The night sky above Elderglen was filled with a heavy silence, the kind that preceded a storm. The air was thick with tension, every breath carrying the weight of impending doom. Elara stood on the wall, her eyes fixed on the dark forest beyond, where the first shadow creatures had emerged. The Aetherblade in her hand pulsed with a steady rhythm, its light cutting through the darkness like a beacon of hope.
The villagers below were ready, every man and woman who could hold a weapon standing in formation. The archers lined the walls, arrows notched and bows drawn, their eyes trained on the advancing shadows. Fires burned brightly in the braziers, casting flickering light across the village square, where the elders led a group of villagers in a protective chant.
Elias stood beside Elara, his sword gleaming in the firelight. "They're coming in numbers," he murmured, his voice tense. "We have to hold them here. If they breach the walls…"