The Shattered Crowns

P.O.V. Akash

Time slipped through the fingers of the unaware, as it often did. The hands on the clock of time chimed as it struck the final hour. Beings older than the Ages clung to the chimes, dragging them toward the next hour. All waited, holding their breaths, to see what would happen.

Yet, the trees of the Untouched Gardens remained unwithering. Only two days remained before the group would begin their journey.

Winter Blackwood was nowhere to be seen. Her visits to the village were infrequent, and many scoffed, claiming the woman had been consumed by the forest floor. But Winter always returned, standing for hours before the center tree, her eyes unreadable.

This time, however, felt different.

Loud drumbeats reverberated through the forest, vibrations shaking the trees. The largest hunting party ever formed was returning from their expedition to the north, their carts piled high with food and precious spoils. Villagers and hunters alike joined in celebration, their songs rising in harmony with the beat of the drums.

Akash stood apart, his burgundy eyes scanning the edge of the forest. Elys, his lazy cat, had opted to stay at home. Beneath the pounding of the drums, a strange silence lingered, gnawing at his nerves. The forest, usually alive with sound—even during hunts—was deathly quiet. It felt unnatural, a warning.

Akash wasn't the only one who noticed. Other hunters shifted uneasily, their hands tightening on weapons. Daenys stood among them, her posture tense, her knuckles white around her bow. Even amidst the villagers' cheers, those with experience could sense it: something was wrong.

Even Winter, watching from a distance, carried the weight of wariness born of countless years.

Then, Akash saw the signs.

What followed could have come straight from an old fairy tale. People often said that by the time you spotted a monster from those stories, it was already too late.

That wasn't true.

It was too late when you heard the first sound.

The wet thudding of flesh and the scrape of claws against bark shattered the rhythm of the drums. High-pitched screeches and guttural roars ripped through the silence, warnings of monsters long believed locked away in the far north.

Winter hissed, "Karnen."

She commanded, "Hide the women and children! Any warrior willing to live another day, prepare yourselves! You'll need to bludgeon them to death—your blades won't pierce their carapace armor." Without waiting for a response, she strode toward the forest, where the horde swarmed the ground, smothering any green beneath them.

The Karnen descended in a thunderous onslaught, their arrival shaking Morgoi to its core. These abominations of jagged carapace and malformed flesh sought only to destroy. The sight of their elongated claws and grotesque forms brought grown men to their knees, weeping.

The first Karnen climbed onto the lower platform, its talons tearing through wood like paper. In the dim light, its inky black carapace glistened like oil, its four arms jutting out, each tipped with serrated blades. Its thick, plated mouth split open to reveal rows upon rows of needle-thin teeth—designed for one purpose: to tear through flesh.

A hunter charged, spear in hand. Foolishness. His weapon struck the Karnen's armor and bounced off harmlessly. The creature struck, its four arms slashing the man apart in seconds. His head rolled back toward the villagers, leaving them frozen in horror.

It was as if a gong had been struck. The silence broke, and the villagers scrambled. Heavy objects—hammers, walking sticks, even crude kitchen knives—were lifted as makeshift weapons. Archers notched arrows, though most knew they'd do little good.

Winter's voice rang out, cutting through the chaos: "Aim for the neck or the joints if you must use blades!"

Turning to Akash, she barked, "You protect me while I summon the storm of Atta. It's the only way to stop the horde and save this village. That resin-infused blade of yours will cut through their carapace. Go now!"

Akash nodded, gripping his crimson blade tighter.

Mirak and Daenys stood nearby, hesitant. Daenys lifted her bow with shaking hands, while Mirak stared at the creatures, frozen in place.

"We can help!" Daenys protested.

"You'll only slow me down," Winter snapped. "The boy has no weapon, and your arrows will barely scratch them. You don't have the strength to crush their organs."

Akash drew his blade, its crimson sheen catching the flickering light of the torches. Karnen surged forward, their claws clattering against the wooden floor.

"I'll be fine," Akash said. "Just make sure the villagers are safe."

And then he charged.

The battle descended into chaos.

Blades and hammers bounced off the Karnen's armored hides, and their claws ripped through hunters as if they were paper. Blood splattered across the wooden platforms, pooling in deep crimson puddles. Yet the villagers fought on. Blunt weapons struck again and again, eventually cracking through unarmored joints. One by one, the creatures began to fall.

Akash's blade was different. The resin-infused edge cut cleanly through carapace and flesh alike, finding the weak points in the monsters' armor. But for every Karnen that fell, more crawled up from below, their numbers seemingly endless.

Winter called what little Atta surfaced in the area. Atta began to stir and swirl as the vortices formed themselves in the sky. It was not the same, but this storm would have to do. The Atta flowed as it wished and formed those vortices guiding the winds. She and her staff were simply the focal point that created shifts in the Atta.

The Atta guided the wind as rain started to fall. Clouds joined together as the wind roared. It threatened to flatten trees as they groaned. It would not be long before the first lightning fell.

Thunder boomed in the sky above as lightning cracked as it struck into the horde. Carapace and burned flesh wafted in the air from the strike.

Rain pattered on the tree as the wind battered the full of the village. Karnen were torn from the lower portions of the trees that they climbed. Yet, it only slowed the monster's assault, their numbers began to thin, but not quickly enough.

The karnen that broke through the tide of Atta reaved through the men in their pursuit of Winter. She shifted even more Atta in the air creating thick vortices where the karnen occupied. Their armored bodies ripped to pieces as the Atta and air pulled the creatures on all sides. Sweat slowly started to build along her brow. Her muscles straining under the pressure.

It was simply not worth the amount of effort. One karnen killed was easily replaced with two more. The unending horde clashed against desperate men protecting their homes.