Guardians of the Abism

Prologue

It was raining.

Theron gazed at the imposing gate in the distance, his mind absorbed in thoughts as the first light of dawn bathed the camp in golden hues. Around him, his division prepared diligently: robed mages murmured ancient spells, armored paladins sharpened their swords, and healers with delicate hands arranged ointments and potions. They were in one of the ancient camps the Ancients had erected centuries ago when the war against the Skarn broke out.

As the wind whispered through the ruins, Theron felt the weight of history on his shoulders. He knew that he and his team were about to face a challenge that resonated through the ages. The Skarn had to be stopped, and he knew the only way to achieve this was by finally closing that gate.

A female voice, laden with urgency and determination, broke the silence enveloping Theron, pulling him from his restless thoughts:

"Commander!" exclaimed Aurelia, his second in command and one of the most talented mages of the Northern Empire. "The reconnaissance team has returned from their expedition..."

Theron turned to her, his face reflecting a mixture of curiosity and frustration.

"And what do you have to tell me, Aurelia?" he asked, his tone a mix of expectation and tension. "Good news?"

Aurelia looked at him seriously, her expression contrary to the optimism he had hoped for.

"Five men should have returned, Commander... but only one came back. And he's in such a critical state that the healers give him no more than a day to live."

Theron's heart sank at the news. Without hesitation, he leaped to his feet and quickly made his way to the area where the healers were attending to the survivor. His steps echoed with an urgency that reflected the gravity of the situation.

Upon arrival, he found the chief healer, with trembling hands, trying to stabilize the wounded man. Theron immediately ordered that the still-living body be examined, searching for any clue that could shed light on the fate of the rest of the team. However, after a thorough examination, the healers found nothing but an unsettling silence. There were no clear signs of what had happened, only the pale face of the survivor, marking the sadness of a failed mission and the growing shadow of the unknown.

After a few hours of recovery, the man, who was in a critical state, began to murmur words that at first seemed nonsensical, floating in the air like echoes of a broken mind.

"Skarn... Gate... Mountains..."

His voice, weak and halting, revealed the severity of his wounds, visible even through his tattered clothes. Each word was a pain-laden whisper, and the anguish in his tone grew with each phrase. Those present—Theron, Aurelia, and the chief healer Valen—listened with growing unease as they tried to decipher the meaning of his incoherent words.

Suddenly, with a final gasp of life, the man uttered a word that chilled the blood of those around him:

"They... are coming."

Those were his last words. A thick silence fell over the room as the man's body collapsed, his skin turning a cadaverous hue. The healing spells cast by the mages ceased to have any effect, as if a veil of death had suddenly fallen over the wounded man. Theron, in a fit of rage and despair, struck the lifeless body, but there was no response. The reality slowly settled in, revealing the dreadful omen in the man's last words and leaving everyone present with a profound fear of what was to come.

Days had passed since that fateful event, and Theron had given precise orders to prepare the team. The urgency of the situation dictated that they march towards the gate as soon as possible, but reality proved more complicated. The recent losses, the excess baggage, and the lack of adequate preparation for the mission had delayed Theron's division more than expected.