u/Conscious-Bread6573

“The traders should have already returned by now,” Sir Gareth spoke as he stared into the darkening woods. “They have been gone for far longer than usual.”

“And you propose we go look for them?” Ganmar asked, with just the hint of a smile beneath his pointed hood.

The lights of the lanterns flickered, casting long shadows across his aged yet sharp features. He was an old man, seemingly past seventy, and he had seen the departure and return of countless caravans. “After all, on what account do you think they are late? Perhaps we are just early. ”

Not rising to the bait, Gareth stared at the dark rustling treetops bordering the path to them, and decided to allow this eccentric senior to indulge in his own amusement.

Right at this moment, the sound of frantic steps echoed up from beneath their feet, as a man climbed to the top of the watchtower. Letting out a breath of turbid air, he straightened his back and looked at the two. “Squire Warren greets Elder Ganmar,” he said, saluting.

“And how may I be of assistance to you today, squire?” Looking up, Ganmar twirled a string of straw between his wiry fingers.

“His lordship has sent for you, it is an urgent issue,” answered Warren, sweat dripping off his face.

“Well then, do lead the way.”

Warren went in front, nimbly picking his way down from the high tower. Taking leave after a short nod to Sir Gareth, Ganmar followed afterwards. A light snow had fallen the night before, and there were stones, roots and hidden sinks just off the trodden path, waiting for the unwary and careless. The two men strode away from the front gate and walked towards the town hall. 

Dusk faded to midnight, the grey skies took on a darker hue, then faded to black. As the stars brightened the night sky, the full moon illuminated the town below. The light shined down and cast a soft glow over the winding streets, countless worn down cottages lined these passages as their thatched roofs took on the glimmer of silver. Two figures could be vaguely seen threading their way through the streets, their target the grand hall sitting in full view of the town square. 

As they approached the building, the sentinels standing vigil at the entrance held up their palms, “Halt, state your names and purpose.”

Straightening his shirt and meeting their gaze, Warren replied:

“Squire Warren and Elder Ganmar, here to answer the summons of his lordship William.” 

The guards lowered their hands, gazing at the two with recognition.

“Apologies, Elder. Your features were concealed by the shadow of your hood.” Standing by, they pushed open the two intricately carved mahogany doors. 

As the duo entered the hall, the sounds of their steps were muffled by a long red carpet snaking through like a viper, leading to a high seat of polished stone, upon which sat a man garbed in fine silk gilded with gold.

Kneeling down, the two men bowed their heads to the most powerful man in this town. “Rise,” Lord William spoke, gesturing languidly with his hand. “Tell me, Ganmar, do you know why I sent for you?”

Picking himself off the floor, Ganmar replied, “I would not know, sir.” Flicking the dust off his shoulder, “I do reckon it is something interesting, to warrant a unique skill set like mine.”

“Interesting?” William scoffed, raising a goblet of wine to his lips. “If the traders had returned by now, perhaps we could all be interested in lining our pockets.”

“They have been gone for longer than usual,” Warren assessed, “Spring is almost over. They should have been back a week ago.”

“Two,” William corrected, raising his fingers. “They should have been back for two weeks.” Setting down his cup, he rose from his seat and grabbed a roll of parchment. Walking down the steps, he handed it to Ganmar. “Elder, on the morrow, I would like you to summon these men and ride with them to find the fates of our trade delegation.”

Before Ganmar could reply, the building shook violently and several paintings lining the hallways dropped to the ground. 

As the tremors stopped, vague screams echoed across the town. Bursting into the main hall, one of the sentinels nearly collided with Warren, his face pale beneath his helm.

“My lord!” the guard gasped. “The northern treeline, something moves within it. The gate shakes as though struck by a ram, and the walls have caught fire!”

William’s expression hardened in an instant. “To your posts,” he barked. “Seal the inner courtyard. No one opens the front gates without my command.”

He turned sharply to the two before him.

“Ganmar,” he said, voice low but urgent, “Sir Gareth holds the front gate. Whatever stalks those woods has chosen its hour well. I would have you go to him at once. Lend him that unique skill set you boast of.”

A thin smile tugged at the elder’s lips. “Ah,” he murmured, tucking the parchment into his sleeve, “this night won’t be so dull after all.”

William’s gaze shifted. “Warren.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Rally the city guard. Every able-bodied man is to report to the square. Send runners through the lower wards—have the people bar their doors and douse unnecessary lights. I will not have panic spread faster than order.”

Warren struck his fist to his chest. “At once.”

Another shudder rippled faintly through the cobblestones beneath their feet, less violent than before, as though something was testing the town’s defenses.

Without further word, Ganmar swept past the guards and descended the hall steps into the square. The once-peaceful streets now writhed with motion. Doors slammed. Mothers called for their children. Dogs barked madly at the street edge. Above it all, the moon hung bright and indifferent.

He moved with surprising swiftness for one of his years, robes whispering about his boots. The cold air carried a scent of damp earth freshly torn, with sap bleeding from splintered wood.

At the northern rise, the gate loomed ahead: thick oak reinforced with iron bands. Torches flared wildly in the hands of the watchmen lining the walls. Beyond them, the treetops churned yet the wind was quiet.

Sir Gareth stood at the parapet, helm removed, eyes fixed on the darkness.

“You chose a fine evening to be correct,” Ganmar called as he ascended the stone steps.

Gareth did not look at him. “I would rather have been wrong.”

A thunderous impact struck the gate once more. Wood groaned as it bent inwards.

Several guards staggered back from the wall. One dropped his spear in fright.

“Hold fast!” Sir Gareth commanded, voice cutting through the air. “Brace yourselves!” 

Another hit. This time, splinters burst inward between the iron seams.

Ganmar reached the parapet and peered into the forest below. For a long moment, he said nothing. His sharp eyes scanning the shadows between the tree trunks.

The woods had gone still.

“Back from the gate,” Ganmar said quietly.

Gareth frowned. “What do you—”

The night split apart.

A blinding flash erupted from the darkness, as white and violent as a star of ruin. The impact followed half a heartbeat later. The gates did not creak or splinter this time, it detonated. Iron bands snapped like twine and planks shattered into a storm of jagged shards that tore through the courtyard.

Men were hurled from their feet. Torches scattered. Smoke and dust swallowed the entrance in a choking cloud.

When the ringing in their ears faded, there was… nothing.

The gateway stood open, its heavy doors reduced to ruin. Beyond it, the forest loomed silent and undisturbed.

A thin wind drifted through the breach, carrying with it the scent of burned soil.

“Form ranks!” Gareth barked, though his voice carried a hint of uncertainty. 

They waited.

One of the younger guards, with barely any stubble upon his chin, lowered his shield. “There’s nothing there,” he muttered, peering into the dark. “It’s just trees.”

“I’ll have a look,” he said, stepping past the splintered remains before anyone could stop him.

“Do not cross that threshold,” Ganmar called out sharply.

The guard hesitated only a second, long enough to glance back with an embarrassed grin. “With respect, Elder, I see no—”

The space just beyond the gate convulsed.

Something moved where nothing had been.

The guard’s words became a scream.

A dark shape lashed out from the ground itself. It seized him around the torso and yanked him violently off his feet. His spear clattered uselessly across the stones as his body was dragged across the frost-hardened dirt.

He clawed at the ground, fingers scraping desperately for purchase on the paved stones.

“HELP M—”

The darkness swallowed him, leaving behind nothing but bloody trails on the road.

Then silence returned as abruptly as it had been broken.

Only the guard’s helm remained, spinning slowly where it had fallen just beyond the shattered gate.

For a long moment, no one breathed.

Then Sir Gareth found his voice. “Fall back from the breach! Form a second line inside the square. Move!”

Boots scraped against stone as the guards withdrew from the ruined northern gate, no man dared turn his back fully to the forest; they stepped away slowly, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond.

“Close ranks,” Gareth ordered again, descending with Ganmar from the parapets and positioning himself between the men and then yawning threshold. “Nothing crosses without us greeting them with steel.”

Ganmar did not argue. His gaze lingered, as if listening to something only he could hear.

Then the night changed.

A distant whistling cut across the town. Low at first, then rising sharply.

Ganmar’s head snapped toward the opposite end of the city.

“South,” he breathed.

The whistle became a shriek.

A heartbeat later, the southern wall that was several streets away vanished in light.

A colossal fireball struck the stone ramparts with catastrophic force. They burst outward in a storm of shattered rock. The flames did not die on impact; they surged forward, spilling through the new-made breach like a living tide.

Fire roared into the nearest row of cottages. Thatch ignited instantly. Timber beams caught with a violent crack. Within moments, orange tongues were clawing skyward, devouring roofs and leaping from building to building.

“The wall!” a guard shouted. “The southern wall’s fallen!”

Heat swept across the streets in a blistering wave. The moon’s pale glow was drowned beneath a furious, flickering red. Smoke coiled upward, clogging the air.

Forgetting about the gate, Ganmar stared at the flames far away.

Within the inferno’s illumination, movement revealed itself—shapes crossing through the ragged hole where the wall had stood.

A group of seven giant creatures hauled themselves over the broken stone. Looking like an amalgamation of a volcano and a crab, each had three to four arms. With their heavy bodies supported by six segmented legs, they were broad and hunched. Encased in a carapace of rock that glowed red-hot from within, veins of molten light pulsed through fissures in their stony shells.

The air around them shimmered.

One placed a massive hand upon the remnants of the wall. The stone beneath its palm blackened, then fractured and melted from the heat alone.

Ganmar’s eyes narrowed, reflecting the blaze.

Another of the monsters stepped fully into the street, fire flaring from the seams of its shell.

Behind it, more silhouettes emerged through the smoke.

Gareth followed Ganmar’s gaze, and whatever color remained in his face drained away.

“The town guard will not hold that,” he said grimly.

From the south, the bells began ringing again in chaos.

The town was burning.

Credit goes to u/SeaflameSmith for this piece and to u/Goodboimix_99 for editing