3. The Inferno Descends.

The first sign of the Pyrelords' arrival was the oppressive stillness that gripped Ember Hollow. The usual cadence of the village-the clink of tools, the murmur of conversations, the distant laughter of children-was replaced by a suffocating silence. Arin, standing at the forge's threshold, squinted down the main street. The horizon shimmered with a reddish haze that had nothing to do with the setting sun.

"What's that?" he murmured, his grip tightening around the hammer in his hand.

Ena appeared beside him, her gaze darkening as she followed his line of sight. The color drained from her face. "Smoke," she said, her voice clipped. "Get inside, boy."

Arin hesitated, but the urgency in her tone spurred him into motion. He retreated into the forge, his heart pounding. Ena slammed the heavy doors shut, the sound echoing through the enclosed space. She moved quickly, locking the bolts and drawing a rusted sword from beneath the workbench.

"Pyrelords," she said grimly, as if the word itself carried a weight too heavy to bear.

Arin felt a chill run through him. "What do they want?"

"What they always want," Ena replied, her hands steady as she tested the sword's edge. "Control. Fear. Blood."

The thunder of hooves shattered the fragile stillness outside. Arin peered through a narrow crack in the door, his breath hitching at the sight. The Pyrelords' soldiers rode into the village like a wave of fire and steel, their crimson cloaks billowing behind them. Their armor gleamed, and the Pyrelords' sigil-a blazing flame-was emblazoned on their banners.

The villagers scattered before them, some diving into homes, others darting into the alleys. But there was no escape. The soldiers moved with ruthless precision, blocking every exit from Ember Hollow.

From the center of the procession, a man dismounted. He stood tall and broad-shouldered, his presence commanding. His armor was trimmed with gold, and his helm bore a plume of red feathers that fluttered like flames in the wind. Arin recognized him from whispered tales: Lord Ignis, head of the Pyrelords and enforcer of their brutal will.

His voice boomed, cutting through the frightened murmurs of the villagers. "Citizens of Ember Hollow! Your disobedience has been noted. You harbor rebels among you, defying the laws of the realm and the will of your betters. For this treachery, you shall pay."

Arin's blood ran cold. He turned to Ena. "Rebels? There are no rebels here!"

"Doesn't matter," Ena said sharply. "It's not the truth they're after-it's the fear they leave behind.

The soldiers moved swiftly, their swords flashing as they dragged villagers from their homes. Cries of protest and screams of terror filled the air, blending with the crackle of torches being lit. The scent of burning wood soon followed.

Arin clenched his fists, helplessness and fury roiling within him. "We have to do something," he said.

Ena grabbed his arm, her grip iron-hard. "No. We stay hidden. If they find us, we're as good as dead."

Outside, a soldier hurled a torch onto the roof of a thatched house. Flames licked hungrily at the dry straw, spreading quickly. The fire illuminated the desperation on the faces of those trapped in the square, their hands raised in surrender.

"Where are the rebels?" Lord Ignis demanded, his voice cold and unrelenting.

A villager stepped forward, trembling. "My lord, please, we don't know anything about rebels. We're just simple folk-"

Ignis raised a hand, silencing him. With a flick of his wrist, he signaled one of his soldiers. The man strode forward and, without hesitation, plunged his sword into the villager's chest.

Arin recoiled from the crack in the door, bile rising in his throat. Ena's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Don't look," she said softly.

"But-"

"Don't," she repeated, her voice breaking for the first time.

The forge door rattled suddenly as if struck, and both of them froze. Arin's heart thundered in his chest as heavy boots scraped against the ground outside. A voice, rough and guttural, called out, "This building's sealed. Could be hiding something."

Ena's eyes met Arin's, her expression grim. "Listen to me," she whispered. "Whatever happens, you stay out of sight. Do you hear me?"

"But Ena-"

"No arguments," she hissed, shoving him toward the hidden corner where the forge's secret chest lay buried. "Go. Now."

Reluctantly, Arin obeyed, crouching low behind the chest. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the forge as the soldiers began to force the door. Ena stepped forward, her sword raised, her frame seeming taller and more unyielding than ever before.

The door burst open, and two soldiers entered, their torches casting flickering shadows across the walls. Ena stood her ground, the blade steady in her hands.

"Drop the weapon, old woman," one of them sneered.

Ena's response was a swift strike that caught the soldier across the arm, sending his torch clattering to the floor. He howled in pain, but his companion lunged forward, his sword aimed at Ena's chest.

Arin wanted to cry out, to leap from his hiding place, but Ena's words echoed in his mind: Stay out of sight.

The clash of steel rang through the forge, punctuated by grunts and heavy breathing. Ena fought with the ferocity of someone who had everything to lose, but she was outnumbered. A third soldier joined the fray, and their combined assault forced her back step by step.

Finally, a blade found its mark, slipping past Ena's guard and piercing her side. She staggered, dropping her sword, but her gaze remained defiant even as blood darkened her tunic.

One of the soldiers spat at her feet. "Reckless fool."

With a final glance toward the corner where Arin hid, Ena spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "Protect... the forge."

Arin's heart shattered as the soldier drove his blade into Ena's chest, silencing her forever.

Rage and grief surged within him, but he remained still, biting down on his lip until he tasted blood. The soldiers ransacked the forge, their boots trampling over Ena's lifeless body.

"Nothing here," one of them said.

"Burn it anyway," the other replied.

Arin's breath hitched as they set fire to the forge. Flames leapt to life, consuming the tools, the wood, the memories. He waited until their footsteps faded and the heat became unbearable before crawling from his hiding place.

The sight of Ena's still form and the inferno engulfing the forge etched itself into his soul. Clutching the hammer in his trembling hand, he fled into the night, the screams of Ember Hollow ringing in his ears.