…"

"Who's coming?" Garran pressed, leaning closer.

But the scout's strength failed her. Her body went limp, her breath rattling in her chest before it stopped altogether. Garran froze, his blood turning cold as he stared down at her lifeless form.

Rylan swore under his breath, his grip tightening on his spear. "We need to sound the alarm."

Garran looked up at him, his face pale. "She said… they're coming."

"And we're going to make damn sure we're ready for them," Rylan snapped, his voice cutting through the rising panic. He turned back toward the village, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Alarm! Sound the alarm!"

The sharp peal of a bell rang out moments later, its echo slicing through the tranquil evening air. Villagers emerged from their homes, their expressions ranging from confusion to fear as the guards scrambled to organize a defense.

Garran lingered by the scout's body, his hands trembling as he reached for one of the arrows. He hesitated, his gut churning with unease, before pulling it free. The black shaft was sleek and perfectly crafted, its tip coated in a viscous green liquid that glistened in the fading light.

"What is this?" he murmured, holding the arrow up for Rylan to see.

Rylan's expression darkened, and he shook his head. "Nothing good."

From the forest, a low, eerie laughter echoed—high-pitched and mocking, carrying on the wind like a sinister melody. Garran's head snapped toward the sound, his heart pounding as the laughter grew louder, closer.

"Envy…" a girl's voice rang out, laced with venom and delight. "Oh, how I envy your quiet little lives. Let me show you the chaos you've been missing."

A blinding flash of green light erupted from the treeline, slamming into the nearest guard tower. The wood exploded in a shower of splinters, the flames illuminating the forest beyond. Shadows moved within the trees, dozens of figures emerging with weapons drawn and eyes glowing with a menacing green hue.

"Positions!" Rylan barked, his voice hoarse but commanding. "Everyone, to your positions!"

But Garran could barely move, his gaze locked on the girl who stepped out of the shadows. Her laughter filled the air as she raised her hand, green magic swirling around her fingers like a storm. Her smile was wild, unhinged, and her eyes burned with an all-consuming envy.

The first battle had begun.

Berethia's laughter rang through the clearing, a twisted melody of madness and triumph. Her green magic crackled around her, casting eerie, flickering shadows as her army poured out of the forest behind her. The figures moved like a wave of chaos—some were human, others grotesque amalgamations of flesh and magic, their eyes glowing with the same envious green light.

"Why do you get to be so safe?" Berethia shrieked, her voice rising above the din. She twirled her staff, sending another bolt of magic careening into the line of guards scrambling to hold their positions. "Why do you get peace while I get pain? It's not fair!"

Her words came in fits and starts, punctuated by bursts of cackling laughter. The grammar was disjointed, the sentences jumbled, as if her mind was no longer capable of coherent thought. "You! You there!" she screeched, pointing at Rylan as he stood at the front line, rallying the guards. "What makes you special? Why do you get to stand tall? Why do you get to breathe?!"

Rylan ignored her taunts, his focus locked on the advancing army. He thrust his spear forward, catching one of the attackers in the chest and sending them crumpling to the ground. "Hold the line!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Don't let them breach the village!"

Garran, still shaken, clutched his spear tightly as he tried to steady his trembling hands. The monstrous figures in Berethia's army were unlike anything he had ever seen, their grotesque forms twisted by her magic. One lunged at him, its claws swiping through the air, but he managed to duck and drive his weapon upward into its torso.

The front lines erupted into chaos as Berethia's forces clashed with the guards. Steel rang against steel, and the air filled with the shouts of battle and the guttural cries of the invaders. Despite their efforts, the guards were outnumbered, and their defenses began to buckle under the relentless assault.

Berethia stood at the edge of the fray, her smile widening as she surveyed the destruction. "This is what you deserve!" she shouted, her voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. "You with your quiet homes, warm meals, friends who love you!" Her eyes glowed brighter, and she raised her staff high. "I want it all! I deserve it all!"

Another bolt of green magic erupted from her staff, striking a group of guards and sending them flying backward. Rylan barely managed to stay on his feet, his shield absorbing part of the blast. He looked back toward the village, his heart sinking as he realized the sound of the battle hadn't reached the people inside.

"They don't know," he muttered, his voice grim. "They're still inside…"

Garran, his face pale but determined, turned to him. "What do we do? We can't hold them off forever."

Rylan clenched his jaw, scanning the battlefield. "We buy time," he said firmly. "Hold them here as long as we can. Someone has to get inside and warn the others."

Before Garran could respond, Berethia's voice cut through the chaos again. "Run, little guards! Run to your precious village!" she taunted, her laughter sending chills down their spines. "But it won't save you! I'll take your peace and rip it apart! I'll make you envy me!"

Her forces surged forward, driving the guards back toward the village gates. Garran and Rylan fought side by side, their movements desperate but coordinated as they tried to slow the onslaught.

Inside the village, the people remained oblivious, their laughter and chatter continuing as if the world beyond the gates didn't exist. But the sounds of battle were growing louder, and it was only a matter of time before the storm reached them.

Inside the quiet village of Alsta, Lysa sat perched on the edge of the fountain, her silver hair catching the fading sunlight. She idly trailed her fingers through the cool water, her thoughts far away. Around her, the villagers went about their evening routines, their laughter and conversation creating a gentle hum of life. But to Lysa, it all faded into the background, leaving her alone with her daydreams.

He'll come back soon, won't he? she thought, a soft smile playing on her lips. It's been so long, but Kael always keeps his promises. He has to.

Her hands stilled in the water as she imagined his return. She could see him now, walking into the square with that quiet, almost shy smile of his, his gray eyes lighting up when he saw her. She'd run to him, of course, throwing her arms around his neck before she even thought to stop herself. The idea made her cheeks flush, and she pressed a hand to her face, laughing softly.

"What are you grinning about over there?" Bren's booming voice startled her out of her thoughts. He was carrying a fresh load of firewood, his face as weathered as ever but his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Lysa waved him off, her cheeks still pink. "Nothing! Just… thinking."

"Uh-huh," Bren said, setting down his burden and crossing his arms. "Thinking about a certain silver-haired troublemaker, I'll bet."

Lysa's smile widened, though she didn't confirm or deny it. Instead, she looked back at the water, her fingers resuming their gentle ripples. "Do you think he's okay out there?"

Bren's expression softened. "Kael's tougher than he looks, Lysa. You know that as well as I do. Whatever he's facing, he'll handle it."

Lysa nodded, though her heart ached with longing. It's been so long. Does he even miss me the way I miss him?

As Bren walked away, she allowed herself to slip back into her daydream. She thought of the dinner she'd prepare for him when he came back—something simple but warm, a reflection of all the quiet evenings they'd shared before he left. Maybe she'd bake that honey bread he liked so much, or make a stew thick enough to chase away whatever cold winds had followed him home.

And then, when the meal was over, when it was just the two of them sitting by the fire… she'd tell him. She'd find the courage to say what had been sitting in her heart for so long, the words she'd rehearsed in her mind a hundred times but never spoken aloud.

Kael, I… I love you.

The thought made her heart race, her stomach fluttering with a mixture of excitement and nerves. But she didn't let herself linger on what his answer might be. She preferred to hold on to the hope, the possibility of a moment she'd dreamed of for so long.

Lysa looked up at the sky, the first stars beginning to glimmer in the fading light. Come back to me, Kael, she thought, her smile soft and wistful. Just come back.

Unbeknownst to her, the distant hum of a battle was growing louder, creeping closer with every passing second.

Lysa leaned back against the fountain, her thoughts a pleasant blur of Kael's face and the future she longed to share with him. The noise of the village—the laughter, the quiet conversations, the occasional clang of Meryn's forge—blended into a soothing backdrop.

She picked up the garland of flowers she had been working on earlier, running her fingers over the delicate petals. Maybe I'll give this to him when he comes back, she thought with a shy smile. It's silly, but he might like it.

Her gaze drifted toward the forge, where Meryn was deep in her work, the rhythmic hammering a steady pulse that seemed to echo Lysa's heartbeat. Does she miss him too? she wondered. She doesn't talk about it much, but I know she cared about him, in her own way.

Lysa was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the commotion at first. It started as a faint murmur from the village gates, a ripple of movement and raised voices that didn't quite register in her mind. But then the sound grew louder—urgent shouts cutting through the calm like a blade.

She sat up, her fingers tightening around the garland. "What's going on?" she murmured, her heart skipping a beat.

Before she could move, a figure appeared at the edge of the square. A soldier, clad in battered armor, stumbled into view. His steps were unsteady, his face pale and streaked with blood. Gasps erupted from the villagers nearby as they turned to see him.

Lysa stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat as the soldier staggered further into the square. He clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers, and his eyes were wide with fear.

"Meryn…" he croaked, his voice barely audible over the growing noise.

The blacksmith emerged from her forge, her hammer still in hand. Her sharp eyes took in the soldier's state immediately, and she rushed forward, her usual calm replaced by a grim urgency. "What happened?" she demanded, catching him as he collapsed to his knees in front of her.

The soldier's lips moved, but no sound came out. He clutched at her arm, his strength fading rapidly. Villagers gathered around, their whispers filled with confusion and dread.

"Speak!" Meryn said, her voice firm but laced with concern. "What's out there?"

The soldier's head lolled forward, his breathing ragged. "They're… coming," he rasped, the words barely escaping his lips. And then, with a final shuddering breath, he went still.

Lysa's blood ran cold as she stared at the lifeless body, her mind struggling to process what she had just witnessed. Around her, the villagers began to panic, their voices rising in fear.

Meryn stood slowly, her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowing as she looked toward the village gates. The distant sound of chaos—a low, eerie hum—crept closer, sending chills down Lysa's spine.

The peace of Alsta had been shattered.

The air was no longer calm. The distant hum of chaos had erupted into a storm of screams, the clash of steel, and the crackling roar of green flames. Berethia's forces had breached the village, their arrival swift and merciless. The guards, outnumbered and overwhelmed, fell one by one, their cries for reinforcements fading into silence.

Berethia walked among the carnage like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of destruction. Her wild laughter echoed through the streets, her eyes glowing with unhinged delight as her men tore through the village. Homes burned, walls crumbled, and the once-tranquil square was awash with panic and despair.

She spun her staff idly, sending arcs of green magic careening into fleeing villagers. Each blast brought another wave of screams, feeding her insatiable envy. "Why should you have peace?" she shrieked, her voice reverberating with madness. "Why should you live while I suffer?"

Lysa, frozen by fear, clung to the edge of the fountain, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Around her, people ran in every direction, desperate to escape the invaders. The garland of flowers she had woven for Kael lay forgotten at her feet, crushed beneath the chaos.

Berethia's gaze swept over the square, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Lysa. A sly smile curled across her lips, and in an instant, she was upon her, moving with unnatural speed. Lysa barely had time to react before Berethia's hand shot out, gripping her arm like a vice.

"Ah, what have we here?" Berethia purred, her voice low and mocking. She tilted her head, studying Lysa with a predator's curiosity. "You're trembling. Is it fear? Or something more?"

Lysa struggled, but Berethia's grip was unyielding. The green glow in her eyes intensified as she leaned closer, her breath warm against Lysa's ear. "Who are you thinking of?" she whispered, her tone dripping with venomous curiosity. "I can feel it… You're thinking of someone, aren't you? I'm so envious."

Lysa's heart raced, her voice caught in her throat. She tried to look away, but Berethia grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet her gaze.

"It's love, isn't it?" Berethia said, her smile widening. "How sweet. How precious. Tell me, is he coming back for you? Or is he already dead?"

Lysa's eyes filled with tears, but she refused to answer, her lips pressed into a thin line. Berethia's grip tightened, her nails digging into Lysa's skin as her smile twisted into something darker.

"No matter," Berethia murmured, her voice soft but laced with malice. "I have time. Let's wait for him. Together."

With a wave of her staff, green magic coiled around Lysa like a serpent, binding her in place. Berethia lifted her effortlessly, carrying her like a trophy as she walked back toward the burning buildings. "He'll come, won't he?" she said, her voice lilting with mock sweetness. "They always do. And when he does… Oh, how envious I'll be."

Lysa's struggles were futile against the suffocating grip of the magic. Her mind raced, panic and despair threatening to consume her. Kael, she thought desperately, her tears falling freely now. Please, come back.

Behind them, the flames roared louder, consuming the peaceful village of Alsta as Berethia's laughter rang out above it all.