At dawn, the allied armies of Eldoria assembled at the Spire Pass—a narrow, windswept defile between towering peaks. The banners of dwarves, elves, Gremlari, Amazari, and humans fluttered together for the first time in generations. Peter stood among them, armored and armed, his heart pounding with fear and excitement. Lady Vaelis, the Grand Marshal, rode along the lines, her voice ringing out: “Today, we stand as one! The Dragon King’s horde will not break us. Hold the line—for Eldoria!” From the shadowed forest below, the enemy emerged: an endless tide of black-armored soldiers, their faces hidden behind cruel visors. At their head rode the Night Riders, their pale horses snorting and stamping, eyes glowing with unnatural light. Behind them, sorcerers in crimson cloaks chanted spells, and monstrous war beasts strained at their chains. The battle began with a storm of arrows. Elven archers loosed volleys that darkened the sky, while dwarven ballistae hurled stones into the enemy ranks. The clash of steel and the roar of magic filled the air as the two armies collided. Peter fought bravely, remembering Shade’s lessons and Kaelis’s advice. He parried blows, blocked arrows with his shield, and struck down foes with his dwarven-forged sword. All around him, the battle raged—Lady Vaelis led a charge against the Night Riders, Borin the Gallant and his dwarves held the left flank, Seraphine and the Amazari danced through the chaos, and Lyriana’s arrows found their marks. But the enemy was relentless. The Night Riders cut through the lines, their swords leaving trails of shadow. The Dragon King’s sorcerers unleashed fire and lightning, scattering the defenders. The allied line began to buckle. Suddenly, Peter found himself separated from his companions, surrounded by enemy soldiers. He fought desperately, but a blow to the head sent him sprawling. The world spun, and everything went black. When Peter awoke, he was lying on a rough cot in a healer’s tent. His head throbbed, and the sounds of distant voices and the clatter of armor drifted in from outside. Shade the Silent sat nearby, cleaning a dagger, while Kaelis the Bold paced restlessly at the entrance. “You’re awake,” Shade said quietly. “You fought bravely, Peter. The battle was fierce, but you survived.” Kaelis came over, relief on his face. “We held the Spire Pass, but at great cost. Many of our friends are wounded or missing. Lady Vaelis is rallying the survivors, and Eldan is meeting with the other leaders.” Peter sat up, memories of the chaos flooding back—arrows, fire, the Night Riders, and the endless tide of the Dragon King’s soldiers. “What happened to the others?” he asked. “Borin and the dwarves held the left flank, but they lost many,” Kaelis replied. “Seraphine and the Amazari are tending to the wounded. Lyriana was last seen leading a counterattack in the woods. Eldan is alive, but exhausted from the magic he unleashed.” Shade added, “The Night Riders retreated, but not before causing havoc. The Dragon King’s army has fallen back for now, but everyone knows this was only the beginning.” That night, the camp was tense. Fires burned low, and the wounded groaned in their tents. Peter wandered among the survivors, offering what comfort he could. He found Borin, battered but alive, and Seraphine, her arm bandaged but her spirit unbroken. Lyriana returned at dawn, weary but triumphant, having rescued a group of elven scouts from an ambush. As the sun rose over the battered fields of Spire Pass, Eldan gathered the heroes. “We have won a battle, but not the war. The Dragon King will return, stronger than before. We must seek new allies, uncover ancient secrets, and prepare for the darkness yet to come.” Peter looked around at his companions—heroes from every corner of Eldoria, united by fate and friendship. Though the road ahead was uncertain, he felt a spark of hope. Together, they would face whatever challenges awaited.