The Echo of a Name

The charge out of Novus Landing's western gate felt less like a rescue mission and more like a thunderbolt. Seraphina led the ten soldiers of the Order of the Griffon, their silver and blue tunics a stark contrast to the grim, dying light of dusk. The Stamina Broth sang in their veins, a potent brew of hope and vigor that pushed back the gnawing exhaustion of the past few days. For the first time since the sky turned purple, they felt powerful.

The world beyond the city walls was a wild, untamed thing. The neatly cobbled streets gave way to a dirt track that wound through fields of unnervingly tall grass, each stalk tipped with razor-sharp edges. In the distance, the Weeping Woods loomed, a solid wall of darkness, its trees twisted into shapes of clawing hands.

"Garrick, front and center! Lia, you're on my six. Watch the tall grass!" Seraphina's voice was crisp, cutting through the nervous energy of her squad.

Garrick, a Guardian-class tank built like a moving wall, nodded grimly. He adjusted the grip on his tower shield, its surface already scarred from a dozen minor skirmishes. His role was simple: stand between his friends and whatever wanted to kill them. Beside Seraphina, Lia, a Huntress-class archer, moved with a fluid grace, nocking an arrow to her bowstring, her eyes constantly scanning the shadows.

They entered the woods, and the oppressive silence closed in around them. The air grew cold, smelling of damp earth and decay. The only light came from the faint, ethereal glow of moss on the tree bark, casting long, dancing shadows.

The attack came without warning. Not a head-on charge, but a coordinated assault from the flanks. A blur of gray fur exploded from the undergrowth—a Dire Wolf, its jaws snapping inches from a young soldier's leg. Before he could even cry out, an arrow sprouted from the wolf's neck. Lia had already loosed.

"Contact! Form up! To Garrick!" Seraphina yelled.

The squad snapped into formation, a tight circle with Garrick's shield as its anchor. The wolves were terrifyingly efficient. They didn't howl; they communicated with low growls and subtle movements, flowing around the party's defenses, testing for weakness. One would feint a charge, drawing Garrick's attention, while another lunged from the opposite side. They were smarter than any mob they'd fought in the beta.

Garrick was a rock. A wolf slammed into his shield with the force of a battering ram, the impact shuddering up his arm, but he held his ground, grunting with the effort. Another lunged, and he bashed it aside with the shield's edge. But for every one he blocked, two more seemed to take its place.

"I can't get a clear shot!" Lia yelled, her bowstring thrumming as she fired arrow after arrow, forcing the more aggressive wolves back. "They're too fast!"

They were holding, but it was a battle of pure attrition. Every blocked blow, every dodged lunge, every arrow fired, cost them precious energy. The initial fire of the broth was beginning to fade, replaced by the familiar burn of exertion. Garrick's shield arm began to feel like lead. The frantic movements were stealing the breath from Lia's lungs.

"Now!" Seraphina commanded. "Fall back, ten paces! Drink!"

Following her order, they created a moment of space and each took another controlled sip from their waterskins. The effect was like a second sunrise. Garrick felt the leaden weight in his arm vanish, replaced by a surge of solid strength. He slammed his shield into the ground, a defiant roar tearing from his throat. Lia's ragged breaths steadied, her vision sharpening. Her next arrow flew with unerring precision, taking a flanking wolf through the eye.

They didn't just feel stronger; they felt relentless. They pushed forward, a disciplined engine of steel and vigor. The wolves, accustomed to battles of attrition where their endurance always won, seemed confused by this resurgence. They hesitated, their pack tactics faltering against a foe that simply refused to tire. The tide of the battle turned.

It was then, as they pushed deeper into the woods, that Lia noticed it. "Seraphina, look." She pointed with her arrow at a fallen wolf. Pulsing faintly beneath its mangy fur were thin, glowing red lines, like corrupted veins. Its eyes, even in death, held a malevolent, reddish gleam that was utterly unnatural.

"There's something wrong with them," Garrick growled, nudging the corpse with his boot. "This isn't right."

Lia knelt, her Huntress skills activating. She saw the tracks of the pack, but they didn't lead to a simple den. They converged on a single point deeper in the woods. "Their trail leads that way," she said, pointing toward a dark, overgrown hill. "Towards those old ruins. The ones that aren't on any map."

A low howl echoed through the trees, this time not a sound of attack, but of command. The remaining wolves broke off their assault and retreated toward the ruins, melting back into the shadows.

"We're close," Seraphina said, her jaw set. They pressed on, finally reaching a small, defensible cave carved into the side of the hill. The survivors were inside, a dozen soldiers, wounded, starving, and on the verge of total despair.

"Seraphina! By the gods, we thought we were dead," one of them cried, relief washing over his face as he saw her emerge from the gloom.

There was no time for celebration. They distributed the last of the broth, sharing it among the survivors. The effect was just as potent. Hope, warm and real, spread through the small cave as weary bodies found new strength, and despair gave way to a grim resolve. Now a force of twenty, they were ready.

"We're not sneaking out," Seraphina declared, her voice ringing with newfound confidence. "We're fighting our way out."

She led the way, her sword drawn. But as they emerged from the mouth of the cave, they found their path blocked. The remaining wolves had not scattered. They were arrayed in a semicircle, their glowing red eyes fixed on a single point. On a rocky promontory above them stood their leader.

It was a monster.

Easily twice the size of a normal Dire Wolf, the creature was a grotesque parody of nature. Its gray fur was patchy, revealing skin ridged with pulsing, crimson veins that glowed with a sickening light. Gnarled, bone-like spikes jutted from its spine, and its jaws were filled with teeth like shards of obsidian. This was the Corrupted Alpha, and it looked down on them with an intelligent, calculating malice that froze the blood.

With a deep, guttural howl that was less a sound and more a physical force, the Alpha leaped from the rock, landing with a ground-shaking thud. The other wolves' eyes flared, their movements becoming faster, more frenzied.

"Garrick, you have the Alpha! Lia, suppress the pack! Finnian, keep Garrick alive!" Seraphina's commands cut through the terror. "Everyone else, protect the cleric! Go!"

The battle was a vortex of chaos. Garrick met the Alpha's charge with his tower shield, the sound of the impact like a thunderclap. The sheer force sent him sliding back several feet, his boots digging trenches in the soft earth. The Alpha was impossibly strong, its claws screeching as they raked across the shield's surface, leaving deep gouges in the metal.

Lia became a whirlwind of motion, her bow a seamless extension of her arms. She sent a [Piercing Shot] through the chest of one wolf, then loosed a [Multi-Shot] that forced three others to scatter, giving their frantic cleric, Finnian, a precious second of breathing room. He was a beacon of golden light, his hands weaving signs as he cast [Mend] after [Mend] on Garrick, whose health was dropping in terrifying chunks with every blow he absorbed.

The Stamina Broth was the only thing keeping them in the fight. It didn't heal Garrick's wounds, but it allowed Finnian to cast his healing spells without succumbing to the crushing mental fatigue that came with it. It allowed Lia to draw her heavy bow again and again, long past the point where her muscles should have screamed for rest.

The Alpha, enraged by Garrick's defiance, reared back and let out another howl. This time, a wave of dark energy washed over the battlefield. A [Corrupting Roar]. Every player felt a debilitating weakness sap their strength, their movements growing sluggish.

"It has an aura! Fight through it!" Seraphina yelled, driving her sword into the flank of a wolf that had gotten too close to Finnian.

The Alpha ignored her, its crimson eyes locked on Garrick. It gathered its powerful legs and lunged in a [Vicious Pounce], a blur of claws and fangs. Garrick met it with his shield, but the force was too much. He was thrown backward, his shield knocked from his grasp, and he landed in a heap, stunned and vulnerable.

The line was broken. The pack surged forward.

"No!" Seraphina screamed, seeing the Alpha loom over their fallen tank.

This was the moment where they should have routed. But the miracle in their veins held fast. Fueled by a vigor that defied all logic, Seraphina saw the opening. "Lia! The Alpha's throat! Now!"

With a final, desperate surge of strength, Lia drew her bowstring to her ear, the wood groaning in protest. She ignored the three wolves charging at her and loosed her final arrow. It flew true, a silver streak in the gloom, and sank deep into the Alpha's exposed neck.

The beast roared in pain and fury, turning from the downed Garrick. It was the opening they needed. Seraphina and two other melee fighters, their own fatigue held at bay, charged in a coordinated strike. They drove their swords into the monster's side, pulling back just as it swiped with its massive claws.

The Alpha, wounded and enraged, began to glow, the red veins on its body pulsing violently. It was preparing to unleash one final, devastating attack. But it never got the chance. Garrick, roaring, scrambled to his feet, grabbed his shield, and threw his entire body into the creature's legs, throwing it off balance. Seraphina leaped forward, plunging her sword to the hilt into one of the glowing, crimson veins.

The monster convulsed. The red light erupted outward in a silent, blinding flash, and then it simply collapsed, its life force extinguished. With their leader gone, the remaining wolves faltered, their unnatural frenzy replaced by animal fear. They broke and fled into the darkness of the woods.

Silence fell, broken only by the ragged, desperate gasps of the survivors. They had done it.

Their exit from the Weeping Woods was not a retreat, but a purge of the few stragglers who dared cross their path. Their return to Novus Landing was a spectacle. The setting sun cast their long shadows before them as they marched through the western gate—not limping and defeated, but tired, bloody, and utterly triumphant. They carried their two fallen comrades with honor, and slung over their backs were massive bundles of the silvery, glowing Moonpetal flowers, won from a battle that no one would have believed possible.

A hush fell over the plaza. Valerius stared, his mouth agape. On a balcony overlooking the market, Silas's trademark smirk vanished, replaced by a look of sharp, analytical curiosity. He had witnessed an impossibility.

A player from the crowd rushed forward, grabbing the arm of one of Seraphina's soldiers. "How? We heard you were trapped! You fought your way out?"

The soldier, leaning on his spear, cracked a weary but proud grin. He looked at Seraphina, who gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

"We had help," the soldier announced, his voice carrying across the silent plaza. "From Aetheria."

The name passed from person to person. A whisper. A question. A murmur of awe. Aetheria? Who is Aetheria? It was an echo, spreading through the huddled masses, a new piece of lore being written in real time.

High above, perched on the edge of a rooftop overlooking the entire scene, Elina watched the ad campaign unfold. She pulled her hood lower, a small, hidden smile gracing her lips. The product launch had been a resounding success. And now, the most powerful people in the city were all asking the same question. Her question.