A Fateful Encounter – YouTube Narration
A Fateful Encounter
The frustration was eating away at Emma. Two days of effort, and they were no closer to finding the answers they needed. She’d spent those days watching Jorin and Rena detect more people vanishing—without a single clue as to why. Stores across Aeternal were barren of anything that could help them detect hidden runes, and their offer through the Accord for a magic user with a pact had gone unanswered. How long could they afford to wait?
Emma’s boots clicked against the cobblestone streets as she walked aimlessly, her irritation mounting with each step. The sprawling city around her felt suffocating. She needed to clear her head. But her thoughts were anything but calm. She was certain they were wasting time. Nyra insisted on patience, and Jorin seemed content to follow her lead.
Emma couldn’t help but fume. They should already be on their way to Silverpine Glades to search for Serenveil Cradle. Every instinct told her that was the right move. But the reality gnawed at her—there wasn’t exactly an easy way to get there. Skyships were rare and expensive, hiring a caravan across the wilderness could take weeks, and traveling on foot was out of the question. Even with all the options swirling in her head, none seemed quick or practical.
And maybe—just maybe—Nyra was right to insist they stay. Emma hated the thought, hated the helplessness that came with waiting, hated even more that there wasn’t anything she could do to fix it.
Her mind drifted, inevitably, to Jorin. She could picture them adventuring together, side by side, his protective hand always on hers. She imagined him smiling as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. That thought spiraled into a vision of their wedding, complete with ribbons, flowers, and… a perfect kiss beneath the Eonspire’s glow. Emma’s cheeks warmed, and she found herself smiling like a fool.
A scream shattered her daydream.
Emma froze, her head snapping toward the sound. Another scream followed, faint but unmistakable. Her irritation flared anew as she realized she’d wandered far beyond the city’s outskirts. The towering spires of Aeternal were a distant silhouette against the evening sky. Gritting her teeth, she followed the sound, annoyed that someone had interrupted her perfect fantasy.
When she reached the source, the sight that greeted her was chilling. A group of three men in loose, almost matching attire—dark, rugged cloaks with faint crimson embroidery—stood over a barely breathing man. The wounded man’s arm was twisted unnaturally, and his blood pooled around the ground. Beside him lay two corpses, their bodies torn apart in a gruesome display. One was missing a head; the other, an arm. The survivors loomed over their target, their voices harsh and demanding.
Hidden behind a crumbling wall, Emma peeked out, her eyes narrowing. She took in their dark cloaks and ominous embroidery, then murmured to herself, “Matching evil cloaks, standing menacingly over a dying guy? Subtle. Did no one tell you how obvious this looks? What’s next, twirling mustaches?”
The absurdity of her own thought made her stifle a laugh, but her focus quickly shifted back to the scene.
“Just give it up!” one of the men snarled, his boot pressing into the dying man’s chest. The man on the ground coughed weakly, blood trickling from his lips. Even in his state, he refused to yield.
Emma’s irritation flared as her curiosity got the better of her. She crouched lower, debating her next move. It was smarter to take off and get the city guards. Getting involved would be reckless, and by the look of it, there was no saving the dying man—his wounds were far too severe. He would succumb soon enough, no matter what she did.
Her instincts told her to leave, but she hesitated, her gaze fixed on the men. Something about the scene was wrong, deliberate, as if there was more at play than simple violence. Before she could make her decision, one of the men raised his hand, and a beast emerged from the swirling darkness. Twisted and snarling, it prowled toward the dying man, its teeth bared and ready to strike.
“Areyouapackisthatdoganelementalafairywhatisit?”
Before she even realized it, Emma was out in the open, her excitement overriding her instincts. The words tumbled from her mouth in a jumbled stream, her fascination with the summoned dog overwhelming any sense of caution.
The men froze, their heads snapping in her direction, and even the dog hesitated mid-snarl, its glowing eyes tilting toward her.
Emma’s face flushed as she realized what she’d just done. She cleared her throat and repeated, more slowly, “Are you a pack user? Is that thing bound to you?”
The men recovered quickly. Two of them rushed her without hesitation. Emma sighed, almost disappointed. Predictable.
The first man lunged with a dagger, but Emma sidestepped effortlessly, his blade slicing through empty air. She spun gracefully, her movements almost playful, and knocked him flat with a sharp kick to the back of his knee. He scrambled up, rage flashing in his eyes, and attacked again, slashing wildly. Emma danced backward, her laughter sharp and mocking. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”
The second man circled her, swinging his club with a heavy, brutal force. She ducked low, his strike missing her by inches. Using his momentum against him, she swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. He groaned but rolled back onto his feet, determined to press the attack.
“Persistent,” Emma muttered, a grin spreading across her face. “But predictable.”
The first man tried to flank her, charging again with the dagger. This time, Emma caught his wrist mid-swing, twisting it until he dropped the blade with a yelp. She spun him around, using his body as a shield as the second man advanced again. With a sharp push, she sent the dagger-wielder sprawling into his companion, knocking them both to the ground.
“You’re really not making this worth my time,” Emma taunted, her tone light but her stance ready.
The two men exchanged a glance, frustration mingling with fear. They lunged at her together this time, one feinting high while the other aimed low. Emma sidestepped the low strike, catching the high attacker off-guard with a swift knee to the stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air. The other swung his club again, but Emma ducked under it with ease, delivering a precise kick to his ribs that sent him sprawling.
As they lay groaning on the ground, Emma crossed her arms. “Which one of you has a pack?” she asked, her voice almost bored.
One of the men, his face pale with fear, pointed a trembling finger at their companion who had stayed back.
Emma rolled her eyes. “Of course. The quiet one.”
– The Quiet One –
She delivered swift, decisive blows to the two on the ground, ensuring they wouldn’t get up again. The dull crack of bone echoed through the street, leaving no doubt they were out of the fight.
The last man stepped forward, unimpressed by her display. He raised his hands, summoning more of the dark dogs. This time, a pack of them materialized, their growls echoing ominously.
Emma’s grin widened as she drew her twin daggers. “Finally. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The dogs charged, their growls echoing through the dim space. Emma darted forward, her blades flashing in the faint light. She sliced through the first beast with ease, its form dissolving into black mist, but the others were faster, more coordinated. Another leaped at her, its jaws snapping inches from her face. She dropped to the ground, rolling to evade it, and sprang up behind it, dispatching it with a precise thrust.
She didn’t have time to breathe. A third beast lunged, its claws grazing her arm and drawing blood. Emma barely flinched, her adrenaline surging, but the realization hit her hard: If they get me pinned, it’s over. She whirled around, planting a powerful kick into the dog’s side, sending it skidding into a nearby wall. Before it could recover, she finished it with a clean strike, her breathing ragged as she scanned for the next threat.
The sorcerer hurled a barrage of dark magic, forcing Emma to pivot and weave to avoid the onslaught. One spell clipped her shoulder, searing pain shooting down her arm. She staggered, clutching the wound for a moment. Then her lips twisted into a grimace. This guy’s magic is pathetic compared to Nyra’s, she thought bitterly, remembering the brutal spells Nyra had unleashed during their training. Her attacks leave you gasping. This? This is nothing.
She refocused, her gaze locking on the sorcerer. It’s the dogs that are the real danger here, she realized. Take him out, and they go with him.
Emma planted her feet firmly as the glowing sigil beneath her flared to life. The shockwave blasted out, scattering the remaining dogs like leaves in a storm and clearing her path to the sorcerer. She surged forward, her twin daggers flashing as she closed the distance.
The sorcerer raised his hands, dark tendrils of energy lashing out at her. Emma twisted, barely avoiding the strike, her instincts keeping her one step ahead. Another tendril whipped toward her, grazing her shoulder. She hissed in pain but pressed on, the adrenaline dulling the sting. This guy thinks he’s dangerous? she thought, her lips curling into a grimace. I’ve sparred with Nyra. Her magic would have flattened me by now.
The sorcerer conjured another wave of dark energy, and Emma’s eyes narrowed. His attacks were wild, unfocused—nothing like Nyra’s precise, devastating spells. Nyra’s magic doesn’t just hit you; it stays with you, like the air itself is against you. She pivoted sharply, avoiding the blast and closing the gap between them.
The sorcerer raised a barrier just in time, the energy shimmering as her daggers met it with a resounding crack. Emma gritted her teeth, pivoting again as he retaliated, sending a burst of black energy surging toward her. The impact forced her back a step, and she dug her heels in, steadying herself. This is sloppy, she thought. Nyra would have turned me into ash by now.
Emma pressed forward, slipping past his defenses with a calculated strike. Her blade nicked his arm, breaking his focus, and the barrier faltered. He snarled, raising his hands for one last desperate attack, but she was faster. Her daggers flashed, finding their mark with precision.
The sorcerer crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Emma stood over him, breathing hard, blood dripping from her arm. Her muscles ached, but her mind was sharp, alive with the pulse of victory. Her gaze flicked to the fading black mist where the dogs had once stood. Nyra would have wiped the floor with this guy, she thought, her lips curling into a faint, bitter smile. Amateur.
Taking a moment to collect herself, she tied the sorcerer up with a length of enchanted rope she carried. Then, she turned her attention to the wounded man. His breaths were shallow, his life slipping away. He whispered something, but it was too faint to hear. Instead, he pressed a small, round token into her hand. It was cold and unnaturally smooth, repelling the very air around it.
Emma examined the token briefly before slipping it into her pocket. When she looked back, the man had passed. She sighed, brushing a hand over his eyes to close them.
The sorcerer began to stir, shouting angrily. “Do you know who we are? You’ve just made enemies you can’t handle!”
Emma crouched beside him, her expression calm and unbothered. “All I need to know is that you’re a pack user. You can see hidden runes. And now you’re going to help us.”
