The wind grew warmer as they descended to the cliff.
The Ember Summit loomed ahead, its obsidian towers glowing faintly with the constant breath of geothermal heat. Red banners snapped in the wind, inscribed with dozens of clan sigils and magical glyphs, some recognizable… most ancient.
Darin's company moved in tight formation. Banners furled. Weapons sheathed. No outward aggression.
But every step closer brought more attention.
Sentinels on the towers took notice first. Then came the horns, loud scream of horns.
A long, low note echoed through the valley—deep and commanding. A warning call.
Vincent leaned down from Grull's shoulder and whispered to Darin, "umm….I'm guessing that's not their welcome chime."
"Maybe it's their brunch bell," Darin muttered.
The gates ahead remained closed, thick and dark with glowing molten seams tracing across them like veins. Magical, for certain. Possibly explosive.
