The wind howled gently across the desolate landscape, brushing flakes of ash like snow through the air as if the skies themselves mourned the fall of Aeronberg. Four weary figures moved cautiously along the shadowed edge of the forest, hidden by thick branches and guided only by the dim light of the breaking dawn.
Xenric led the way, eyes sharp and swordless hand gripping a broken branch for balance. Beside him, Darion stayed alert, ever casting glances over his shoulder. Behind them, General Morgan leaned heavily on Khezly's shoulder, his armor discarded for speed, his wounds tightly wrapped. Khezly, quiet and focused, bore her father's weight with a strength few would expect from her slender frame.
They avoided the main roads, sticking to overgrown trails and ravines as they pressed farther south. Each step brought them farther from the flames but closer to the truth of what was lost.
From a hill's crest, the ruined city of Aeronberg lay in shattered silence beneath a sky stained gray. What had once stood proud, a symbol of discipline and prosperity was now a graveyard of stone. Its tall towers were cracked or gone altogether, streets buried in rubble, and smoke still rising from distant districts where fires smoldered. The banner of Aeronberg, blue and silver, lay torn across a broken wall, fluttering weakly in the morning wind.
None of them spoke.
Xenric's jaw tightened as he looked out over the carnage. His memories of the city, the grandeur of the gates, the bustle of the markets, the echo of laughter on cobbled streets, now felt like ghosts clawing at his heart.
Darion whispered, "It looks… worse than I imagined."
Khezly lowered her gaze. Even her cold demeanor flickered with sorrow as she watched her homeland buried in ruins. General Morgan, pale and weak, let out a slow breath.
"It will take decades… if it ever rises again," he murmured.
Down below, scattered remnants of Kargrosh's forces still roamed, orc patrols dragging supplies, mages walking with spears of fire clutched in their hands, and black-armored scouts surveying what more they could strip away. Even from a distance, the presence of the enemy was palpable.
Every movement the group made was calculated, slow steps behind fallen logs, crawling across burned-out clearings, and ducking beneath collapsed stone arches. Xenric signaled when to halt, when to run, and when to disappear completely.
They moved like ghosts through the remnants of war.
Eventually, the forest thickened again, swallowing the sound of the ruined city behind them. But the silence wasn't comfort, it was haunting. The smell of ash still clung to the wind, and the memory of what they saw would not be easy to shake.
As they continued farther south, the only thing they could carry was hope. Hope that the village ahead remained untouched. Hope that the future held something more than fire and ruin.
And beneath that hope, a quiet determination grew stronger in Xenric's chest.
He would not let the bloodshed end here.
The journey south stretched long and silent, broken only by the crunch of dried leaves and the distant calls of wild birds overhead. The group had long passed the last signs of Blackmoor's presence, and the land began to shift subtly, less charred and broken, more vibrant and untouched. Trees grew thicker, their bark smooth and silver under the morning light, and the scent of wildflowers mingled with the cool air.
By midday, after hours of quiet travel, the forest opened into a narrow path hidden between two large stones covered in moss and ivy. Khezly stepped forward, brushing her hand over one of the stones and whispering a phrase in a language neither Darion nor Xenric understood.
The stones pulsed with a faint glow.
A ripple shimmered across the air like a curtain being lifted from reality itself and beyond it was a different world.
Darion's breath caught in his throat as they stepped through the veil.
It was not the village he expected far from it. This place was not built of wood and stone, but of light and living things. A wide clearing stretched out before them, filled with blooming flowers in impossible colors, some floating gently midair. Waterfalls cascaded from great roots of ancient trees, feeding crystal-clear streams that wound through the grass like silver ribbons. Glowing butterflies fluttered lazily, trailing sparkles in their wake.
Tiny houses nestled within mushrooms, flower bulbs, and tree trunks, each glowing softly with ethereal light. The air was warm and carried a hum, a melody so faint and peaceful it made the exhaustion of the past days feel distant.
Creatures no taller than a child began to emerge. Fairies, their wings iridescent and fluttering rapidly. They were beautiful and strange, with glowing eyes and skin that shimmered with hues of green, gold, or rose. They hovered in clusters, watching the newcomers with wide, curious eyes.
Darion blinked. "This… This is the village?"
Khezly nodded. "A hidden sanctuary. No map leads here. Only magic and memory."
Xenric stared in quiet awe, a rare softness in his expression. General Morgan let out a ragged breath, his lips curling into the faintest smile. "I never thought I'd live long enough to see this place again…"
Fairy children danced across the petals of a glowing lily as a group of older fairies gently guided them toward a resting place, a bed of moss and warm leaves prepared with magic. One of the fairies lifted her hands, and a soft, glowing mist enveloped Morgan's wounds, easing the pain from his face.
Darion walked slowly through the village, eyes wide as he watched a group of fairies tending to a tree that seemed to sing when touched. A small one zipped up to him and placed a petal on his shoulder. It shimmered, then dissolved, leaving his aching body lighter, his breath easier.
Khezly smiled faintly. "This village owes no loyalty to kings or war. It exists for peace."
For the first time in days, the sounds of war were far behind them. Here, time moved gently. And though they carried the weight of destruction with them, in the heart of this secret garden, they found a moment of stillness.
A place to breathe.
And perhaps, a place to hope again.