Northern Border

"How did your oldest brother die?" the Son asked, his voice tinged with fear of reopening recent wounds. Emric, though clearly affected by the question, responded with a firm tone. "I wasn't there... From the survivors' accounts, all we know is that their enemy consisted of two entities, against whom they were utterly powerless. The attack came suddenly, without warning, and any attempt to counter it was futile. It was as if they knew exactly where the sorcerers were positioned among the soldiers in the camp. None of us could harm them with spells or physical weapons. What's even more shocking is that only one of the two entities actively engaged in the massacre, while the other mostly observed from a distance, wielding a distinctive-looking mace. We are still trying to identify them based on that weapon, because both wore full cloak. So, yes, there isn't much more I can tell you. My father lost his next heir, my elder brother, who had already been assigned as an acolyte to the supreme council in the central realm. As for me... I was left alone with a great task." A deep unease settled on Emric's face as he spoke, the weight of his loss and the burden of expectations evident in his words.