The winds over the plains of Aegros howled with unnatural fury. What should have been a tranquil expanse of wheat and sun-dappled hills had turned into a corridor for the darkening skies. Black clouds rolled in from the eastern horizon, and with them came the first true signs of the Shadow's impending assault.
Laila stood atop a ridge with her companions beside her, gazing down at the newly formed encampment below. Thousands of warriors, mages, scouts, and emissaries from every corner of the fractured lands gathered, unified under one desperate banner. The tribes of the mountains, the Sylvan guardians, the coastal defenders of Nyssara, and even the reluctant scholars of the Citadel had sent their finest.
The air in the war camp was tense but hopeful. Fires burned low and conversations hummed through the night. Scouts returned regularly with news of dark movements along the forests and marshes. The enemy was not yet upon them, but its hand was already stretching into the mortal world, sowing confusion and dread.
Laila stepped back from the ridge. "They are ready," she said. "But we need more than readiness. We need unity. We need belief."
Lucian nodded grimly. "And you're the only one who can give them that."
Later that evening, Laila addressed the gathered leaders around the great council fire. The flames flickered high, throwing light against the polished armor and painted faces of those seated in the circle. Her voice rang clear.
"We are no longer many nations. We are one people. We are the breath and bones of this land. And we are its last defense. The Echo was given not to destroy, but to connect. To heal. We stand here not just to fight, but to remind the world that it is worth saving."
There were murmurs of approval, nods from those who had once doubted her resolve. In that moment, the divisions of the past seemed to fall away like old ash on the wind.
That night, while most tried to find uneasy sleep, Laila, Mira, Lucian, and Elyra met in the command tent. A glowing map hovered between them, projected by Sylvan magic and sustained by the Echo's pulse.
"The Shadow is not just sending armies," Elyra said, pointing to shifting black veins crawling along the terrain. "It's poisoning the land itself. If we allow it to root into the Heartlands, we may not be able to push it back."
Mira stepped forward, her hands glowing with restrained energy. "There's a nexus forming in the Valley of the Drowned Kings. If we strike there, and seal the rift, we might cut off its momentum."
Lucian frowned. "That valley is cursed. No army has returned from it."
Laila met his eyes. "Then we break the curse. And we become the first."
At dawn, the allied host began to march. The forest whispered farewell, and the sky remained grim, but the flame of resistance had been lit.
What none of them saw was the figure on the ridge behind them—a lone man cloaked in midnight silk, watching their every move with burning silver eyes. The Herald of the Forgotten turned away and whispered into the void.
"They come. Let them. The final verse has yet to be sung."