Attack on the Castle of Paladins

On a warm summer morning. A morning that would normally have been peaceful and quiet in the castle atop the mountain of iron helm. But this day it was different. Suddenly screams filled the hallways. Blood spattered on the walls. Death was everywhere.   Through the main entrance, Seraphina had entered followed by a group of veiled warriors from the shadowdent. They were here to kill.

The early summer morning was still and quiet. The towering castle atop Ironhelm’s peak lay undisturbed, its halls yet to stir with the presence of students and their teachers. Only the soft songs of the earliest birds filled the crisp mountain air. Yet, from the long stairway winding up the mountainside, footsteps echoed—a rare but not unheard-of occurrence. The castle also served as a temple for the devoted followers of Paladis, welcoming all who sought refuge within its sacred walls.   As the figures ascended into the castle’s main courtyard, they moved with singular purpose, their eyes fixed ahead. They did not pause to take in their surroundings. Reaching the great entrance, they raised a hand, and with a surge of dark magic, the heavy doors burst open, the thunderous sound reverberating through the long, empty corridors. The disturbance did not go unnoticed.   Within moments, the first of the castle’s inhabitants emerged to investigate the source of the noise. They were met with an eerie sight—five figures cloaked in darkness. Four of them were women, their veiled forms hovering just above the ground, silent and spectral. At the center stood another—a woman unmasked. Long brown hair cascaded over her black armor, identical to that of her spectral companions. A small black diadem adorned her head, and from her fingertips curled tendrils of inky smoke.   A single moment of tense silence hung in the air before the first bolt of black magic tore through the hall, striking down those who had come to see. Their bodies crumpled to the stone floor, lifeless and bloody. Cries of alarm rang through the castle as others scrambled for weapons, ready to defend their home. But their efforts were futile. One by one, the defenders fell, unable to stand against the sheer power of the intruders.   All except one.   Garus, son of Main, heir to the throne of Castroba, stood amidst the carnage. As he locked eyes with the leader of the dark warriors, his breath caught in his throat. He knew her.   Seraphina.   His sister. The sister he had long believed dead. She had vanished years ago. And now, here she was, slaughtering his friends without hesitation.   Before he could speak, Seraphina raised her hand. A black magical missile shot toward him. Instinct took over, and he barely managed to dodge. She was here for him.   For the next hour, Garus was hunted through the castle’s halls, pursued relentlessly. At last, he was cornered in the courtyard alongside his master, Droggan. With nowhere left to run, they prepared to make their final stand.   Seraphina struck first. Another surge of dark magic erupted from her hand, hurtling toward them. Droggan reacted swiftly, raising his weapon to deflect the attack. But it was in vain. The sheer force of the impact sent both Garus and his master hurtling over the edge of the mountain—disappearing into the abyss below.