It was too quiet.

  The thought struck every member of the squad almost simultaneously. An unnatural, oppressive silence, as if the very air held its breath in anticipation of calamity. The mission had seemed routine—ordinary reconnaissance—but from the moment they entered, something about this place felt... wrong.

  The thicket lay west of the city of Evandar, deep within the disputed lands. For nearly a century, the continent’s two greatest powers, Zantaria and Astalion, had waged a protracted, bloody struggle for this territory. The war would fade only to flare anew, and with each turn of the conflict, the lands grew emptier. The inhabitants had fled, cities and villages lay ravaged, yet nature itself flourished—rich soil, meadows bursting with wildflowers, and forests teeming with life.

  But not today.

  Today, on the very edge of the thicket, a frightening, ominous stillness reigned. No chirping insects, no singing birds, no rustling branches. There were only the barely perceptible steps of the reconnaissance squad, moving like flickering shadows between the ancient trees.

  The squad consisted predominantly of Alvorians—High Elves, masters of the Silent Step. This ancient art of soundless movement had been honed since youth, mastered not only by hunters and scouts but even by battle mages. Among them walked Lara, the squad commander and a Mage of the Third Circle. Though she did not possess the towering height or the slender, ethereal grace of her companions, she moved with no less skill. Her bright scarlet hair set her apart from the formation, a flame amidst the leaves, but her steps remained as silent as a ghost's. She lacked neither training nor resolve.

  This was her first independent mission, entrusted to her directly by Lady Kalindra, ruler of Evandar. The objective: scout the area and verify rumors of a Dark Elf offensive. Lara understood that failure was unacceptable. This was her chance to prove herself, to show she was worthy of trust.

  The forest began to darken. The sun dipped rapidly toward the horizon, vanishing behind the canopy. However sharp elven eyes might be, the encroaching darkness could prove a fatal obstacle. A decision had to be made quickly: retreat, or push further into the risk. To return with nothing meant undermining the Lady's faith. Lara had already made her choice.

  She signaled: Forward.

  And then, the stillness broke.

  A dull rumble echoed in the distance. The ground beneath their feet trembled, a rhythmic vibration suggesting the approach of something heavy and untamable. Following the tremors came the sound of destruction—the loud, alarming crack of timber. Something was smashing through the thicket, treating ancient oaks and roots like dry kindling.

  Such things should not exist in these lands. Magbeasts of this size were not native here. But even if they were, this squad would have handled any standard threat with ease. Their ranks included two shield-bearers, four swordsmen, an assassin, an archer, a healer, and Lara herself. All were veterans, tested by fire, specialists in their craft. Even a pack of Spinetail Wolves—dangerous creatures indeed—would not have posed a serious challenge.

  And yet, the approaching force resembled no known beast. The forest, teeming with life just moments ago, seemed dead. Birds did not sing, squirrels did not leap; even the air seemed frozen. All living things had hidden in terror, fleeing from something that had no place in this world. Lara felt it in her gut—a primal warning that an anomaly was upon them.

  It was too late to retreat.

  "Positions," she commanded firmly.

  The squad needed no explanation. The archer scrambled up a tree, finding a vantage point in the high branches. The assassin melted into the shadows ahead, activating a cloaking spell, ready to strike from behind once the target engaged the main group. The shield-bearers stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a defensive crescent, their massive tower shields planted deep. Behind them, the swordsmen tensed, ready to strike from cover. Slightly to the rear stood the healer, a Mage of the Third Circle whose magic could restore not just flesh, but severed limbs.

  And finally, Lara. She drew several prepared scrolls inscribed with complex magic circles and began to focus her mana, ready to unleash destruction.

  The noise intensified with every second, a crescendo of approaching menace. They did not have to wait long. The squad froze in combat readiness—and then they saw it.

  It was not a beast. It was not a magical construct. Racing toward them with terrifying speed and crushing power was a figure resembling a human woman.

  Her movements were more akin to leaps than running. She devoured distance, soaring as if on invisible wings. With each strike of her feet, the earth shook like a drum of war. Trees in her path shattered upon impact, their trunks snapping like dry twigs against her momentum. Not saplings, but thick, ancient timber—obliterated as if made of straw.

  Lara peered closer, her heart hammering against her ribs. Such inhuman power, coupled with such terrifying beauty...

  She was tall, a full head above Lara. Long hair the color of ripe wheat streamed behind her. Two curved horns rose from her head, their hue blending almost perfectly with her golden locks, visible only to keen elven sight. But it was the eyes—bright scarlet, like molten metal, exuding primal rage and madness—that betrayed her nature. Not a woman. A true monster.

  "Is that... an Astrax?" the healer whispered from behind.

  Astrax. A people whose bloodline traced back to the ancient dragons. An extremely rare, mysterious race, thought to be almost extinct. Reports from a century ago claimed they had allied with the Dark Elves, yet no Astrax had ever been confirmed in open battle. They were too few, too proud, too powerful to waste—yet not numerous enough to turn the tide of a war. They were feared more as legends than as soldiers.

  "It appears so," Lara replied, never breaking her gaze from the oncoming silhouette.

  The image matched the archival descriptions, but... the eyes were wrong. This bestial fury, this mindless momentum—this was not a warrior. This was a natural disaster.

  "She is approaching. Prepare for battle!" Lara shouted.

  The squad was already braced. The shield-bearers drove their tower shields deeper into the loam, becoming a wall of steel. The archer released arrow after arrow—fast, precise shots aimed at eyes and joints. But the enemy merely swatted them aside like annoying gnats.

  Without pausing, Lara snatched a scroll, held it aloft, and spoke the incantation:

  "Oh, ancient frost, show your wrath! Close my path with a wall of eternal snows! Bind, defend, protect! Ice Barrier!"

  The magic circle flared with cold, blue light. Instantly, a massive wall of ice erupted before the charging Astrax—thick, solid, two human heights tall. An obstacle to stop, or at least slow, any army. At her speed, physics demanded she brake. Even with her power, such an impact would be devastating.

  Or so Lara thought.

  Reality proved cruel.

  The Astrax slammed into the ice without breaking stride. Thunder roared as the barrier exploded, shattering into a million shards like a glass curtain. It was as if the magic did not exist. No deceleration. No resistance.

  And then... she stopped.

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  Abruptly. A mere meter from the shield-bearers. Her momentum vanished as if the flow of rage had been severed, leaving only silence.

  Then came the roar.

  "A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!!!"

  The sound was inhuman. Not merely a scream, but a howl of power, fury, and primal will. A physical wave of sound swept through the clearing, chilling them to the bone.

  Lara froze. The scream tore a fear from the depths of her soul—ancient and nameless. Not the fear of death, but the terror of the anomaly. Of that which should not be.

  The assassin, hiding in the canopy, seized the moment. He dropped, double-edged daggers aiming for the monster’s neck. It should have ended in an instant—a clean execution he had performed hundreds of times. But the Astrax did not even turn her head. With a fluid, almost lazy motion, she extended a hand and snatched him from the air, gripping his wrist.

  She swung him like a club, smashing his body into the nearest shield.

  The first blow made the reinforced wood groan. The second brought the sickening crunch of bone. On the third, the arm she held tore free, and the assassin’s broken body flew into the thicket, twisted at unnatural angles.

  It happened so swiftly that shock paralyzed them. The archer recovered first, fingers moving mechanically to loose shafts at point-blank range. The Astrax swayed slightly, dodging the projectiles with bored efficiency.

  Then, tired of the game, she moved.

  Her foot slammed into a shield with the force of a battering ram. The massive steel plate flew backward, taking the shield-bearer and the warrior behind him. They slammed into an oak tree with a vile, wet crunch, pinned by the shield like insects. Both died instantly.

  There was no time to mourn. The Astrax moved without pause, without respite. Three dead in a few heartbeats.

  The remaining shield-bearer discarded his heavy protection, drew a short sword, and rushed forward with a desperate cry. The three remaining swordsmen followed. The archer repositioned, covering them from above. The situation was hopeless, but they fought.

  "Light and dark weave the thread! Shield for body, spirit, mind! Let the barrier rise instantly! Shield of Eternity!"

  The healer's voice rang out. Her hands glowed with soft white-gold light, and a transparent, shimmering barrier encased the fighters. It was the strongest protection she could weave.

  Lara wasted no time. She unfurled an elemental scroll, unleashing a burst of fire arrows. Three blazing projectiles struck the Astrax, but she ignored the flames. Lara unrolled a new scroll and screamed:

  "Chains of Ice! Bind!"

  Frost-rimed chains burst from the earth, wrapping the monster’s legs. The Astrax tore them apart with a simple jerk, shattering them like glass.

  She ducked under the shield-bearer’s blade, seized his wrists, and with a sickening pop, tore both arms from their sockets. The elf collapsed, a puppet with cut strings, dying before he hit the ground.

  The Astrax snatched up his fallen shield as if it were cardboard and brought it down on a swordsman. The impact drove him into the earth, blending flesh, mud, and blood into a grim paste.

  She hurled the shield at the healer. Lara saw it coming.

  "Reflect and protect! Circular Barrier!"

  A translucent dome flared around the healer, but it was not enough. The tower shield smashed through the magical defense with crushing force. The healer was swept away, rag-dolled into the high grass, leaving a furrow of plowed earth behind her.

  Lara gasped for air, her legs trembling. Panic clawed at her throat, but she forced herself to stand. She poured mana into scroll after scroll, tracing formulas with frantic speed. Fireballs, ice shards—everything she had left. But the Astrax walked through the magic as if walking through mist.

  To the left, the last swordsman tried to distract the beast. Above, the archer leaped from branch to branch, desperate to gain distance...

  A flash of steel.

  A sword—snatched from the dead—flew with the velocity of a ballista bolt. It took the archer in the back, piercing spine, lung, and ribs. His jump turned into a plummet. His body hit the forest floor with a final thud.

  Lara was alone.

  She knew she could not run. Her mana was dry, her scrolls spent. Her fingers shook, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Every instinct screamed Run! but her mind knew it was futile.

  She blinked.

  In that fraction of a second, the Astrax was before her.

  "Enio, stop."

  The voice was melodic, pleasant, yet saturated with absolute authority.

  It cut through the air like a lute string pulled to the breaking point. A woman—a Dark Elf—stood at the edge of the clearing. Lara had not felt her approach. No sound, no magical signature. For a Mage of the Third Circle to sense nothing... impossible.

  The Astrax turned toward the voice. The primal rage in her eyes, burning like a furnace, vanished instantly. The scarlet glow dimmed. She relaxed, glancing back at her "victim" with something akin to pity.

  Lara stood rooted to the spot. She watched blood drip from the monster’s hands—from Enio’s hands. It flowed from wrists to fingertips, pattering onto the soil, greedily drank by the earth. It was the blood of her squad. Her comrades. Those entrusted to her care.

  "I do not desire your death," the Dark Elf spoke with predatory softness. "I wish for you to tell the others. Tell them what awaits should they dare step upon our lands again."

  The words carried no hatred. No threat. No malice. Only cold, absolute certainty.

  The Dark Elf turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the trees. The Astrax followed. No word, no glance back. She moved like a subordinate, or perhaps... a thrall? Graceful and wild, yet utterly submissive.

  Lara could not move. Her legs were numb, her chest crushed by an invisible weight. Her heart beat slowly, dully.

  Her entire squad. Dead.

  She had failed. The mission was a ruin of blood and broken bodies. Every hope, every year of training—erased in minutes. She, the commander, had saved no one.

  As the forest fell silent again, absorbing the echoes of the massacre, Lara sank to her knees. Blood on her face. Despair in her heart. And a guilt too heavy to bear... but necessary to carry.

  Thank you for reading the Prologue!

  The real journey of our main character, Alistair, begins in Chapter 1.

  If you enjoyed this introduction to the world and its monsters, please consider adding the story to your Follows or Read Later list. Leaving a comment or a rating means the world to a new author on this platform.

  Question for the readers: What do you think about Enio's entrance? Too brutal, or just right for a Dark Fantasy setting? Let me know in the comments!