Dark clouds loomed in distant skies and harsh winds funneled across empty lands. A gust of wind blew across, sweeping into the room through an open window. A frown creased Ariden’s forehead as he watched. He picked up a twig lying on the windowsill and turned it around a few times in his hands. The twig was dead, burnt, lifeless...

            Just like the nation it had come from.

            The frown increased as Ariden let the twig drop to the floor, his eyes scanning the distant lands. A flag loomed above the barren lands, featuring a black sword on a background of red fire. It was Javdan’s symbol, the symbol of the kingdom of Klivdon, and to Ariden, it was no less than the symbol of the devil.

            “leserayan eisientils..” Ariden murmured to himself, his eyes grim with worry. Turning around his gray eyes leveled to the young man standing beside him and translated into the Common Language. “The skies are dark. The storm is coming…” Ariden paused, his heart heavy. “I can feel it…this tremor of war and utter destruction. Our doom.” He closed his eyes. “It is coming…we cannot stop it.”

            The young man Raiyan fidgeted restlessly, waiting to see if Ariden would continue. Finally, he burst out, his voice filled with eagerness and spirit, “But why can’t we stop it? We will be able to defeat Javdon—we will be able to defend our country! He may have strength in numbers but we have strength in our hearts and our love for this land. We can defeat him, I’m sure of it!” Raiyan’s eyes shone with pure confidence.

            Ariden shook his head and his eyes only grew more somber. “If only it were so…if only it were so…” He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, his voice becoming a harsh whisper. “How many brave warriors have said that same line in the face of the same terror? How many brave warriors have fallen and died in battlefields, their blood staining the grounds, their hands clasped on their hearts, murmuring that same line? How many kingdoms have been utterly destroyed on that same line?” Ariden’s face was a mask of fatigue and weariness. “No, we would not be able to defeat them…No, we would not be able to.”

            “But we would!” Raiyan insisted, his confidence untouched. “Elvienl is the greatest nation in all of Palmari—its people are united, its warriors are the best, its land is beyond comparison, and its king is strong and powerful. No, we will not suffer the same fate as our neighbors.”

            Ariden looked out of the window again, this time not at the looming horizon of fire and destruction but the kingdom that lay directly blow—the beautiful forests, lakes, meadows, and the villages filled with people chatting and laughing together, everything a picture of paradise.

            A paradise that would soon be completely destroyed.

            Unless…No, it was impossible. Despite all of Raiyan’s confidence and energy, Ariden knew better. He had seen too much, been through too much, lived too long to have any more fantasy predictions or hold any false hopes. Elvienl was strong, yes, but it would not hold a chance against the kingdom of Klivdon. Klivdon was massive, its numbers in the hundreds of thousands, its machinery manufactured by thousands of what they called ‘factories’, machinery that led forth fire, poison, and death. What could any warrior do in the face of such terrors? What could any country do in the face of such terrors?

            They had a few years before the storm, a few years before the final battle…a few years, that was all. And then their destruction.

            Elvienl would need a miracle to survive, a hero like none other.

            …Or a heroine.