Book One: Rise of the Demonborn
Chapter 15: What Remains of Light.
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The camp outside the ruined city of Therrow was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind of silence that hovered after too many screams, where even the wind seemed cautious.
Inside a royal field tent lit by flickering crystal lamps, *Seren of the Dawnbow* lay on a cot, bandaged from shoulder to waist. Her bow rested beside her, cracked but intact.
She stared blankly at the ceiling, jaw clenched.
"He let me live," she whispered. "He *wanted* me to see."
Across the tent, *Aren the Brightblade*, his chest wrapped in layers of enchanted cloth, sat hunched forward. His shattered sword lay in two pieces at his feet.
"That wasn't a battle," he muttered. "That was… survival."
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Outside, a group of elite soldiers stood silently as *the Scythe Hero* cleaned blood from his blade. The *Gun Hero* leaned against a tree nearby, reloading calmly.
"I don't like how that ended," said the Scythe Hero. His voice was low, gravelly.
"He wasn't trying to win," the Gun Hero replied. "He was *measuring us*."
The silence deepened.
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Later that night, the four surviving heroes gathered in the King's war tent, with magical projections displaying maps and casualty counts.
Over *900 soldiers* were confirmed dead. Dozens cursed. Many others… simply vanished.
King Alric paced furiously.
"So," he said, slamming a goblet onto the table, "we sent two heroes and our finest knights—and still he *escaped*?"
Seren's voice cut through the tent like an arrow.
"You don't understand. He *absorbed* a spirit. He broke Aren's sword. He summoned something from *beyond death.* We aren't fighting a child."
She turned toward the King, eyes cold.
"We're fighting extinction."
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The Scythe Hero looked up from his map.
"He was only testing his strength," he said. "Next time, he'll *unleash it.*"
The Gun Hero added quietly, "And I doubt he'll run again."
The King turned pale, lowering into his throne.
"Then what do you suggest?"
Seren looked around the table.
"We gather *every* hero."
Aren nodded weakly. "And the old blood. The ones we swore never to summon again."
The King looked haunted. "You mean the *Forged*?"
Seren didn't blink. "Yes."
Outside the tent, scouts arrived with a message from a burnt village near the Varnem forest.
It read:
"Crops rotted overnight. Graves torn open. No survivors.
He's not hiding.
He's *awakening."