The journey beyond the village led Thrain and Aric into the Forgotten Vale, a stretch of wildlands spoken of only in hushed warnings. Legends told of creatures lurking in its depths—ancient beings twisted by time and hunger. But Thrain had no choice. If the ancient text he found was right, then the next clue to unraveling the war's origins lay deep within this forsaken place.
Unfortunately, he was not alone.
"Something's watching us," Aric muttered, his fingers twitching over his sword hilt.
"You're always saying that," Thrain replied, peering at the dense foliage.
"Yeah, but this time it's true."
Before Thrain could respond, a guttural growl rumbled through the trees, low and deep, vibrating through his very bones. The ground trembled slightly, as if something enormous had just stirred from its slumber.
A moment later, Nibbles, Thrain's peculiar adopted magical beast, perked up from his perch on Thrain's shoulder. The tiny creature, who looked like a cross between a ferret and a dragon, flicked his tail and chattered in agitation.
"See? Even Nibbles knows we're screwed," Aric said, stepping back.
Thrain barely had time to react before the trees ahead snapped like twigs, and a monstrous form emerged.
It was a Dreadfang, a beast from the old world—twice the size of a warhorse, with obsidian-black scales and a mouth lined with jagged fangs. Its eyes glowed with an eerie silver light, and the moment they landed on Thrain, its lips curled back in something terrifyingly close to recognition.
"Oh," Thrain said flatly. "That's not good."
"No, it is very not good!" Aric snapped, drawing his sword. "Please tell me you have a plan."
Thrain, ever the tactician, did have a plan. Unfortunately, it mostly revolved around not dying.
The Dreadfang lunged, its massive jaws snapping shut just inches from where Thrain had been standing a second before. He rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding a tail swipe that obliterated a nearby tree.
Aric, proving he was not entirely useless, managed to land a deep slash along the creature's leg, but the Dreadfang barely flinched. Instead, it let out an ear-splitting roar that sent Aric skidding backward, landing flat on his back.
"Okay," he wheezed. "New plan."
Thrain barely had time to register that before Nibbles—his beloved, albeit completely unpredictable, magical beast—decided to enter the fight.
With a screech that was meant to be intimidating but mostly sounded like an irritated squirrel, Nibbles launched himself at the Dreadfang's face.
"Nibbles, no!" Thrain yelled.
Too late.
The tiny creature latched onto the beast's snout, scratching wildly. The Dreadfang went cross-eyed trying to shake him off, roaring in confusion.
"Is that—" Aric started, before breaking into hysterical laughter. "Oh gods, your ferret-dragon thing is actually winning!"
"He's not winning! He's—" Thrain dodged another claw swipe "—annoying it!"
Still, it gave him an opening. Channeling mana through his veins, Thrain's hands crackled with energy, runes forming in the air as he cast a spell he had not dared to try before.
The temperature around them dropped instantly, frost racing across the ground toward the Dreadfang.
"Move, Nibbles!" Thrain commanded.
The tiny beast chittered in irritation but flung himself clear just as Thrain slammed his palm to the ground.
The frost erupted upward, forming razor-sharp ice spikes that pierced through the Dreadfang's underbelly. The beast roared in pain, its movements slowing as the ice sapped its strength.
Seizing his chance, Thrain gathered every ounce of mana he had left and conjured a final spell—a focused blast of kinetic force. With a sharp thrust of his arm, he sent the energy ripping through the air, striking the Dreadfang directly in its skull.
The beast let out one last, pained snarl before collapsing, the ground shuddering beneath its weight.
Silence.
Then:
"Well, that was terrifying," Aric said, breathless.
"Yes," Thrain agreed, rubbing his sore arms. "I feel like we learned something valuable today."
Aric arched a brow. "Which is?"
Thrain gestured at Nibbles, who was currently sitting proudly atop the dead Dreadfang, preening his fur.
"That he might actually be more dangerous than I am."
Aric considered that, then nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I can see it."
As the adrenaline wore off, Thrain turned his gaze westward. The Dreadfang's presence here had not been random—it had been guarding something. And if the old texts were right, what lay beyond this vale was a truth that had been buried for far too long.
The war hadn't been a mistake.
It had been designed.
And whoever had set it in motion had left more than just beasts in their wake.
With a final glance at the fallen Dreadfang, Thrain knew one thing for certain:
This was only the beginning.