The First True Enemy

The wind carried the scent of war.

It was different from the crisp bite of autumn, different from the earthy dampness of the forest. This was the stench of blood not yet spilled, of steel waiting to be drawn, of death hovering just beyond the horizon.

Aric stood at the eastern barricade, staring into the distance where the road from Vallis's stronghold disappeared into the rolling hills. The storm that had been building in the skies for days now pressed down against the world, smothering it in a suffocating stillness. Even the crows that had nested along the treeline had gone silent.

It was the kind of quiet that came before a blade was unsheathed.

The kind of quiet that came before the first scream.

A voice broke through the heavy silence.

"They're coming."

Kael's golden eyes gleamed as he stepped up beside Aric, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his dagger. The casual smirk he so often wore was gone, replaced by something sharper, more focused.

Lira tightened the straps on her bracers, glancing over the barricade. "Took them long enough."

Aric exhaled slowly, steadying his pulse. "Sound the alarm."

The moment the order left his lips, the village bell rang.

A single, hollow chime.

Then another.

And another.

The people of Eldermere gathered in the square. Some held weapons, hastily sharpened blades or makeshift spears. Others gripped their children's hands, faces pale, eyes darting to the barricades as if expecting the world to end the moment they looked away.

Lord Vallis was coming.

And the village was not ready.

----

It started with the banners.

Dark crimson and silver, the sigil of House Vallis, rippling in the growing wind. Then came the riders—armored knights, their lances gleaming under the storm-darkened sky.

Then came the foot soldiers.

Row after row of trained men, marching in practiced unison, shields interlocked, steel glinting at their sides. Behind them, supply wagons creaked under the weight of rations and siege equipment.

And at their center, sitting atop a black warhorse clad in silver-plated armor, was Lord Edric Vallis.

His cloak billowed as he reined in his steed, surveying the village with a look that was more annoyance than concern.

He wasn't afraid.

He didn't think Aric was worth fearing.

Aric's hands tightened into fists.

The enemy was here.

And yet, the ground beneath their feet felt wrong.

----

A single rider broke from the noble ranks.

The man rode with confidence, his armor scratched but well-maintained. His face was weathered, lined from years of battle. A warrior, not a diplomat.

He stopped at the gates, raising his voice so all could hear.

"By decree of Lord Edric Vallis, rightful ruler of these lands—Eldermere will submit and surrender its arms. Any who resist will be considered traitors. Any who take up arms against the lord shall be executed."

A pause.

"Failure to comply will be met with force."

The villagers murmured, shifting uneasily. Some looked to Aric, some looked at the ground, unwilling to meet his gaze.

Garrick, standing near the blacksmith's forge, wasn't so hesitant.

"This isn't a fight we can win," he muttered. "We should take the offer."

Aric stepped forward.

His pulse was calm. Steady.

"No."

The messenger exhaled, shaking his head. "Then you die for nothing."

Aric met his gaze.

"You should be more worried about what's already coming for us."

The man frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

Then—

The ground shook.

----

It started with a low vibration, a hum that pressed against the skin like the air before a lightning strike.

Then the sky cracked.

Dark clouds churned, rolling like waves crashing against an unseen shore. The temperature dropped sharply.

And from the forests beyond the battlefield, something moved.

At first, it was just a shadow. Then two.

Then dozens.

Figures staggered from the treeline, their bodies warped, broken, their movements twitching unnaturally.

Some wore armor.

Some wore the tattered remnants of old banners, sigils from a forgotten age.

But all of them were dead.

And yet, they walked.

One of Vallis's soldiers cursed, stepping back.

"What in the name of the gods—"

Then the first one spoke.

"Aelthar."

Aric's blood turned to ice.

Because the thing wasn't just looking at him.

It was kneeling.

The Battlefield Changes

The noble soldiers stiffened, their weapons raised.

But Aric didn't move.

Because in the sea of walking corpses, he saw something worse.

A figure clad in shattered armor, its face twisted, eyes burning with blue fire. A voice—deep, hollow, and familiar—echoed across the field.

"You have returned, my Emperor."

Aric gritted his teeth.

Because he recognized that voice.

From his visions.

From his death.

It was one of his fallen warlords.

And it was still loyal.

----

Panic rippled through both armies.

The undead didn't just stand there.

They attacked.

A monstrous warrior slammed into the first line of Vallis's knights, sending bodies flying. Another tore through foot soldiers like they were paper.

Screams filled the air.

The battlefield erupted into chaos.

And in the middle of it—

Aric took his first true command.

"Hold the line!" he shouted, drawing his sword. "Protect the village!"

Some villagers hesitated.

But then Lira let out a fierce cry, raising her blade. "You heard him! HOLD!"

And they did.

The first undead rushed the barricades.

And the war for Eldermere truly began.