The clash of elemenium echoed in his skull, a discordant symphony against the darkness. Then, from nothingness, a hand emerged – withered as old parchment, its trembling fingers whispering a silent plea. Before Hirua could grasp it, a haze of violet swallowed the hand, the discord fading into a silence as chilling as the void.

Hirua shot up in bed, a choked gasp escaping his lips. His tawny hands clenched the damp sheets. The dream again…

He threw off the blankets and stood, his gaze drawn to the Renewed Light of past-midnight filtering through the window. The rhythmic chirping of birds was the only sound that dared to break the silence. Each sound pricked at his resolve, reminding him of the lives he'd vowed to protect.

He clenched a golden amulet, its scarlet core gleaming in the faint light. He sought solace in the warmth of the stone, but it did little to quell the cold, restless energy that churned within him. He gripped the amulet so tightly, the scarlet stone digging into his palm like a suppressed scream. The dream gnawed in his mind, a chilling reminder of a past he couldn't outrun. But something else flickered in his grip – a new resolve battling with the weight of his vow.

< - - - xox - - - >

A sudden rapping at the door shattered the Kindling Light of dawn. The insistent pounding pierced the silence, but the lump beneath the blankets didn't move. Deynfif opened the door. A sliver of light cut through the room, casting his silhouette against the doorway. He stood at the threshold, his hand hovering over the door handle as if it were made of burning coal. A sigh escaped his lips, a sound like air leaking from a punctured bellows. His gaze lingered on Hirua's still form, a silent plea for understanding battling with the resolute set of his jaw. His stomach lurched, a cold dread pooling in his gut. Hirua's anger from last night lingered, casting a shadow on their farewell. What if this was their final goodbye? It was as if the very air around him sagged beneath an invisible burden.

"I'll leave now, brother." Deynfif announced. He adjusted his green plaid scarf, the familiar motion a useless comfort against the storm brewing both outside Eard's borders and in his own heart. With a final, determined step, he walked out, shoulders squared but heavy with the weight of a silent goodbye.

Kindling Light, a soft gentle glow, kissed his skin as he stepped outside. A chorus of young voices, bright as freshly-plucked wildflowers, followed him towards the village's edge.

"Just like you, Deynfif, I'll fight when I'm big!" A skinny boy declared, pummeling the air with his fists. "Those bad guys...I'll make 'em bleed! They won't know what hit 'em!"

A chubby boy, missing a front tooth, puffed out his chest. "Twice as hard, that's me!" He stabbed a grubby finger towards the sky. "Just you wait, Deynfif! I'm gonna be super strong like Hirua. No baddies will even come near when you're gone!”

Deynfif stopped, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He chuckled, picturing himself, Hirua, and Einntyr as boys, sparring under his father's watchful eye. Energies clashed, their laughter a vibrant echo against the ancient oak's stillness. A sharp pang, a cold reminder of the years gone by, pierced his chest. A silent breath escaped him.

Simpler times.

A brief smile softened his features as the scuffle of high-pitched giggles faded. He gave them a nod.

"You've got good hearts, aspiring defenders," his tone was clear yet kind. "Protecting what matters takes more than just a strong arm. It's like building a fortress – you need a plan, and the will to see it through."

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked at them, his eyes conveying both seriousness and warmth. "But remember," he added with a hint of a strategist's tone, "plans are made to be tested. With practice, and a bit of cleverness, you might surprise yourselves.”

Deynfif reached the village edge. A crowd waited: curious youngsters, older folks, all wanting a last glimpse of their champion. A small hand tugged at Deynfif's sleeve. A voice squeaked, "There! Hirua!"

Surprised, Deynfif froze. His heart skipped a beat. Leaning casually against a post by the village entrance, one hand in his pocket, Hirua basked in the Kindling Light. A lopsided grin spread across his face as he met Deynfif's startled stare.

Deynfif choked out a sound. "Hirua?" The name resounded oddly in the morning stillness. "This... I didn't expect…" He squinted against the strengthening light, trying to make sense of the familiar figure that seemed out of place, a jarring puzzle piece in the picture he'd painted in his mind. Hirua was supposed to be back home.

Hirua raised an eyebrow in question, then slowly shook his head, that lopsided grin still lingering. A warmth spread through his chest, a tightness easing in his gut.

"Think you two could handle this alone?" Hirua grumbled. "This fight's got a bitter taste – best shared among brothers."

Deynfif stared at Hirua, his brow creased in confusion, as if he were trying to solve a geometric puzzle with a missing piece. "Hirua," he queried. "Last night, you seemed determined to stay here." He looked into Hirua's eyes, silently asking for an explanation. "This change of heart is...unexpected, given your resolve."

Hirua froze, the Kindling Light casting long shadows across his face. A sea of worried and hopeful expressions rippled through his thoughts – a stark reminder of lives he wanted to protect.

A child tugged at his vest, a gap-toothed grin reflecting his own from years ago.

Hirua knelt, meeting the boy's gaze.

"You gonna fight the baddies, Hirua?" The question, innocent and hopeful, pierced the armor Hirua had built around his heart.

"Aye, little Plent," he rumbled. Not for vengeance. For them.

He scanned the crowd – weathered faces, mended clothes, a symphony of children's laughter where only war’s whispers once lingered. Every spark of life here, Pythair's enduring gift. Hirua’s fingers brushed the amulet hidden in his knee-length breeches’ pouch, its familiar coolness a grounding presence in the whirlpool of uncertainty. Pythair…as you said. Redirect my energy into something good. For others.

"I'm going with Deynfif," he declared, his voice firm. His jaw clenched, the taste of bitterness fading on his tongue, replaced by a cold, hard determination.

He blinked back a surprising surge of tears. His words scraped from his throat, a near whisper. "This peace Pythair built..." He gestured towards the village, not in a grand sweep, but with a cupped, protective hand, as if holding something fragile. "This sanctuary he carved for folks here..." He met Deynfif's gaze, the fire in his eyes tempered into a steady, unwavering glow.

"Protecting this place," he declared, his jaw setting in a hard line, "burns hotter than any forge. Eard gave me a home, a family!" A Beagwog, startled by his intensity, shot up a nearby oak, its frenetic scramble echoing the Hirua's fire. "That's the kind of loyalty you can't buy, not for a thousand kingdoms."

A dangerous smile, sharp like a honed blade, twisted his lips. Fueled by this newfound resolve, he growled low, "This time, I've got the will and the wit to shield what matters most – my family, Eard, all of it." The Beagwog, startled but unyielding, resumed its climb, its furry paws digging in with a determination that mirrored Hirua's own.

Deynfif's breath hitched, a sudden lightness blooming in his chest. The knot of tension that had coiled in his gut loosened, allowing a wave of warmth to spread through him. Yet, the weight of responsibility remained, a heavy stone in his gut. He offered his arm, a silent brother's promise, instead of words. His pale hand met Hirua's in a silent pact.

Both brothers' attention flickered upwards as the Beagwog paused its frantic nest-building. Three tiny kits tumbled out, their playful squeaks reflecting the unexpected lightness in Deynfif's heart. But as they scampered back to safety, one hesitated, clinging to the edge – a tiny image of Deynfif's own lingering worry.

Deynfif nodded, and for a moment, his eyes held a lightness Hirua hadn't seen in years. "Thank you, brother," a touch of warmth softened his voice. "It would be good to have you fighting alongside us to protect Craiddhol's future." Their gazes followed a Beagwog kit as it ventured back out, its paws determined on a delicate branch. A flicker of shared resolve matched the kit's cautious bravery.

A sliver of Solus' Light broke through the darkness, painting their determined faces in a cool, ethereal glow. In that shared look, Deynfif's spirit swelled with a mix of nervousness and unwavering resolve. Like the Beagwog diligently strengthening its nest, they would fortify their bond against the uncertain future. They would challenge it together, as brothers, defenders of Eard – and perhaps, builders of something brighter.

The bustle of the Beagwog sent a tremor through the branches. A bird, startled into flight, burst from the tree, its wings catching the first true rays of Solus' Light. It soared towards the colorful beach, drawn by the same gentle breeze that carried the scent of salt and hope.

Fyrvren's heart beat in time with the tide, each pulse a vibrant echo of the colorful stones scattered across the shore. Her fingers danced across their smooth surfaces, coaxing out hidden depths of color and light. Today, the stones hummed with an energy that mirrored the hope blooming within her. Like the first rays of Kindling Light breaking through darkness, a sense of unity and shared purpose washed over her, painting the future in vibrant hues.

She worked alongside her fellow villagers, a symphony of Energies harmonizing with the song of the sea. An Earth Wand, wielded by a sturdy villager, thrummed as it drew forth a bounty of stones from the gritty shore. Freshwater, directed by a hand with a Water Wand, cascaded over the rough stones, washing away the clinging sand and revealing their hidden beauty. Fyrvren, with a flick of her Air Wand, coaxed the drying breeze into a gentle caress, leaving the stones sparkling and perfectly prepped, for her transformative touches.

Fyrvren hummed along with the rhythmic hiss of the waves, a counterpoint to the stones' quiet song beneath her touch. A joyful warmth filled her. Suddenly, a sharp cry shattered the tranquil melody. The stone slipped from her grasp, clattering against the others with a discordant clang. Her gaze shot towards the village entrance, where a knot of figures gestured wildly. Her heart stuttered. The beach's familiar symphony faltered, the crashing waves distant. Panic clawed at her throat as a forgotten memory surfaced. Oh! The Lagring…