Pag stumbled as the blast from a collapsing roof punched through the square, throwing ash and splinters through the choking smoke. He ducked instinctively behind a shattered market stall, the heat searing the edges of his robe. The air stank of burnt timber, scorched flesh, and ozone. Screams slashed through the chaos, mixing with the crash of falling stone and the clash of steel on steel.
They were under siege.
The Quang invaders, soldiers of the Lunar Empire, swarmed through the burning village like locusts. Their crescent-moon armor gleamed in the firelight, faceless helmets reflecting back the hell they were unleashing. The ground trembled under their coordinated march, their discipline a stark contrast to the desperate villagers and fighters struggling to defend what little they could.
Pag barely had time to duck as a hooked blade arced toward him, missing his face by inches. He retaliated by thrusting out his palm, a gout of flame exploding from his fingertips. The Quang soldier staggered back, his armor blackening and cracking under the force of the blast.
"Pag! To your right!" shouted Ellen.
He spun just in time to see another Quang lunging toward him—only for Ellen to intercept. The lithe rogue twisted like a dancer, twin daggers flashing. Steel kissed exposed joints in the enemy’s armor, and the soldier collapsed without a sound.
Pag gave her a nod of gratitude, then turned toward the center of the square where the rest of their group was fighting desperately to stem the tide.
Borin roared like a landslide, his hammer a brutal blur as he slammed into the enemy ranks. Each swing broke shields and bodies alike, his dwarven form a bastion of fury amidst the chaos. Blood—black and red alike—splashed across his armor, but he pressed on, unyielding.
Faelan, hooded and calm even in the heart of battle, moved with deadly precision. Arrows flew from his bow so fast that Pag barely saw him nock and loose. Each shot found a throat, an eye, a gap in the plate—clean, surgical kills that kept their flanks clear.
"Fall back to the well!" Borin bellowed over the roar of battle, his voice carrying like a warhorn.
Pag gritted his teeth and sprinted after Ellen, dodging burning debris and fallen bodies. The stone well at the center of the village offered a natural bottleneck—narrow enough that they could hold against superior numbers.
The four regrouped around it, breathing hard, smoke and sweat streaking their skin.
"We can't hold forever," Pag panted. "They're coming in waves."
"And bigger ones each time," Faelan said grimly, stringing another arrow.
A horn blast cut through the air—shrill and commanding. The smoke parted just enough for Pag to see a fresh formation of Quang soldiers advancing, tighter ranks this time, shields interlocked like the jaws of a great beast.
Behind them, the commander—a massive figure clad in black lacquered armor, a crescent-bladed glaive resting across his broad shoulders—watched with the stillness of a vulture awaiting a corpse.
Pag's stomach twisted. This wasn’t a raid. It was an extermination.
"New plan," Borin grunted, spitting blood onto the cobbles. "We punch through their flank. Take the commander. Break the head off the snake."
Pag's heart thudded painfully. Madness. Suicidal.
But necessary.
He nodded sharply. Ellen grinned fiercely, flipping her daggers in her hands. Faelan merely gave a curt nod, already calculating shots.
The first ranks of the Quang charged, shield wall advancing like a living machine. Their boots thundered against the cobblestones, the very ground quivering under their advance.
Pag reached deep inside himself, searching for the last threads of his mana. Sparks danced along his fingertips—wild, barely controlled. He didn't have much left, but he could make it count.
"Ignis fractum!"
A roaring wave of flame leapt from his hands, washing over the front line of shields. Quang soldiers staggered, blinded and scorched, their formation faltering.
"NOW!" Borin roared.
They surged forward as one.
Borin hit like a battering ram, his hammer smashing aside shields and helmets alike. Ellen slipped through the chaos like smoke, daggers finding gaps in armor with surgical precision. Faelan loosed arrow after arrow, dropping any who dared raise a weapon against them.
Pag stumbled after them, hurling blasts of flame whenever he could, the spell burning his insides raw with each cast. His vision blurred at the edges, the world narrowing to heat, screams, and the endless roar of battle.
They carved a bloody swath through the enemy ranks, each step bought with sweat and blood.
The commander saw them coming.
With a snarl of metal on stone, he hefted his crescent glaive and strode forward, faster than Pag would have believed possible for someone so massive.
Borin met him first, hammer colliding with glaive in a clash that sent shockwaves through the air. Sparks erupted from the impact, the force of it knocking Borin back several steps.
Ellen darted in from the side, slashing at the commander’s exposed thigh—but he pivoted with terrifying speed, his armored gauntlet catching her dagger mid-strike. He flung her aside like a ragdoll, and she hit the ground hard, rolling but scrambling back to her feet with a grimace.
Pag swallowed against the rising tide of panic. They couldn't beat this monster in a straight fight.
"Faelan! Eyes!" Pag shouted.
The archer understood instantly. He drew and loosed in a single fluid motion.
The arrow flew true—striking the commander’s helmet, right between the glowing eyes.
The force staggered the commander, making him snarl—a guttural, furious sound that echoed across the square.
Borin roared and charged, hammer swinging for the now-exposed flank.
Pag seized the moment.
He dug deep, deeper than he had ever dared before. He felt the wild magic roar in response—hot, feral, dangerous.
He thrust both hands forward, not shouting the incantation this time but screaming it from the core of his being.
"IGNIS FRACTUM!"
The explosion ripped through the square like a miniature sun.
The commander vanished in a pillar of flame, his glaive spinning into the night sky, trailing embers.
The shockwave knocked Pag off his feet, his body slamming against the base of the well. His vision spun, everything reduced to a high ringing in his ears.
When the smoke cleared, the commander lay crumpled amid scorched stone and twisted metal, his armor a blackened ruin.
The surviving Quang soldiers hesitated—then faltered.
A second later, they broke, fleeing back into the burning streets like a retreating tide.
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Victory.
Pag sagged against the well, barely conscious, the world swimming around him.
Ellen dropped beside him, bloodied but grinning. Borin limped over, using his hammer as a cane. Faelan loomed out of the smoke, silent and watchful as ever.
They had survived.
But Pag knew this was only the beginning.
The Lunar Empire didn’t suffer defeats lightly.
And next time, they would come harder, faster, and deadlier still.
The night pressed down on them, thick with smoke and blood and the ragged silence of exhausted survivors.
Pag sagged against the cracked stone of the well, trying to catch his breath, his entire body trembling from the aftershock of the spell he'd unleashed. His hands were raw, blistered from channeling more magic than he should have been able to wield. His mana reserves were a hollow pit, yet—strangely—there was still something thrumming in the back of his mind. Alive. Hungry.
Borin leaned heavily on his hammer beside him, grunting. "That was some blast, lad. Thought you'd blown us all to the underworld with you."
"Not... sure I didn't," Pag muttered, his voice rasping over a dry throat.
Faelan stood a few paces away, one arrow nocked but not yet drawn, his sharp eyes scanning the smoke-choked alleys. Ellen knelt nearby, tightening a makeshift bandage around a shallow cut on her thigh. She glanced up, concern flashing in her storm-grey eyes.
"You alright, Pag?" she asked.
Pag opened his mouth to answer—but froze.
Something stirred in the ashes.
The scorched stones around him—where the commander had fallen—were cracking. Splintering. Faint, spiderweb fissures spread outward in a delicate, mesmerizing pattern. Tiny motes of red and gold light seeped from them, spiraling lazily into the air like embers from a dying fire.
"What the hell..." Pag whispered.
Without thinking, he reached out toward one of the cracks.
The moment his fingertips brushed the edge of a fissure, the ground shuddered. A pulse of force shot up his arm and slammed into his chest, stealing the air from his lungs.
Pag gasped—and for a heartbeat, the world tilted sideways.
He saw another place. A vast desert of black sand under a shattered blood-red sky. Jagged spires of obsidian rose like broken teeth, and at the heart of it all, a burning tree—its trunk hollowed, its branches aflame but never consumed.
A voice—not words, but a presence—brushed against his mind.
You are the kindle. You are the spark. Feed the fire.
Pag staggered back, clutching his head.
A new window blinked into existence at the edge of his vision:
>New Feat Unlocked: Emberkin (Dormant) You have tapped into an ancient, unstable source of magic. The Emberkin Path is volatile and cannot be fully controlled at low mastery. Risk of magical backlash is significantly increased.<
Pag's breath came in ragged gasps. Emberkin? He'd never even heard of it on the forums or the guides he had skimmed. How the hell had he triggered this?
Before he could process more, Faelan's sharp voice cut through the haze:
"Movement. South side!"
Pag forced himself upright, blinking away the afterimages dancing at the corners of his eyes. Through the smoke, he saw them—more Quang soldiers emerging from the ruins. This wave was different. These were Veterans, their armor darker, more intricate. Their movements even sharper, more ruthless.
And among them strode a figure in crimson robes, wielding a staff crowned with a cruel crescent blade. A war mage.
Pag’s blood turned to ice.
"We’re too spent," Ellen hissed. "We can’t take another wave like this!"
Borin ground his teeth audibly. "Got maybe one good swing left in me, if I'm lucky."
Pag swallowed hard, heart hammering. His mana was gone. His body was battered. But that thing—the Emberkin power—hummed beneath his skin, eager, insistent.
He knew it was reckless. Dangerous. Unstable.
But it might be their only shot.
He looked at his friends—their bloodied faces, their grim determination—and made his decision.
Pag shoved his hands together, sparks leaping instantly between his palms. Heat boiled up inside him, not the familiar warmth of controlled magic, but a wild, searing inferno clawing to be unleashed.
The ground beneath his feet cracked, radiating glowing fissures in every direction.
"Fall back behind me!" he shouted.
Ellen and Faelan didn't hesitate. Borin cursed but obeyed, pulling himself into a guarded stance.
Pag closed his eyes. Let the power build. His robes whipped around him, caught in a cyclone of blistering wind and light.
The approaching Quang soldiers slowed, confused by the rising heat, the flickering embers that now floated thick as snow in the air.
The war mage at their center raised his staff, shouting an incantation.
Pag opened his eyes—and the world caught fire.
He roared, slamming his palms into the ground.
A shockwave of molten energy exploded outward in a burning dome, the force peeling up cobblestones and vaporizing the first ranks of the enemy soldiers. The war mage's spell sputtered mid-cast as he was hurled back, his crimson robes aflame.
The heat was unbearable. Pag could barely stay conscious. He felt blood trickle from his nose, from his ears—but he held on, pushing, channeling, becoming the inferno.
The ground itself seemed to breathe with fire, the very stones glowing molten red under his feet.
When the blast finally receded, leaving only a scorched, empty swath where the enemy had once stood, Pag collapsed to his knees.
His vision blurred, his heart pounding erratically.
New warnings bloomed across his HUD:
>Critical Overload Detected Mana Burn: Moderate Health Warning: Internal Damage Sustained Emberkin Instability Increasing<
Pag coughed violently, smoke curling from his lips.
He felt hands on his shoulders—Borin’s steady grip, Ellen’s worried touch.
"You absolute madman," Ellen breathed. "You actually—"
She didn't finish.
Another horn sounded in the distance.
Deeper. Louder.
The next wave was coming—and this time, they would be ready for him.
For the Emberkin.
The silence after the explosion was a living thing—heavy, suffocating, clinging to the shattered stones and smoldering bodies littering the square.
Pag swayed on his knees, barely conscious, the burned remnants of his magic coiling around him like smoke from a dying fire. Every heartbeat sent a jolt of pain through his ribs, and somewhere deep inside, the Emberkin power still pulsed—wild, unstable, whispering for more.
Borin crouched beside him, keeping a wary eye on the ruined alleys. Ellen stood with blades drawn, her whole body taut like a bowstring, while Faelan melted into the shadows, an arrow already nocked and ready.
For a moment, it seemed as if they had bought themselves a reprieve.
Then the horns sounded again—three sharp blasts, low and guttural, vibrating through the stones like the growl of a waking beast.
Pag’s stomach dropped.
This wasn’t a signal for reinforcements.
This was a call for annihilation.
From the far side of the village, dark shapes emerged, cutting through the smoke with inhuman grace. Not the rank-and-file soldiers of the Quang army. No. These figures moved like predators—fluid, precise, terrifyingly coordinated.
There were six of them.
Clad in segmented black armor etched with silver, their helms featureless save for a thin crescent slit of molten gold where the eyes should be. Each carried a different weapon—long razored whips, twin sabers, a spear that shimmered with rippling enchantments, a bow strung with threadlike silver filament.
The lead figure wore a crimson sash threaded with bone charms across his chest. Around him, the air seemed to bend slightly, as if even the world was reluctant to touch him.
Pag’s HUD pinged softly, a barely audible warning.
>New Enemy Identified: Lunar Empire Eclipse Hunters Warning: Eclipse Hunters are classified as Apex Threat Units. Engage with extreme caution or avoid entirely.<
Faelan whispered the name aloud, horror thick in his voice. "Eclipse Hunters. By the gods…"
Pag struggled to his feet, Borin steadying him with a grunt.
"What... what are they?" Pag rasped.
"Killing squads," Faelan said, notching his arrow tighter. "Trained to hunt mages and aberrants. Anyone who breaks the balance of power."
Pag’s blood ran cold. Aberrants. That was what the Lunar Empire must think he was now. No—knew he was.
They hadn’t come to capture him.
They had come to erase him.
The Eclipse Hunters advanced silently, the very ground seeming to recoil under their steps. Every movement was exact. Ritualistic. They spread out, methodical, cutting off any possible escape.
Pag could barely stand. His mana reserves were gutted. The Emberkin power still coiled in him like a starving wolf—but to draw on it again without control would be madness. Suicide.
He met Ellen's eyes. She gave him a grim, lopsided smile, twirling one dagger in a lazy circle. Ready.
Borin slammed the butt of his hammer into the ground, cracking the stones, and bared his teeth in a feral grin. Ready.
Faelan exhaled slowly, steadying his aim. Ready.
Pag clenched his fists, feeling the faint tremble of magic stir once more at the edge of his shredded nerves.
He might not survive this.
None of them might.
But if the Lunar Empire wanted a fight—
They would damn well get one.
The Eclipse Hunters struck without warning.
One moment they were simply standing.
The next, they blurred into motion.
The air cracked with the speed of their assault—one armed with twin sabers flashing toward Borin in a whirlwind of silver arcs. Borin met him head-on, hammer swinging in a brutal upward arc that the hunter twisted under with unnatural speed, a silvered blade kissing the dwarf's armor and carving a shallow line across it.
Another hunter, wielding a whip that glowed with pale blue light, lashed toward Ellen. She ducked instinctively—but the whip moved like a serpent, curving mid-air to catch her across the shoulder. Sparks flew as the enchantment discharged into her armor, sending her sprawling back with a grunt.
Pag raised trembling hands, trying to summon a barrier—but another hunter, the one with the spear, lunged at him with a precision that left no room for mistakes.
He threw himself aside at the last second, feeling the spear’s enchanted edge slice the air an inch from his ribs. He hit the ground hard, rolling, gasping.
Too fast. They're too fast.
Faelan, ever the ghost, moved between the shadows, arrows flying—deadly, pinpoint shots that should have felled any normal opponent.
But the Eclipse Hunters weren’t normal.
They batted arrows aside with contemptuous ease, weaving through the battlefield like dancers in a bloody ballet.
Pag felt the Emberkin power stirring again—wild, angry, desperate.
"Use me," it whispered. "Let go. Feed the fire."
He hesitated.
Once tapped, he didn’t know if he could stop it. If he could even survive it.
Another whip crack split the air—this time tearing into Borin’s side. The dwarf roared in pain, falling to one knee.
No time. No choice.
Pag slammed his fists together, channeling the Emberkin energy with a hoarse shout.
The ground exploded beneath him—gouts of crimson flame erupting outward in a chaotic blast, forcing the nearest Eclipse Hunters to break formation.
But this time, something was different.
The fire did not stop at the edge of the blast.
It followed him.
Tendrils of living flame wrapped around Pag’s arms, his torso, his legs—not burning him, but binding to him, becoming him. His skin cracked, glowing from within like molten stone. His breath steamed in the cold night air.
Pag staggered, barely able to hold himself together as power surged through every nerve ending.
The nearest Eclipse Hunter lunged at him again, spear flashing toward his throat.
Pag moved without thinking—one hand lashing out.
The world shuddered.
The hunter detonated mid-lunge, disintegrating in a thunderous eruption of light and ash.
Pag stared in horror at what he’d done.
But there was no time for guilt. The other Hunters hesitated—hesitated—for the first time.
Ellen scrambled back to her feet, wiping blood from her mouth.
Borin struggled upright, bracing on his hammer.
Faelan melted into a firing position, eyes hard.
And Pag—
Pag burned.
The night itself seemed to tremble around him.
The Lunar Empire had sent its best to kill him.
They hadn’t sent enough.