Book One: Rise of the Demonborn
Chapter 12: The Silence Before the Storm
---
The sky was *too quiet*.
Therrow's villagers stood in a daze. Some watched the hills. Others fled south. The mayor whispered desperate prayers, unaware they no longer reached any gods.
The first *black mist* curled around the forest's edge.
And then came the sound.
*Drums.*
Not metal. Not wood.
Bone.
Kael marched through the mist with his army of undead and spirits at his back. His wings spread wide, casting monstrous shadows. His feet never touched the ground. He hovered just above it—death walking like a king.
No trumpet blew from Therrow.
No challenge was called.
Kael simply *pointed*.
And the first wave crashed into the town.
---
Steel met rotting bone.
Screams erupted as Kael's revenants leapt onto walls and tore through wooden homes like parchment. Soldiers stationed inside Therrow barely had time to grab weapons.
Kael didn't look back. He strode through the chaos with chilling calm.
But then—
A streak of *light* shot down from the northern cliff.
*FWWWWWSSSH!*
It struck a revenant through the skull—burning it to dust in an instant.
Kael turned.
There stood *Seren of the Dawnbow*, her cloak fluttering, holy light wrapping her bow like fire.
Beside her landed *Aren the Brightblade*, slamming into the ground hard enough to crack stone. His holy sword gleamed like a second sun.
"You," Kael said flatly.
Seren knocked another arrow. "You're done."
Kael tilted his head.
"Let's see."
---
Aren lunged first—his blade flashing.
Kael blocked it with raw necrotic force, bones rising from the earth to intercept the strike. The impact cracked the ground and sent both flying backward.
Seren released arrow after arrow—each one whistling with divine energy.
Kael spun midair, conjuring skeletal wings to shield himself. One arrow pierced through and *grazed his cheek*—smoking on contact.
He didn't flinch.
But his eyes darkened.
---
In the streets below, the undead warred with soldiers. The tide was nearly even—until Kael whispered a command:
*"Awaken the binders."*
Twelve glowing figures emerged—his *intelligent undead*—and began weaving curses that collapsed walls and melted blades.
But then… *horns* sounded from the north.
The *rest* of the 1,500 troops had arrived.
---
"Kael!" Aren shouted as he charged again, his sword bursting with holy sigils. "In the name of Solmar—this ends *now!*"
Kael raised both hands.
Darkness pooled into his palms.
Then—*he smiled*.
"Then let it begin."
---
They collided midair.
Sword met spell.
Light clashed with shadow.
And Therrow was consumed in fire.
—