Ear-splitting thunder rumbled through the heavens, sending tremors across the land. The once serene sky transformed into a foreboding spectacle as thick, ebony clouds shrouded the atmosphere. The wind howled with an untamed ferocity, echoing the cries of a wild pack of wolves.

     On the boundless grassland of Asbranne, the tall grasses and thick bushes swayed with the gusts. In the distance, the Asbranne Lake shimmered, its flat surface disturbed by rolling waves. Despite the eerie darkness that shrouded the day, no raindrop touched the parched earth. But, the breeze grew fierce and violent, hurling small rocks into the air forcefully.

     The wind escalated into a roar reminiscent of crashing waves. The blaring thunder crashed and grew louder. Then, flashes of lightning streaked across the gloom, briefly illuminating the landscape.

     The breeze transforms into savage wrath, carrying swirling dust and ripping grass from the ground, suspending it mid-air. The air becomes smoky grey as it whirls in a menacing circular motion. A tornado has formed, gradually gaining volume and size, dwarfing even the mightiest hills. Its darkened core resembles charred charcoal as lightning crackles and thunder reverberates through the land.

     Unexpectedly, another tornado summons a few yards away from the first, starting as a fragile, spinning vortex of grey. But, within a matter of minutes, it gains volume and matches the size of its predecessor. It rumbles as it rips off the tall grass surrounding it, carrying the thick patches of green mid-air.

     Then, a third tornado emerges as the wind becomes fierce enough to uproot trees from the soil. The swirling vortex gains momentum as its form grows increasingly opaque while lightning flickers above the expanse of vast black clouds. Like mischievous and unpredictable triplets, three tornadoes twirl across the grassland, wreaking havoc in their path.

     The trio of tornadoes gradually set, their spinning motion propelling them closer to a city protected by a formidable concrete wall on the distant horizon. The menacing vortex inch closer, their presence an impending threat that looms over the city. The threatening tornadoes proceed nearer and nearer every second.

     A colossal gate swings open, granting passage for a man to step through the city wall. The man dons a single-tailed tailcoat, beginning with a shimmering silver hue at the top and transitioning to a golden shade towards the bottom. Sharp-edged epaulettes rest on his shoulders, while a long black stroke extends down his front, complemented by a slim, greyish-white waist belt. Golden ornaments envelop his arms, and his forearms sport elbow-length fingerless gloves paired with a glistening golden ring on his finger.

     As the man advances toward the grassland, his knee-length silver boots touch the grassy terrain, causing the grass underneath his feet to crunch. He then halts as the wind tugs at his grey shako cap adorned with two braids and a gilded P-shaped emblem on its front. On his left chest is a badge bearing the same letter, and on his right chest, a golden plate proclaims his position as the Defender of Asbranne. Beneath the emblem rests another tag, inscribed with the title of his rank as corporal.

     As the wind gently brushes through the man's hair, it stirs and ripples like waves on a seashore. His hair is like fire, and his eyes glint like gold despite the absence of sunlight. The man is none other than Oliver, the Remaining Podeshire. Fixing his gaze on the grassland, Oliver stares at the impending threat of the three approaching tornadoes. He puffs out his chest and spreads his legs.

     The faint sound of footsteps stomps behind Oliver. Then, it stops at his left side. Curiously, he turns his gaze to his left, raising a brow.

     Standing beside Oliver is a taller man with a light, subtle beard. His hair mirrors the dark clouds above, blending seamlessly with the sky. And his eyes gleam like smouldering charcoal beneath a flickering flame. It is none other than Gregory, the beloved spouse of the Remaining Podeshire, who wears a shiny, golden ring on his finger.

     A black top hat rests on Gregory's head, while a cravat tie wraps around his neck beneath a white shirt. Cloaked over his frame is a waist-length, dark chocolate-brown coat over a walnut-brown waistcoat. Finishing his look, he wears long black trousers that drape over his black shoes.

     Gregory peers at the approaching tornadoes on the distant horizon. Unlike his spouse, a cold, tingling sensation creeps up his spine, hastening his heartbeat. Nervous, he gently places a palm on Oliver's shoulder, glancing at him.

"Please be careful," Gregory said.

Oliver looked back at Gregory, smirking as he replied, "I will."

     The two men suddenly hear the sound of footsteps and grass crunching behind them. They slowly glance over their shoulders and turn around. Relief washes over their faces as they see their three friends approaching.

     Standing in the centre is Sarrah, a girl with pale but fair skin that glows like porcelain, contrasting with her vibrant tangerine hair. With each step she takes, a gentle breeze rustles through her locks, styled with split bangs and a neatly arranged bun. The wind blows towards her sandy-brown eyes, forcing her to squint as she walks forward.

     Sarrah wears a butter-coloured gown with a low V-cut neckline that reveals her collarbones. Her dress boasts puffy shoulder sleeves, tapering to a snug fit at her wrists. Below her chest, a flowing frilled skirt cascades, revealing a plain underskirt that exposes her black loafers and white stockings. Completing her look is a pearl necklace with a silver heart pendant, accentuating her pale complexion.

     Standing to Sarrah's right is Bethany. Bethany's skin is as warm as firewood, glistening like a smooth, polished crystal. Her eyes reflect the colours found in nature, gleaming like lime. And her hair is like ink, elegantly coiled into a high bun.

     Bethany wears a mustard-coloured dress featuring puffy layered sleeves. Her high-waisted skirt begins below a white belt under her bust, and its hemline falls atop her black shoes painted with gilded floral patterns. Like Sarrah, Bethany also wears a pearl necklace with a silver heart pendant.

     On Sarrah's left stands Edgar, his skin radiating like sunlight. His hair, flowing into sideburns that frame his face, shines like a young dandelion. His minty eyes shimmer like the bright blue sky, glinting like precious sapphire gemstones.

     Edgar cloaks his broad figure in a sleek black overcoat. Stone-grey trousers cling to his legs, tracing each of his strides. With each step, his polished black shoes, their glossy surfaces resembling mirrors, reflect the vibrant world around him.

"Greg, try not to be clingy this time," Edgar said, placing his hands on his hips as he smirked.

"..." Gregory closed his eyes halfway through and tightened his lips, glaring at Edgar.

     Suddenly, thunder reverberates through the sky. The blaring noise crashes, ringing in everyone's ears. Oliver and his companions quickly look back at the approaching tornadoes, now looming closer than ever, their massive size dominating the landscape.

     Oliver's brows furrow with concern as his eyes lock on the swirling vortexes. Taking a quick breath, he steadies himself, slightly wobbling his head as he gathers his resolve. Then, he takes a determined step forward, ready to face the looming threat.

"Wait!" Gregory called out.

     Gregory seizes Oliver by the arms, forcefully pulling him back. Gregory's gaze remains fixed on the menacing tornadoes as his face contorts with worry. His fists clench tightly, and his teeth grind together. Gregory then releases a heavy sigh, the weight of the situation weighing on his head.

"Oli, please stay safe," said Gregory.

Oliver nodded, smiling at Gregory.