The fire snapped in the hearth of the Traveling Inn, filling the room with the scent of burning pine and sea mist. Outside the windows, the mist pressed thick and heavy, swirling against the glass like a living thing. Inside, the six Friends of the North sat close, their breath misting in the cold air, their faces lit by the low, flickering light.

Peren sat with his blade balanced lightly across his knees, sharpening the edge with steady, methodical strokes. Rand leaned back into the shadow, his sharp eyes hidden beneath the hood of his cloak, watching the fire as if searching for meaning in its dancing flames. Baris thumbed the worn surface of his pendant, murmuring words of prayer to chaos and change under his breath. Moroseth crouched near the door, his hands busy with an arrow, checking and rechecking its fletching as his restless gaze swept the room’s dark corners. Biff, massive and silent, sat tending to the battered shield that had seen them through so many battles. Trevor, ever restless, tapped a coin against the edge of the table, the steady click a faint heartbeat in the heavy quiet.

Across from them, Merrick sat — old but unbowed — his hands clasped around a steaming mug, his voice a low rumble as he began to speak.

"You set out chasing the Eternal Flame," Merrick said, his gaze far away. "Across the golden fields of Exgol, across the haunting waters of Whisperwind, up through the green-clad shoulders of the Silverback Mountains — now blackened into the Dark Mountains. And deep within Darkwood Swamp, you shattered chains meant to hold a nightmare. You freed Maltheris — the Dark Queen — whose very name once bent the trees and silenced the seas."

The fire flared, sending sparks curling into the smoky rafters.

Peren broke the silence first, his voice low and solid as stone.
"What is she?" he asked.

Merrick’s eyes reflected the fire.

"A sovereign of despair," he answered. "She ruled long before mortals tamed fire or tilled the earth. The Eternal Order and their ancient allies forged a prison of root and flame to bind her. But prisons rot... and you were the final breath that broke her chains."

Rand leaned forward, his voice a cold whisper.
"The lands we crossed?"

Merrick's voice grew heavy, each word falling like a hammer.

"Gone. Exgol is a black plain now, where cannibal tribes howl at dead skies. The Whisperwind Narrows are a graveyard where the songs of the sea twist sailors into madness. The Silverback Mountains, once lush jungles guarded by the silverback kings, have rotted into the Dark Mountains, where spectral beasts hunt without end. Eldoria fractures — its elves broken between corruption and desperate resistance. The Southern Isles, where you once looked for home and safety, now drown beneath fire and shattered stone. And Kosh — the great city of gold — has fallen. In its place stands the Red Keep, a black fortress from which no messenger returns."

Biff slammed his gauntleted fist onto the table, making the mugs and plates rattle.
"Is there nothing left?" he demanded.

Merrick gave a hard, grim smile.

"Harbinger survives — for now," he said. "You bought them time. But dark sails approach across the waves. Shadows seep through every crack and corner. The world holds its breath... and the Queen gathers her strength."

Moroseth spoke then, crouched low by the fire, eyes never still.
"Can we still fight her?" he asked.

Merrick leaned closer to the flame, his voice almost a whisper.

"She is not alone," he said. "She summons her Lieutenants — the things that even the old stories barely dared to name. Creatures of nightmare, the ones that children once wept to hear about in tales. Monsters that ruled when the mountains still walked and the rivers spoke. They come not from a place — but from a time before mankind was anything but dust and fear."

Baris’s voice was cold steel in the warm room.
"Their names?"

Merrick shook his head slowly.

"Few dare speak them now," he said. "Jason. Ashenblade. Names dragged from old screams and forgotten prayers. And eight more whose titles are not written, but whose deeds remain carved into the bones of the world. They are waking. And they have heard their Queen’s call."

The fire crackled in the silence that followed, the weight of Merrick’s words pressing down on them all. His gaze swept across the gathered heroes, lingering on each one.

"You, Friends of the North," Merrick said, "are all that stands against the dark that was old when the stars were young. The hour is late. The road ahead will be blood and ash. But songs are still written by the living. And so is defiance."

He leaned back, the chair creaking beneath him, and for a moment, it seemed as though the room itself was holding its breath.

Then Merrick added, voice slow and deliberate:

"Only the southeastern realms have fallen. The rest of the world still holds — for now. But the Dark Queen's lieutenants are stirring, and soon they will awaken across all lands. They will spread their corruption, twisting the earth and all living things to her will. To defeat the Queen, each Lieutenant must be found... and destroyed."

The fire snapped sharply, and Merrick’s face hardened.

"Long ago," he said, "a band much like yourselves rose against her. They defeated her servants one by one, finally striking down Ashenblade — for he was the strongest of her champions. Know this: you have already met others of their rank in the North. And if you journey far enough, you will surely meet more. You cannot win this war alone."

He looked around the circle, meeting each pair of eyes in turn.

"You will need allies. Friends. You must rally the strength of the world itself if you are to have any hope of victory. Steel alone will not save you. Nor will magic. Only hearts bound by courage and loyalty will see you through the darkness to come."

And with that, Merrick fell silent, the fire hissing as a log crumbled into ash.

Outside the mist pressed harder against the windows, and beyond it, in the vast unseen world, ancient evils stirred.