A woman burst into the square, clutching a child tight against her chest. Her voice was full of panic. “Run! Get out of here! If the Burlok returns, nothing will save you!”

Rowan’s stomach dropped. “That’s impossible! The Burlok’s just an old tale to keep kids from wandering off.”

The woman’s eyes were wide with fear. She shook her head fiercely. “Not anymore.”

Her gaze darted past Rowan. Whatever she saw drained the color from her face. “They’re here.”

Without another word, she spun and vanished down a narrow alley, her child clinging to her like a shadow.

Rowan and Bjorn both turned. At the far end of the square, they saw three figures stepping through the drifting smoke. They were tall and their arms hung low, swinging like broken pendulums. Their legs bent the wrong way, like puppets forced into crooked poses. Skin stretched across their bones like dry bark pulled too tight, and from the hollows of their faces, a yellow glow flickered from their eyes. The air around them seemed to drop in temperature. 

Bjorn’s grip tightened on his axe. “Not those things again.”

Rowan didn’t answer. His chest tightened as recognition struck; these were the same creatures that had chased him and Bjorn through the forest. But now, they weren’t hiding in the shadows. They walked straight into the center of the village, as if it already belonged to them. 

The leader moved forward, its long fingers wrapped around a blackened torch. The flame at its tip glowed a deep, unnatural red, pulsing like a heartbeat. Heat shimmered strangely in the air, clashing with the cold breeze drifting down into the square.

Behind Rowan and Bjorn, a bell began to toll, fast and uneven, yanked by frantic hands. Doors slammed, shutters clattered, and villagers scrambled for cover. Amidst the chaos, time seemed to stand still.

Then the torch exploded with sparks, hissing and crackling, spinning like a storm of embers. Dozens of firebats burst upward, wings glowing like molten metal. Black smoke trailed behind as they darted through the square, shrieking high-pitched cries that stabbed Rowan’s ears. One shot past his cheek, and the heat stung his skin.

Bjorn swung his axe at another swooping low. He missed, but the gust of wind from the strike sent it spiraling off-course.

The swarm split. Some circled high above the rooftops, while others dove into the streets. One latched onto a thatched roof, and flames spread in seconds. Another slammed into a market stall, turning a fruit cart into a blazing inferno.

The fire spread fast, crackling louder with every second.

Rowan stepped forward, holding the frost phoenix with one arm as a firebat dove with a screech. He flung out his arm and a gust of wind burst from his palm, swirling like a miniature cyclone. Three firebats were caught mid-flight, tumbling end over end before smacking into the cobblestones with sharp hisses. They shook themselves, then shot back into the smoky sky.

Bjorn roared and charged. His axe swung with a bone-rattling whump as the flat of the blade slammed into the lead creature’s chest. The beast staggered, crumpling across the stones. Its torch clattered to the ground, sparks spitting as it rolled.

Above, the firebats shrieked in panic, their wings flashing brighter, like bonfires flaring in the night. Rowan thrust out his arm again, sending another spiral of wind tearing through the square. The blast scattered the swarm, bats spinning in a fiery whirl. His eyes narrowed as he spotted their path. They weren’t retreating; they were circling back toward the fallen torch.

“They’re drawn to it!” Rowan shouted. “That torch isn’t just a weapon, it’s their nest!”

Bjorn gritted his teeth, slamming the butt of his axe into the ground so hard it sparked. “Then let’s smash it!”

Together they sprinted through the smoke, weaving past collapsing beams and showers of burning embers. The fallen beast clawed across the stones, dragging itself toward the torch with creaking, twisted limbs. Rowan thrust his palm out, wind bursting forward in a sharp blast that struck the flame head-on. The fire flickered, writhing in on itself before fading with a single sharp hiss.

The firebats vanished—one by one, they burst apart, their glowing bodies dissolving like sparks fading in the sky. Wisps of smoke curled in their place, twisting once before vanishing into nothing.

The square fell silent. Smoke and debris coiled lazily through the air. At the edge of the haze, the beasts loomed. Their extended, crooked frames twitched like broken marionettes, and their large yellow eyes flickered like flames whipped by the wind. All three locked on Rowan, who stood over the torch.

Bjorn stepped up beside him. His axe hung heavy in one hand, its blade catching what little light remained. In his other arm, the frost phoenix nestled, its feathers glowing faintly, trembling with a restless energy as though it could feel what was coming.

The creatures swayed forward. First one, then another, then all three together, moving in unison. Their twisted limbs scraped against the cobblestones, claws screeching as they dragged across the stone—the sound cut through Rowan’s ears like knives.

Then, all at once, they lunged in a blur of snapping jaws and clawed hands burst from the smoke. Their hiss rose into a shriek, shattering the stillness of the square as they closed in—

But, before they could strike, a sound split the air. Not just a roar. Something larger ripped across the sky with the weight of a thousand storms, a thunderclap that shook the clouds themselves. The ground trembled beneath their boots as tiles rattled loose from the rooftops. It was the sound of a mountain crumbling.

Everyone froze as the ground shuddered beneath their feet. The cobblestones quivered, and loose tiles clattered down from the rooftops, shattering into sharp pieces on the street below. A wooden sign creaked and swung violently on its chain before snapping free, crashing into the cobbles with a splintering crack.

A shadow spilled across the village in a single sweeping wave, rolling over houses and towers, drenching the square in sudden darkness. It moved like a storm cloud unchained from the sky, stretching from cliff to cliff until it seemed to swallow the world whole.

“The Burlok…” Rowan’s voice was barely a whisper against the rumble. “It’s back.”

The beast soared over the village with wings so massive they blotted out the sun. Each one looked carved from jagged stone, split with glowing rivers of fire. With every colossal beat, sparks rained down like burning stars.

Its head was a mountain’s skull crowned with curling horns, its jaw lined with ridges as thick as fortress walls, and from its hollow sockets blazed two molten furnaces, eyes that burned hotter with every sweep of its wings.

Bjorn’s voice trembled between awe and dread. “It’s enormous!”

Heat crashed down over the square, as though a furnace had swallowed the whole village. Rowan’s throat burned with every breath. Even the winds that usually answered his call faltered.

On Bjorn’s shoulder, the frost phoenix gave a sharp cry. Its feathers shimmered like starlight as it spread its wings, crouching as if ready to leap into the fight, though it stayed pressed firmly to his shoulder.

All around them, villagers screamed and scattered. Some dove into doorways, others crawled beneath carts or pressed themselves against broken walls. Children huddled beneath a collapsed awning, their wide eyes reflecting the burning sky.

The Burlok circled once, trailing smoke and flame, then dipped low. Its jaws yawned wide, and a river of fire erupted. The blast tore across the heavens and slammed into the village gates with an earth-splitting boom. Wood and iron splintered like twigs as fire devoured the walls, swallowing a row of houses in seconds. The air thickened with the stench of scorched grain and burning herbs.

Bjorn’s knuckles whitened around the handle of his axe. “We are way out of our league,” he muttered.

Rowan stepped forward. His face was pale, but his eyes were steady. “Let’s just survive the next five minutes.”

Bjorn looked over at him. “You’re starting to sound like a hero.”

By the fountain, the three crooked beasts regrouped. They swayed shoulder to shoulder, their limbs twitching like tangled puppets. Even without the torch, their presence crackled with menace. Their amber eyes glowed restless and hungry.

One hissed, the sound rattling like a broken kettle, and lunged. Its claws gleamed like black glass, slicing the air. Rowan jumped aside, and the wind caught him, spinning him just clear. He landed lightly behind the creature and thrust out his palm. A blast of air slammed into the creature’s back with a sharp crack.

The beast smashed into the stone wall, dust exploding outward. It slumped with a groan, then dragged itself upright again, its eyes burning hotter than before.

Another charged at Bjorn, but he did not flinch. He planted his boots and slammed the base of his axe into the cobblestones. The ground quaked as the beast’s legs buckled, and it toppled into the other with a heavy crash.

Bjorn grinned. “Two for one! That’s Mossmere style!”

But his voice was swallowed by a more resounding roar.

The Burlok.

The sky split as its wings unfurled, vast and terrible, trailing fire and smoke. It dove toward the square, its chest glowing brighter with each breath. The heat shimmered, swelling in its throat. Its jaws opened wide, the light inside blazing white-hot, more colorful than molten metal, brighter than the center of the sun.

Rowan braced himself, raising both hands as the air around him screamed into a spiraling cyclone. Invisible wings thundered at his back, but even as power surged through him, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. 

Bjorn stepped forward without hesitation. He raised a shield from the ground and planted himself firm, steady as a mountain rooted in stone. On his shoulder, the frost phoenix shrieked, wings flaring in a halo of icy light as though it too felt the Burlok’s shadow bearing down.

The Burlok’s chest burned brighter, the flame gathering, ready to strike.

And then—

A brilliant flash of light erupted to their right.