“Someone’s approaching, Durandal. It’s…I think It’s Shinsou!”

Loren stared out from her perch high in the guard tower, her elvish tinged with a Raiaeran mote of disbelief. She scanned the horizon once again just to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming. The monotonous yellow-green hills in three of the four directions made up the same old scenery that had greeted her eyes every day for the past three months, and then, straight ahead, a welcome sight indeed. The former ranger turned Brotherhood trainee told herself exultantly that she wasn’t imagining things as Slepnir and Chamomile cantered into view, one of their riders indeed the co-leader of the Brotherhood. The other was unknown to her, but she was sure that would change momentarily.

“Who is that with him?” Durandal, Loren’s elven brother, echoed from the wooden tower half a floor length below her, his voice remarkably gentle and pensive.

“I don’t know,” Loren’s pitch turned almost melodic with curiosity, “Let’s wait for him to give us the signal.”

It was a well-guarded but well established protocol for the Brotherhood leaders to sign to the watchtower whenever bringing someone new to the encampment. In an age where anything was possible, including infiltration by shapeshifters, anyone caught imitating the leaders to gain access to Whitevale would be easily rooted out at the gate. It had been attempted before, although without any success. With this in mind, the Telgradian, staring at the tower ahead, raised three fingers high, the sign for all clear. He wasn’t quite as interested in the once verdant greenery that encroached upon Whitevale’s fringes. His gaze was instead fixed upon the buildings within those stone walls, beyond the tower. He had not returned to Whitevale since the meteor shower that had devastated Radasanth and had pummelled Corone, and had been apprehensive about what he might be returning to. There was no smoke rising from the town, or damage to any buildings, which was a good sign.

“Welcome to Whitevale, Felicity,” Shinsou said, turning atop Slepnir’s saddle to face her. He could see she was still shaking, but was unsure of whether it was something he had said or the jitters from the ride in. “Once we’re through these gates, we’ll get the horses attended to and I’ll show you round.”

The horses’ hooves clacked on the cobblestone path as the pair cantered for the inviting iron gate, the wind at their backs and the browning leaves from nearby trees flitting harmlessly about them. The sky was still ashen grey, another reminder to mark the new age they lived in, and darker clouds ahead threatened to overrun as they scuttled towards the opposite horizon. Around the two elves was the constant activity of trained guardsmen at work, loosening the gate mechanisms and setting up in ceremonial squared formation as they primed their detachment to greet their leader.

“Shinsou!” Loren called down to the wall, where the Telgradian warrior-mage and his red-headed accomplice stared intently at the tower. “Welcome back! Permission to report in?”

There was no mistaking the elven tinge in her voice, and he looked up to reply with a smile.

“Good to see you Loren!” Shinsou shouted. “Please come down when you are ready, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

As the pair pulled into Whitevale’s square and attendants flocked to their mounts, Shinsou transferred his gaze to the buildings once more, briefly allowing a small subconscious smile of his own to touch his lips. The breeze ruffled his untidy hair and tugged at his greatcoat as he took in the sight of his Brotherhood, untouched by the calamity, working at full capacity.

Thank the gods that this place didn’t get touched. We don’t have much left after the war, and thanks to that bastard Arius the money is not as limitless as it used to be…

For not the first time that day, Shinsou turned to contemplate the wellbeing of Felicity Rhyolite, who was gazing around the township, presumably taking it all in. Dismounting, he extended a hand to the young redhead, and helped her off Chamomile. She still seemed to be trembling somewhat, so the Telgradian decided to talk.

“Here, let me help. The first thing that happens when either myself or Storm Veritas return to Whitevale is that the gatekeepers deliver something called a “gate report”, detailing current and past events. Loren and Durandal are my gatekeepers – you’ll notice they are elven, hailing from Raiaera. That’s quite a rare thing here. They were refugees that came to Corone after Xem’zund’s campaign in Raiaera. They’ve made here their home.”

The faint chatter of the two elves in the tower above became louder as Loren and Durandal both slid down the ladders and joined the Telgradian and Neanderthal pair. Loren was shorter than Durandal by half a foot; light skinned, dark haired and blue eyed. Durandal was burly for an elf, his less than slight frame bulkened further by rugged armour that covered his chest and legs, but had the same hair and eyes as his sister. They both carried bows on their back, and dipped in tandem at the waist to Shinsou, who gestured towards Felicity.

“Loren, Durandal, this is Felicity Rhyolite. She’s going to be training with us until further notice.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Loren almost whispered, holding her arm out as Durandal spread his arms out away from his armour, and followed suite. “Shinsou, I have a couple of things to report, if I may?”

“Sure, fire away.” Shinsou said gently, and as he did so, Loren’s eyes swivelled upwards. Durandal’s followed, and their expressions suddenly dropped. They had not been the only one to spot the danger, either. High up the town, the tolling of an alarm bell began and soon Shinsou’s attention was directed to the skies above Whitevale.

It was then that The Telgradian first noticed the dark, low-lying shadow above the southern outskirts of the city. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, he realised, as his sharp mind suddenly jolted him into life. It was the only solid mass of black in an otherwise grey and unremarkable sky, and the mass was moving swiftly towards them, against the wind.

With its wings outstretched.

By then, Loren and Durandal were already dashing for the guard’s bell. The agility with which they managed to tumble out of formation and sure-footedly climb the guard platform was quite astonishing. The Loren took the second-half of the journey up to the top platform – in one nimble leap worthy of an Olympian – was even more breath taking. And the skill she displayed in transferring her momentum into a light-footed landing followed by an easy draw of her bow was astonishing.

“Shinsou,” she gasped to him, her long, black hair wafting in the wind before finally deigning to settle about her shoulders. “It’s Drexel!”

Drexel. Shinsou frowned at the name. Since the calamity, the lands around the world had harboured all manner of deadly creatures living outside of their normal habitats, a result of the climate shifting, so wild dragons were just one of a series of recurring problems. This one, a frost dragon, now roamed the skies above Whitevale. Instead of flame, this winged nightmare would spit torrents of near absolute-zero ice that would freeze anything into lifelessness. Normal frost dragons were relatively docile and usually native only to Salvar, but the cooling of the world since the volcanic eruption had turned them into horrifically violent predators and driven them south, now apparently to Corone. With ice-plated wings strong enough to keep them aloft for days without rest, and distended mouths filled with sharp icy fangs dripping with nitrogen, they were amongst the worst types of beast to be attacked by. It was especially dangerous, though, as Drexel wasn’t wild; he belonged to Arius Mephisto, the powerful man who betrayed Shinsou and the Brotherhood for their perceived weakness at Radasanth.

“Is Arius up there?!” Shinsou demanded to know.

“No. Drexel’s been hunting alone, preying upon villagers and travellers; for the past two weeks, probably waiting for an opportunity to attack here,” Durandal shouted down from the second tier, bow also drawn, “Arius isn’t stupid enough to show up here.”

“Looks like you’re coming into the deep end with me,” Shinsou turned and told Felicity, trying not to let the pallid chill show too much upon his face. “I'll fill you in on this later, but this is one of Arius Mephisto's familiars. We need to get Drexel out of the sky, and quick, otherwise this is going to be a very short apprenticeship.”

Behind them, there was heavy thud and a noisy clink of metal as the ballistas began shooting their spears into the sky above Whitevale.