(Villagers' Perspective)
The night was calm, too calm. The kind of silence that presses against the ears until even the chirp of a cricket feels like a warning.
Lanterns flickered along Ashgrove's walls. Hana stood at the gate with Elira and Borin, their eyes scanning the dark tree line. The younger villagers she had trained were posted with bows and spears, their hands trembling but their faces steady.
"They wait," Hana murmured, voice low. "The hunters are patient. They strike when fear is sharpest."
As if on cue, a sound echoed through the forest — a distant horn, mournful and deep. Then, flames lit the horizon.
"Fire!" someone shouted.
The hunters had set the woods ablaze. Thick smoke rose, carried by the wind, pushing animals and birds in a frenzy toward the village. It wasn't just an attack — it was chaos weaponized.
Borin's jaw tightened. "They mean to smoke us out, break our walls with fear before steel."
The elder limped forward, voice steady despite his years. "Then let them come. Ashgrove has withstood storms before."
---
The first wave arrived. Men in dark cloaks charged from the smoke, torches in one hand, blades in the other. Arrows rained down from the walls — some missed, but others struck true. Villagers who once only tilled fields now stood as defenders of their home.
Hana dropped from the gate like a shadow, her new short sword flashing. She moved through the enemy with lethal grace, cutting tendons, disarming foes, striking quick and silent.
Behind her, Elira barked orders. "Hold the line! Don't let them through the gate!"
Borin fought at her side, his hammer crushing shields and splintering bone. "For Ashgrove!" he roared, the cry echoing across the battlefield.
---
But the hunters were clever. While the first wave drew the villagers' attention, a second group circled around the burning woods, emerging from the east. They carried oil and pitch, hurling fire onto the thatched roofs. Flames spread quickly, licking up the sides of rebuilt homes.
"Fire in the village!" someone screamed.
Panic surged, but Hana's voice cut through it. "Buckets! Form a chain! Children to the well!" She grabbed a hunter by the throat, throwing him into his own torch. "Do not let fear do their work for them!"
Villagers scrambled, water sloshing as they fought both man and fire.
---
In the heart of the battle, the hunter captain appeared — clad in black armor, helm shaped like a snarling wolf. His voice carried above the clash of steel.
"Give us the serpent's daughter and her cursed companion, and your suffering ends! Stand against us, and you will all burn!"
The villagers hesitated. For a heartbeat, fear cracked their unity. The thought of handing Seraphina and Dorian over flickered in their minds.
Then Elira's voice rang out, fierce and unwavering.
"Seraphina is one of us! Dorian is one of us! Ashgrove does not betray its own!"
The villagers roared, the doubt burned away.
Hana leapt into the fray, blades flashing. "Then we show them what it means to face Ashgrove."
---
The battle raged. Fire spread, arrows hissed, steel clashed. Villagers fought with desperation, hunters with cold precision. For every man who fell, another seemed to step from the smoke.
And though the hunters pressed hard, they had not expected Ashgrove's spirit — not the hammer of Borin, nor the spear of Elira, nor the shadows of Hana moving like death itself.
Yet Hana's eyes narrowed as she saw the captain holding back, waiting, watching. His troops tested the village, but this was not their true strike.
Something worse was coming.