Elisha
The hero and the foe
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The sky burns in pale gold and ash, the last light of day swallowed by a horizon that writhes.
They are coming.
The Nasrieth stretch across the distance like a living storm—twisted, endless, devouring everything in their path. The ground trembles beneath their advance, the air itself warping with their presence.
Before the towering gates of the city, the army stands in formation. Shields raised. Weapons steady. Every soldier knows the truth etched into the silence between heartbeats—this is not a battle for victory, only for time.
At the front stands Elisha.
Radiant light gathers faintly around her, casting long, luminous shadows across the stone. Her posture is unwavering, a living bulwark between the approaching darkness and the lives fleeing behind her. Lines of civilians disappear into the distance, their escape bought by the stillness of those who remain. Orders have been given. The line will hold.
No matter the cost.
The wind shifts.
Something changes.
A presence—sudden, unmistakable.
Where there was nothing, there is now someone.
Radiant light gathers faintly around her, casting long, luminous shadows across the stone. Her posture is unwavering, a living bulwark between the approaching darkness and the lives fleeing behind her. Lines of civilians disappear into the distance, their escape bought by the stillness of those who remain. Orders have been given. The line will hold.
No matter the cost.
The wind shifts.
Something changes.
A presence—sudden, unmistakable.
Where there was nothing, there is now someone.
- stands at the threshold of the gates, as if pulled from thin air itself. An echo of the past made real in the worst possible moment. A figure not seen on any battlefield beside her… only against her.
The army falters, if only for a breath.
The Nasrieth draw closer.
And between the end of the world and the last refuge of the living, an unexpected piece is placed upon the board.*