Children of the Dawn

The heavy oak doors of the antechamber closed behind them, shutting out the domain of kings and councils. The six of them stood in the silent, empty corridor of the Royal Keep, the weight of their new mission settling upon them like a physical shroud.

Instead of leading them towards the main corridors and the promise of respite, Darius guided them to a small, secluded courtyard within the Keep's walls. A single, ancient oak tree stood at its center, its branches a stark, skeletal silhouette against the bruised twilight sky. Here, away from prying eyes and listening ears, he turned to face them. His expression was grim, the lines on his weathered face carved deep by a lifetime of hard choices.

"The King has spoken," Darius began, his voice a low rumble that seemed to be swallowed by the courtyard's heavy silence. "He has commanded us to climb the Tower. But a king's command, no matter how righteous, cannot force a man to walk into his own grave." He looked at each of them, his gaze lingering, heavy with the burden of leadership. "I will not lead anyone into that spire who does not go of their own free will. The risks… we have all seen them. We have all felt them. There is no shame in saying this is a battle too great." He let the words hang in the air, offering them a final, honorable exit. "So I ask you now, as your leader, but also as your friend. Will you stand with me? Will you climb that Tower?"

Azaël was the first to answer, her voice a soft, melodic certainty in the quiet courtyard. "My path was set long before I met any of you," she said, placing a hand over her heart. "The omens of my people led me here, to this city, to this Tower. It is my duty to see it through. My bow is with you, Darius."

Joran, who had been staring at the ground, looked up. "Captain Merek has placed his trust in me to see this through. My duty is to protect Astoria, and to ensure no other soldier has to fall protecting this kingdom. I will go."

Lyra clutched the holy symbol at her neck, its silver warm against her skin. "The Light does not call the qualified," she whispered, her voice filled with a new, silent strength. "It qualifies the called. I will not stand by while this darkness poisons our land. My light will go where it is needed most."

A tense silence fell as all eyes turned to Finn. He offered a shaky, lopsided grin. "Well," he began, his usual bravado barely masking his fear, "someone has to find out if this 'Lord of Whispers' truly lives up to his name. And besides…" His expression grew serious, his gaze flicking to his own sparking hands. "Something inside me… it feels drawn to that place. Maybe… maybe the only way to quiet it is to confront it directly." He met Darius's eyes. "I'm in. To the bitter end."

Finally, every gaze fell upon Eirik. He felt the crushing weight of their trust, of their loyalty, and the cold, terrible fear of his own secret. Leading them into the Tower was the greatest danger he could expose them to, a potential catalyst for a reality he could not predict. But hiding was not an option. The Tower held the only chance for answers.

"I will go," he said, his voice quiet but absolute. He looked at Darius, a silent acknowledgment passing between the warrior and his leader. "For us. And for the answers I need to find."

Darius nodded slowly, a profound, weary pride in his eyes. The vow was made. "Then we face it together," he said, his voice a solemn promise. "As the Iron Wolves."

A short while later, the group found themselves seated around a sturdy oak table in The Silver Harp, a cozy tavern nestled on a quiet side street not far from the castle. The formal tension of the council and the solemnity of their vow had given way to a fragile, determined camaraderie. The warm aroma of spiced stew and the comforting clink of clay mugs was a welcome anchor to the land of the living.

Finn, already five ales deep, raised his mug in a grand gesture. "To Joran!" he proclaimed, his voice once again filled with renewed mischief. "The hero of Graystone, rider of the midnight road, and our new comrade-in-arms!"

Lyra giggled into her cup of tea as Joran flushed, ducking his head with an embarrassed grin. "Hear, hear!" she chimed in. Azaël, with a faint smile, lifted her delicate glass of wine. Darius raised his ale in a silent, meaningful salute.

"I'm no hero," Joran said, clinking his mug against Finn's. "But thank you. It's an honor." He tasted his drink, his eyes widening. "After weeks of jerky, I'd forgotten cider could taste so fine."

"You've earned it," Azaël said quietly.

The mood, for a time, was light. Finn launched into a wild, embellished retelling of the Graystone fight for Joran's benefit, casting himself as a rooftop shadow and Eirik as a ghoul-wrestling behemoth. Eirik and Lyra good-naturedly corrected his more outrageous claims, their laughter a warm, welcome sound. Joran, drawn into their easy banter, shared the story of how Captain Merek had taken him under his wing, his voice filled with a fond, aching respect.

But as the night wore on, the weight of their purpose returned. After a solemn toast to absent friends, to Alain's squad, to the fallen of Graystone, Darius's expression grew distant, his hand unconsciously brushing the wolf charm, which he had now tucked beneath his tunic. "I've lost comrades before," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a familiar weariness. "Good men and women. I carry their memories still."

Sensing the shift, Lyra reached over to squeeze his forearm. "We're together now," she said, her voice firm with empathy. "We'll look after each other. We honor the fallen by fighting for the living."

As they stepped out of the tavern and into the cool night air, the Tower of Eternum dominated the skyline. Its obsidian surface reflected the city lights with an ominous glint. Around its upper reaches, storm clouds gathered unnaturally fast, boiling and swirling as if summoned by an unseen hand. A low, resonant rumble of thunder rolled across the city, a sound that shook the very ground beneath their feet. It was the growl of a waiting beast.

Eirik felt Azaël step to his side, her presence a silent echo of his own unease. "Do you feel it, Eirik?" she whispered, her voice laced with apprehension. "A heaviness in the air. Not of weather, but of something… waiting."

He nodded slowly, the air crackling with malevolent energy. Erythrael thrummed on his back, a low, hungry sound.

"Stay alert tonight," Darius said, his eyes on the Tower's silhouette against the turbulent sky. "Until we know what we're truly up against, we can't afford to rest easy. This is only the beginning."

The six of them walked on together, their laughter left behind with the empty cups, their gazes fixed on the shadowed spire that loomed over Silverkeep, a violent, unholy omen of the trials soon to come.