Zach blinked and drew in a shaky breath, the morning air on the shore sharp against his skin. He was back—grounded in reality once again. 

The statues, the bleeding forms, the ominous voice... gone. 

And yet, the weight of their cryptic warning pressed against his chest, suffocating.

"Captain?" Kazaks' voice broke through the fog in Zach's mind, its concern tinged with confusion. 

"You zoned out there. What's going on?"

Zach turned to them—Gargeal, Qarek, Yzavynne, Leeani, Kazaks—all staring at him with puzzled expressions. 

Their faces, worn by years of hardship, carried the same question: 

What happened?

"It's... it's nothing," Zach started, his voice faltering. He wanted to bury it, lock the horrors away where they couldn't reach anyone else. 

But the moment he looked at their faces—his family, the people he had fought alongside, bled for, and trusted—Ruby's voice echoed in his head:

"You don't have to carry it all alone, Zach."

His breath hitched as the memory of her gentle words stirred something raw in him. 

He swallowed hard, his hesitation visible, his hands clenching and unclenching. 

He couldn't carry this burden alone—not anymore.

"Captain," Yzavynne said softly, her eyes narrowing in concern. 

"Something's clearly wrong. Just tell us."

"We've been through hell together," Qarek added, crossing his arms. 

"If you're dealing with something, we can handle it. Don't keep us in the dark."

Leeani chimed in, her voice teasing but underlined with sincerity. 

"You think we can't take whatever it is? We've fought worse things than your bad moods, Captain."

Gargeal remained silent, his sharp eyes studying Zach intently, as if waiting for him to make the decision himself.

Finally, Zach exhaled a slow, shaky breath and looked at the sand beneath his boots. 

"I... didn't want to tell you. Because I don't think you'll understand. And because... it feels like passing the torment meant for me onto you. But..." 

He lifted his head, his black eyes meeting theirs, his voice trembling. 

"But I can't carry it alone anymore."

His words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

Kazaks asked, his voice low but steady.

"What torment?" 

Zach hesitated again, then finally began to speak. 

"There's... something I haven't told you," he began, his voice low and raw. 

"Something I've been seeing. Something I've been hearing. And I didn't tell you because I didn't think you could understand it—not because I doubted you, but because I didn't know how to put it into words without feeling like I was dragging you into something you shouldn't have to carry."

The group remained silent, their gazes fixed on him. Encouraging. Patient. Waiting.

"I see things that you can't," Zach continued, his voice growing steadier but filled with emotion. 

"Stone statues. Hundreds of them. Encircling me, haunting me. They bleed, they move, but only I can see them. And they speak... with voices that feel like they're tearing through my soul. They talk about fate, about something ancient and incomprehensible that governs this world and everything in it."

He paused, struggling to find the right words. 

"They told me about a Tome of Fate. A book that shapes everything—our choices, our victories, our failures. They said that the world, our lives... it's all part of some grand design, crafted by forces we'll never truly understand. And that I..." 

His voice broke slightly, and he clenched his fists. 

"That I've angered those forces by rejecting them. By refusing to let fate dictate who I am or what we do."

Zach's gaze fell to the ground again, and his shoulders trembled. 

"They told me I couldn't save everyone. Not even myself. That everything has a cost, and I'd already made mine. That... no matter what I do, I'm just a piece on some chessboard. A pawn."

He looked up, his voice rising with a mix of desperation and defiance. 

"Do you know how that feels? To be told that everything you've fought for, every choice you've made, is meaningless? To be told that you're nothing more than a puppet on strings? That no matter how hard you fight, it's all already decided?"

His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. 

"I didn't want to tell you because I thought... I thought it would break you. That knowing this would crush your spirit. And I couldn't bear that. I thought if I carried it alone, I could protect you from it. But I've realized something... Something Ruby said to me: I can't carry this alone. And I shouldn't have to."

He exhaled shakily, letting the vulnerability hang in the air. 

"That's it. That's the truth. That's what I've been carrying."

As his voice faltered, his gaze darted between them, searching for understanding, afraid of rejection. 

"I didn't want to tell you," he admitted, his voice breaking. 

"Because... how can anyone understand something so—so unnatural? And because I know how heavy it feels. I didn't want you to share this weight."

There was a long silence. Zach's heart pounded, the vulnerability gnawing at him. 

He expected disbelief or pity.

Instead, Kazaks stepped forward and placed his hand—the one he still had—on Zach's shoulder. 

"Come on, Captain. Trust us."

Zach asked quietly.

"And if it's torment?" 

 Kazaks replied firmly, his voice unwavering.

"Then it's ours to share."

Qarek nodded, his face serious. 

"If it's as horrifying as you say, all the more reason for us to know. You're not just our Captain, Zach. You're family."

Leeani smirked, though her voice trembled with emotion. 

"Don't think for a second that we'd let you handle creepy, bleeding statues all on your own. We're sticking around, whether you like it or not."

Yzavynne, who rarely showed her emotions, gave Zach a faint, reassuring smile. 

"We've faced kingdoms, monsters, and wars. What's a little cosmic horror compared to that?"

Zach felt his chest tighten, but this time it wasn't from fear. 

It was from the overwhelming warmth of their support.

Then Gargeal spoke, his deep, steady voice cutting through the moment. 

"Zach."

The others quieted, and Zach turned to his old mentor, who had been watching him with a rare softness in his eyes.

"You said you didn't want us to bear the weight meant for you," Gargeal began. 

"But that's not how this works. A leader isn't just someone who shoulders everything. A leader trusts their people to share the burden. And you've trusted us with your lives before, so trust us with this now." 

He paused, his gaze piercing. 

"Because whether it's fate, torment, or gods themselves, we'd rather face it together than let you drown in it alone."

The words struck Zach like a bolt, and he felt his throat tighten. He blinked rapidly, but a tear escaped down his cheek.

Kazaks stepped in again, this time with a grin. 

"Well, at least now we know you've got a thing for creepy statues. Guess we'll have to keep an eye out for them next time."

Leeani laughed, swiping at her eyes. 

"Maybe they'll leave cryptic messages for the rest of us, too. I could use some divine advice on how to be better at using my crossbow."

Even Yzavynne chuckled. 

"I'm sure the gods would find that far more important than fate itself."

Qarek snorted. 

"Fate probably gave up on Leeani's skills a long time ago."

Zach laughed through his tears, the sound light and cathartic. 

It was imperfect, but it was real.

And then—

Something unexpected happened. 

Gargeal, who rarely showed any emotion beyond stoic discipline, looked away and smiled. 

It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a quiet expression of pride and relief.

The sight of it left Zach stunned, and he smiled back, feeling something inside him ease for the first time in what felt like forever.

But then, Gargeal's eyes narrowed as he gazed toward the horizon. 

He leaned forward, his expression shifting from thoughtful to alarmed.

Gargeal muttered, standing abruptly.

"What's that...?" 

Kazaks followed his gaze, his face tightening. 

"No... no, that can't be."

Zach turned, his stomach sinking as he spotted it too. 

At first, they were just specks on the horizon—dark shapes cresting the endless blue waves. 

But as the moments passed, the details became clearer: towering masts, fluttering sails, and flags.

Flags that bore the unmistakable crimson dragon emblem.

Drakonium.

A hundred wooden warships, their hulls sturdy and bristling with armed soldiers, were closing in on EmberWind's shores. 

The water around them rippled with their approach, each ship casting a long shadow that stretched ominously toward the village.

"No," Leeani whispered, her voice trembling. 

"Not here. Not now."

Yzavynne murmured, her voice low but taut with dread.

"They found us..." she murmured, her voice low but taut with dread.

Qarek's jaw clenched, his normally composed expression breaking into one of open fear. 

"That's Drakonium's fleet. The whole fleet."

Gargeal's hand balled into a fist, his face grim as he muttered.

"They're not here to negotiate."

The group stood frozen, their collective breath caught in their throats as the massive fleet continued its approach. 

The crashing of the waves against the hulls was faint but steadily growing louder, like an ominous drumbeat heralding the arrival of destruction.

Then came the sound that shattered their stillness.

A villager standing atop a nearby watchtower at the edge of the shore spotted the fleet as well. 

His eyes widened in panic as he fumbled for the massive horn strapped to his side. 

"Ahh! Wooden war ships! Atleast a hundred of them!"

Lifting it to his lips, he blew with all his might, the deep, resonant sound echoing across the island.

The haunting note of the horn carried far and wide, a warning cry that reached every corner of EmberWind. 

It was as though the island itself trembled in response, the tranquil village now gripped by the knowledge of impending doom.

The villagers, initially going about their peaceful morning routines, froze in place. 

Farmers dropped their tools, children clutched their parents' hands, and elders glanced toward the shore with growing dread. 

The sound of hurried footsteps and shouted warnings rippled through the settlement like wildfire.

Zach, his heart pounding, turned to the others. 

"We need to move. Now."

Kazaks, still staring at the approaching fleet, muttered bitterly. 

"Of course it had to be Drakonium. Always them."

Leeani nodded, her voice laced with urgency. 

"We need to get the villagers ready. Whatever happens... we can't let them catch us off guard."

But Gargeal remained still, his gaze fixed on the fleet. 

"This isn't just an invasion," he said quietly, his voice grim. 

"This is a message. They're here to finish what we've started—to wipe us out completely."

Zach replied to Gargeal.

"Then we won't let them."

Zach's mind raced as he turned to his companions—Gargeal, Qarek, Kazaks, Leeani, Yzavynne—all of them standing frozen, their faces pale, their weapons conspicuously absent.

"We need to regroup," Zach said, his voice cutting through the rising tension. 

"We have to find Andhur, Ruby, and Jiighual. And we need to warn Haerak. Now."

The others nodded, the weight of his words pulling them into action. 

But before they could take a step toward the village, figures emerged.

Zach's breath caught. 

Haerak, Aina, Seraphina, Lyra, Micah, Killian, Andhur, and Ruby—all of them were already there, their expressions grim as they hurried to meet the group. 

Haerak, the village chieftain, stepped forward, his weathered face lined with worry but also steeled with resolve.

"What's happening?" Haerak asked, his tone sharp. 

"Why was the horn blown?"

Zach pointed toward the horizon, his voice heavy. 

"Warships. At least a hundred. Flying the flag of Drakonium."

The weight of his words seemed to press down on everyone. 

Seraphina's normally bright demeanor faded, replaced by a tense seriousness. 

Lyra clutched her bow tighter, and even Aina, though just a child, instinctively pressed closer to her father's side.

Gargeal said, his deep voice laced with a rare edge of fear.

"The Kingdom of Drakonium..." 

Leeani nodded grimly. 

"Led by King Ybael. We've been fighting against them for years."

Andhur frowned, his gaze flicking between the ships and his companions. 

"How did they find us here?"

Zach clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He had always feared this possibility, but seeing it unfold before his eyes made it all too real. 

"One of my theories was right," he muttered, his voice thick with regret. 

"The kingdoms might find us here in this peaceful village. I hoped I was wrong, but..."

"Zach," Haerak interrupted, his calm but firm tone cutting through Zach's rising guilt. 

"This is not your fault. It was my decision to bring all of you here. If anyone bears responsibility, it's me. But this is not the time to dwell on blame. We need to act."

Haerak's words grounded Zach, and for a moment, the storm in his mind subsided.

The silence was broken by Micah, who unsheathed her dao swords with a sharp metallic ring. 

She glanced at Killian, who mirrored his movements, both of them stepping forward. 

"Guess we have to fight too," Micah said with a smirk.

"After all, we owe you a favor."

Killian grinned, though his eyes betrayed the same fear that lingered in everyone. 

"Can't let you have all the fun, can we?"

Lyra chimed in, readying her bow and pulling an arrow from her quiver.

"Same here!" 

Seraphina, not one to be left behind, rummaged through her side bag, pulling out vials filled with swirling, glowing liquids. 

She held them up triumphantly. 

"And don't forget about me! I've got enough firepower to make sure they regret stepping foot near this island."

The camaraderie lifted the tension just enough for Kazaks to step forward, his mouth opening as if to volunteer. 

But before he could speak, Zach raised a hand to stop him.

"Kazaks," Zach said softly, meeting his gaze. 

"You don't have to fight with us on the front line. Protect the backline along with Jiighual, okay? I'm sorry I have to ask so much of you... especially after what I said about retiring."

Kazaks stared at him for a moment, his one remaining hand clenching at his side. 

Then he nodded, a small but resolute smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"You've got it, Captain. I'll do what I can."

Zach turned to the group, his resolve hardening. 

"We don't have time to waste. We need our weapons. Now."

Without waiting for further discussion, they turned and sprinted toward the village. 

The cabins were at the far edge of EmberWind, and every second they spent unarmed was a second closer to disaster.

As they ran, Andhur's voice rang out. 

"What about our armor? Should we grab it too?"

Zach didn't hesitate. 

"No time for that! Just weapons—we regroup at the shore as fast as possible!"

Their feet pounded against the cobblestone path, the village coming alive around them. 

Villagers were shouting, gathering supplies, and ushering children to safety. 

The air was electric with panic and urgency, the distant sight of the warships driving everyone into action.

Andhur, always the one to try and lighten the mood, muttered between breaths.

"Great. Just another morning, huh? Nothing like a hundred warships to wake you up."

Leeani huffed, managing a small laugh. 

"Yeah, nothing like running for your life after breakfast."

But the weight of what was coming pressed heavily on them. 

The village wasn't equipped to handle an invasion of this scale. 

They needed their weapons, and they needed them fast.

As the cabins came into view, Zach felt a glimmer of hope. 

They could do this—

They had to. 

But even as they reached for the door handles, the sound of the horn continued to echo in the distance, a chilling reminder that the enemy was drawing ever closer.

△▼△▼△▼△

Inside one of the largest wooden warships of the Drakonium fleet, the atmosphere was thick with the sound of creaking wood, the lapping of waves against the hull, and the faint hum of a thousand soldiers preparing for war. 

Sitting around a wide, circular table etched with battle plans and maps of EmberWind's coast were the Drakonium elite: King Ybael himself, Sentinel—his loyal right hand, Thorne, Sanaage, Xertu, and Eldritch. 

Each of them carried a weapon, each of them an instrument of destruction in their own way.

Eldritch sat at one end of the table, his stoic demeanor a sharp contrast to the tension simmering in the room. 

His hands gripped tightly around his spear, the veins in his forearms bulging as if he were holding back a storm within. 

His eyes remained locked on the center of the table, cold and calculating. 

The air around him felt almost oppressive, as though his very presence was a warning of the carnage to come.

Thorne, on the other hand, couldn't contain his energy. 

He leaned forward, his massive broadsword resting against the edge of the table, his fingers drumming against its hilt in anticipation. 

His mouth curled into a sneer, and his voice dripped with arrogance.

"Finally!" Thorne growled, the words reverberating in the tight quarters. 

"After days of being cooped up in this damn ship, I'm ready for some real action. And this time," he said, gripping his broadsword with both hands and standing abruptly. 

"I'll settle the score with that war hammer-wielding boy! Let's see how long Kazaks lasts before I carve him into pieces!" 

His eyes gleamed with a dark excitement as he pointed his sword in the air, a twisted grin spreading across his face.

Sanaage, seated to Thorne's left, chuckled softly, a sound laced with quiet condescension. 

His machete lay across his lap, its edge sharpened to a wicked gleam. 

Unlike Thorne's boisterous display, Sanaage's confidence came from his intellect. 

"I told you," Sanaage began, his voice smooth and self-assured. 

"I was right all along. They weren't nearly as clever as we thought. Hiding broken boats on the mainland? Pathetic. Those two rowboats practically screamed, 'We're here!'" 

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. 

"And now, I already see them at the shore... including that Ruby girl."

Thorne slammed his broadsword onto the table with a loud thud. 

"Ruby, huh? She can watch as her captain and friends are torn apart. I'll leave her for last."

Xertu's deep, booming voice cut through the tension. 

"Rematch time!" 

The towering warrior, easily the tallest among them, stood with his halberd resting casually against his shoulder. 

His massive frame seemed to fill the room, and his enthusiasm was palpable. 

He pointed at Sanaage with a grin that was almost childlike in its eagerness. 

"Right, Sanaage?! Let's give them a fight they'll never forget!"

Sanaage sighed, shaking his head. 

"Always so simple, Xertu. But yes, you'll get your rematch. Just don't destroy half the fleet in the process, will you?"

At the head of the table, Ybael rose to his feet, his presence immediately silencing the room. 

The King of Drakonium was clad in ornate black armor trimmed with crimson, his crown a circlet of twisted metal resembling dragon scales. 

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with an intensity that could silence even the loudest of his generals. 

In his hand, he held a black leather-bound book—the Tome of Fate.

The room seemed to darken as Ybael opened the book, its ancient pages crackling softly as he flipped through them. 

The symbols and runes within glowed faintly, as if imbued with the power of the universe itself. 

His lips moved silently, his voice inaudible to everyone but himself.

Under his breath, he muttered.

"Let's hope the Tome of Fate has not led me astray. If its words are true... then we are exactly where we need to be. The Renaissance Band will fall today."

The words carried a weight that hung over him like a shadow. 

After a moment, he closed the book with a soft thump and placed it on the table. 

He looked up, his gaze sweeping across his generals.

Sentinel, standing beside him, unsheathed his long, jagged sword with a metallic hiss. 

The sound was like nails dragging across stone, a forewarning of the violence to come. Sentinel's face was emotionless, his eyes fixed on Ybael as he spoke.

"Let's end this quickly," Sentinel said, his voice low and chillingly calm. 

"Burn the village to the ground. Take every single one of them alive, if possible. And if they resist?" 

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to Thorne and then Eldritch. 

"We'll make sure their corpses are displayed in Drakonium as a warning to anyone foolish enough to defy us. The Renaissance Band thought they could humiliate us once. This time, their suffering will be eternal."

Ybael nodded slowly, his fingers brushing the edge of the Tome of Fate. 

His voice was steady but filled with cold authority. 

"This is not just about vengeance. This is about sending a message. Their deaths will mark the beginning of a new era—an era where Drakonium's strength is undeniable, and our enemies crumble before us. Burn the village. Spare no one."

Eldritch, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke, his voice calm and measured, but filled with an undertone of menace. 

"It doesn't matter how much they fight back. They've already lost. Because you're lucky that I'm here."

Thorne slammed his fist against the table, his bloodlust palpable. 

"Let's get to it then! I'm done talking." 

He turned to Xertu with a wicked grin. 

"You ready, big guy?"

Xertu let out a booming laugh, twirling his halberd with ease. 

"Always."

As the warships drew closer to the shore, the room was filled with the clinking of weapons being drawn and the heavy footsteps of soldiers preparing for battle.

Ybael lingered for a moment, his hand resting on the Tome of Fate. 

He whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the chaos outside. 

"Let the pages be true. Let this be the end of the Renaissance Band."

═════ ◆ TO BE CONTINUED ◆ ═════