The journey through the Academy grounds and into the inner city was eerily quiet. Thorgar and Hamdal moved with such efficiency and overwhelming strength that the few lingering Eclipse Beasts they encountered were dispatched instantly, long before Blaze and the others could even draw a weapon.

As the student had reported, the worst of the invasion seemed to have been neutralized by the city's defenders, allowing the elders to move unimpeded.

Finally, after following a series of increasingly severe scorch marks and structural damage, they arrived at a ruined plaza just outside the central research district.

The moment they reached the site, the four young first years stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes opening wide in collective horror and disbelief.

The plaza was a disaster zone, evidence of a devastating clash of powers.

Huge trenches crisscrossed the ground, looking like scars ripped into the earth by titanic claws.

Stone walls lay in mountainous piles of debris, and the air still carried a faint, burnt metallic scent.

What truly arrested their attention were the two massive, smoking pits blasted into the cobblestone.

In the deepest pit, they saw Professor Flint. He lay still, his body tragically reduced to a skeletal figure, charred black and fused into the shattered rock, a stark, chilling testament to the terrifying power that had consumed him.

And above that very pit, slumped across the edge of the crater like a discarded warrior, lay Grey.

His body was covered in deep gashes, his clothes were tattered and smoking, and he was completely unconscious.

A short distance away, near a crumbled archway, Elena was also sprawled on the ground, equally motionless and unconscious, her usually pristine clothes torn and scorched.

"Grey! Elena!" Blaze yelled, his calm façade shattering into raw panic.

He sprinted forward, the others immediately following, their weariness forgotten as they rushed toward their friends.

Hamdal stopped beside Thorgar, his usual jocular expression replaced by one of profound gravity.

He slowly surveyed the catastrophic damage.

The pressure, the residual magical residue of the battle, it hung in the air like an invisible shroud.

Hamdal was a master; he could read the story of the fight from the debris.

The fusion of the earth, the sheer destructive force used, and the skeletal remains of Flint pointed to a desperation bordering on the apocalyptic.

Hamdal could guess how tough it must have been for Grey, facing that level of destructive, uncontrollable power while trying to contain the explosion and protect Elena.

It should have been impossible.

But Hamdal's lips curved into a slow, knowing grin, a look of profound satisfaction mixing with his concern.

"Grey... you stubborn bastard," Hamdal murmured to himself, his gaze fixed on the unconscious warrior. "You've done the impossible once, and you've done it again this time."

"Guess I'd have to give my gauntlets away earlier than planned," Hamdal chuckled, a sound of genuine amusement.

His face was filled with immense pride as he looked at the battered, yet victorious, figure of Grey.

*******

The sun struggled to pierce the dense, ancient canopy of the Whispering Woods, leaving the forest floor perpetually shadowed.

In a rugged, hastily cleared patch, a cluster of canvas tents formed a beleaguered frontline outpost.

Uniformed High Elf warriors moved with practiced urgency, their faces grim, checking supplies and sharpening blades.

The air was taut with the expectation of battle.

Suddenly, the residual sunlight was eclipsed by a massive, moving shadow.

Every head snapped up in alarm.

A guttural roar cut through the forest quiet, announcing the descent of a humongous Griffon.

It was a beast of imposing stature, its feathered head and hooked beak exuding fierce nobility.

The warriors tensed, ready to draw steel, but recognition dawned quickly.

Cautious suspicion turned to a wave of relieved, excited smiles.

The magnificent creature plummeted, landing with a jarring thud that shook the earth.

Its massive, tawny wings beat once more, sending powerful gusts of wind, dirt, and loose leaves swirling across the clearing before settling its tremendous weight.

Harlon dismounted first with practiced ease. He wore practical, chain-laced armor over dark tunic and breeches, a clear indication of his role as a field commander rather than a courtier.

A young warrior, his armor dusty and bearing the sigil of the border guard, immediately strode forward to salute.

But his attention was momentarily arrested by the sight of the figure still seated high on the Griffon's back, now swinging her legs carefully over the saddle.

She was breathtaking.

Princess Erowen had long, silky silver hair that cascaded down her back like a molten stream, shimmering even in the low light. Her large, almost ethereal emerald eyes held a mesmerizing quality, capable of capturing the focus of any man who dared look into them.

She was dressed in a sweeping, practical gown, but over it, she wore a simple yet sturdy leather chest guard, a silent statement of her readiness to engage.

Harlon extended a strong, armored hand. Erowen took it, her slender fingers firm, and she gracefully slid to the ground.

"Lord Harlon! Princess Erowen!" the young warrior exclaimed, his initial formality giving way to genuine respect and excitement.

"At ease, soldier," Harlon said, his voice crisp.

He scanned the bustling outpost, his expression instantly serious.

"How is the situation on the frontlines?"

The warrior's face immediately hardened. "The battle has intensified, Lord Harlon. The skirmishes have become full engagements. For some reason, the Eclipse Beasts are acting frantic, almost unnaturally aggressive. They are trying to push forward without caring for sacrifices. They're leaving piles of their own dead in the ravines."

"I see," Harlon nodded, his jaw tightening in understanding.

The news confirmed his fears, there was a driving force behind the escalating attacks.

"We were notified of your arrival, My Lord," the warrior continued, regaining his professional bearing.

"Captain Alvaro has been waiting for you and the Princess. He is to take you past the forest. He is the expert pathfinder, knows every twist and shadow of the Woods."

The warrior then gestured toward the largest tent. "Let me escort you, Lord Harlon, Princess Erowen."

Harlon gave a brief nod of thanks and motioned for Erowen to follow.

The pair moved through the tense, bustling clearing, the cheers and respectful nods of the field warriors giving them a stark reminder of their significance, a brief moment of courtly splendor amidst the grim reality of the war-torn frontier.

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