Elara wasn’t a warrior, not in the traditional sense. Her weapon was information, whispers carried on the wind, patterns discerned in the movements of the sea. She was the Seer of Aethelgard, a title she bore with a heavy heart, knowing its weight was the lives of her people.

Tonight, the wind carried a different scent, the acrid tang of burning wood, and a faint, rhythmic drumming that vibrated through the stone beneath her feet. The Skelden were here, not a fleeting raid, but a full-scale assault.

She descended the treacherous path, her bare feet finding purchase on the slick, moss-covered rocks. The village below was a chaotic tableau of flickering torchlight and panicked cries. Men, armed with hastily made spears and rusty swords, formed a ragged line against the advancing raiders.

Elara didn’t join them. Instead, she moved with a quiet urgency towards the heart of the village, to the ancient, half-sunken tower that served as the Seer’s sanctuary. Within its damp, stone walls, she kept the Whispering Stones, smooth, obsidian fragments said to hold the echoes of the past and the whispers of the future.

The stones were cold against her skin as she arranged them on the cracked stone floor, their dark surfaces reflecting the dim light of a single oil lamp. She closed her eyes, letting the rhythmic drumming of the Skelden war drums fill her senses, a dark counterpoint to the rush of the waves.

The stones began to shimmer, the darkness within them swirling like smoke. Visions flickered: a towering longship, its prow carved with a snarling wolf; a figure cloaked in shadow, their face obscured by a helm of blackened steel; a hidden passage, a secret way through the cliffs, leading to the undefended rear of the village.

She gasped, the visions fading, leaving her breathless and chilled. The hidden passage! That was the key. The Skelden weren’t relying on brute force alone; they had a traitor, someone who knew the secrets of Aethelgard.

She snatched a torch from its holder and raced out of the tower, her voice cutting through the din of the battle. “The passage! The Skelden are coming through the hidden passage!”

Her warning was met with confusion and disbelief. But a few, those who had seen the accuracy of her visions before, followed her. They were a motley group, of farmers and fishermen, their faces grim with determination.

The passage was a narrow, treacherous cleft, hidden behind a waterfall that cascaded down the cliff face. As they approached, the drumming grew louder, the air thick with the smell of sweat and blood.

The Skelden were already pouring through, their axes glinting in the torchlight. But Elara and her small band were ready. They fought with a ferocity born of desperation, their makeshift weapons finding their marks.

Elara, though untrained in combat, moved with a strange, almost preternatural awareness, her instincts honed by years of interpreting the Whispering Stones. She saw the flicker of an axe before it fell, the subtle shift in a raider’s stance before they lunged.

The battle raged, a brutal dance of steel and shadow. But the tide was turning. The villagers, emboldened by Elara’s warning, rallied, their numbers swelling as they pushed back the invaders.

The Skelden, caught between two fronts, began to falter. Their leader, the figure from Elara’s vision, fought savagely, but he was outnumbered and outmaneuvered.

As the last Skelden were driven back into the sea, the village was left in a state of exhausted triumph. The air was thick with smoke and the cries of the wounded, but there was also a sense of relief, a hard-won victory.

Elara stood on the cliff, the wind whipping her hair, the Whispering Stones heavy in her pocket. She had saved her people, not with a sword, but with the power of knowledge, the whispers of the past, and the glimpses of the future. The burden of the Seer was heavy, but tonight, it felt a little lighter.

The End !!

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