The forest trembled beneath distant thunder. Sarive moved silently through the underbrush, eyes scanning the treeline. His team spread out behind him—six figures cloaked in armor, silent and alert. They were young, but seasoned. Children of legends, warriors molded in chaos. Together, they called themselves the Vanguard.
Sarive held up a clenched fist, signaling a halt. "Demons are near," he said, silver eyes narrowing. "I feel them."
Kavi, the group's scout, nodded. "Tracks—heavy. They passed through here minutes ago. But there's something else. A fight. Up ahead."
Before Sarive could respond, a shockwave rippled through the forest. Trees bent as dark flames erupted beyond the ridge. Screams—guttural, demonic—echoed between the trunks. Sarive sprinted forward.
Atop the hill, the battle unfolded like a storm. A lone warrior danced through a horde of demons, her white armor streaked with black ash. Each movement was precise. Devastating. Her twin blades—glowing with golden etchings—sliced through infernal flesh. Her eyes glowed a familiar, haunting blue.
Mia.
Sarive didn't recognize her yet. But something in his chest pulled.
"Vanguard, engage!" he shouted.
They leapt into the fray. Elira, the daughter of a stormcaller, summoned a bolt of lightning that split a demon in half. Renan's shadowstep brought him behind another, slashing it down. Kavi's arrows flew true, and Jace's twin hammers shattered bones.
Sarive landed beside the warrior in white, blocking a clawed strike meant for her back. Their eyes met briefly—hers fierce and sharp, his stunned.
"Who are you?" Sarive asked, panting.
She didn't answer. She only glanced at the girl clinging to her back—a child no older than five, glowing faintly with an aura too vast for her small frame.
Hope.
Mia turned, grabbing Sarive's wrist. "We need to move. They'll send more."
"Who are you? Who's the girl?"
"Later," she said, dragging him into the trees. The team followed, flanking them as they escaped into the hills.
Only when the chaos had died and the campfire crackled softly beneath a twilight sky did Mia finally speak.
"Her name is Hope," she said, voice low.
The child sat curled in a blanket, watching Sarive with quiet intensity.
"She's... different," Mia continued. "She's not just a child. She's the daughter of someone you once knew."
Sarive frowned. "Someone I knew?"
"Valen."
Everything stopped.
Sarive's breath caught. The name shattered the calm like glass.
"Valen is dead. He died when I was ten. He—"
"He lied to protect her," Mia interrupted. "He's alive. And she's your niece."
Sarive stood, fists clenched. "Why are you telling me this now? Who are you?"
She stepped forward. "My name is Mia. I was trained by Valen. I've protected Hope since the gods came for her. He trusted me."
Sarive's voice trembled. "Where is he now?"
Mia hesitated. "Fighting to buy us time. We're supposed to find you. Together, we protect her."
Hope rose and walked to Sarive, tiny fingers reaching for his hand.
"Uncle?" she said.
Sarive's chest caved. He knelt, eyes glistening. Hope placed her hand on his cheek, and something bloomed inside him—light, warmth, power.
The blood of gods and heroes stirred.
He looked at Mia. "We'll protect her. Whatever it takes."
In the darkness beyond their camp, shadows moved. The hunt was far from over.