But this was no ordinary town.
Above the rooftops, the ground shook as a massive shadow swept across the land.
They looked up.
Titans.
Towering golems, each as tall as a mountain, moved slowly through the outer edges of the settlement. Their footsteps caused low tremors, yet they moved with graceful precision, like giants on a casual stroll. Their bodies were sculpted of obsidian and marble, engraved with glowing runes that pulsed with ancient energy.
Shadow and Varn looked like ants beneath them.
Varn blinked. “Well. This place doesn’t do subtle, does it?”
Shadow said nothing, eyes fixed on the golems as they passed, uninterested in the mortals beneath them. It wasn’t fear he felt, but something deeper. Memory... maybe?
They reached the village entrance, where two guards stood—except these guards were unlike anything they'd seen. Clad in armor that shimmered like glass and powered by cores of light embedded in their chests, they held weapons that seemed half mechanical, half organic—shifting subtly like they were alive.
“Halt,” one guard ordered, voice distorted through a layered metallic helm. “Identify yourselves.”
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Shadow subtly lowered his stance, preparing for the worst. Varn’s hand hovered over the hidden blade in his cloak.
But before conflict could bloom, a voice rang out, calm and commanding.
“Let the guests in.”
The guards immediately stepped aside, silent. The glowing light in their armor dimmed as they turned, almost respectfully.
Shadow and Varn exchanged a glance, then walked through the gates.
Inside, the town was... alive.
All around them were races of every kind—elves, fae, horned giants, scaled beings, humans with metallic limbs, and even creatures that shimmered like stardust. They walked, talked, traded, and laughed—living in harmony.
Children danced in glowing puddles of liquid light. Floating lanterns hovered above the street. Music that seemed to hum from the air itself followed them.
It was beautiful. Perfect, even.
Too perfect.
As they moved deeper, Shadow’s eyes narrowed. Something wasn’t right.
The ground shimmered faintly.
Shadows didn’t always match the bodies that cast them. Reflections lagged behind reality.
“It’s an illusion,” Shadow murmured.
“I noticed,” Varn replied, quieter than usual.
At the end of the street stood a grand mansion of white stone and endless balconies. Its design was impossible—too tall, too wide, shifting subtly in structure with every blink. An impossible building inside an impossible town.
They walked up the steps.
The door opened before they knocked.
Out came an old man dressed in layered robes of twilight gray, his eyes milky but vibrant with knowledge beyond time. He smiled, not surprised to see them at all.
“You are expected,” he said.
Far away, in a throne room draped in shadows and lined with burning banners, the true threat stirred.
At the center sat a towering figure clad in obsidian armor veined with red light.
Noel.
The Harbinger of End.
He raised one hand, and eight sigils ignited in the air around him.
“Call them,” he said. “All of them.”
One by one, portals flared open.
Eight thrones. Eight generals.
The war was beginning again.
To be continued...