The hour is late in Volaire, the kind of oppressive stillness that comes when the world itself seems to sleep. Shadows stretch across the land, swallowing villages, forests, and mountain peaks alike. Not even the moon dares to rise tonight, leaving the land bathed in an impenetrable darkness. The wind, once a gentle whisper through the trees, has fallen silent as if the very air knows to fear what comes next.
Then, without warning, it begins—the low, resonant toll of a bell. It's not a bell many in Volaire have ever heard before. No town, temple, or guild lays claim to it, and yet, its deep, otherworldly sound cuts through the night like a dagger. It rings from everywhere at once—through the walls of the fortress, down the stone streets, across the barren plains, and deep within the forest groves. The sound comes not from a place, but from the very fabric of reality itself.
It tolls again, louder this time. Warriors jerk awake from restless dreams, their hearts pounding as though the sound reached into them and gripped their souls. In the high towers, mages falter mid-incantation, the sudden weight of the sound breaking their concentration. Even the animals sense it—wolves cease their howling, birds huddle silently in their nests, and the usual night sounds are swallowed by the oppressive silence between each strike of the bell.
The third chime rolls across the land, and now the world feels different. There is a tremor in the air, subtle but undeniable. Something ancient stirs beneath the surface of reality, as though the ground itself remembers something terrible long forgotten. The wind picks up again, carrying with it a sharp, biting chill that penetrates even the thickest cloaks and armor.
For some, there is a primal instinct to run, though they know not why or where to go. For others, curiosity compels them to step outside, gazing up into the starless sky, searching for answers that will never come. The bell's toll is a summons, though none know for whom or why.
As the fourth chime rings, softer but somehow more insidious, it fades into a low, rumbling echo that seems to reverberate in the bones of those who hear it. The sound lingers, as if the bell is waiting—waiting for something to answer its call.
Unbeknownst to all, far beyond the mortal understanding of those who inhabit this land, the Harbinger has arrived. In the shadow of the unseen, in a realm that teeters between this world and another, a figure cloaked in an aura of inevitability grips the bell’s ancient rope. The toll is no accident. It is a signal—a command. With each chime, the Harbinger beckons something older than time itself, summoning the Horsemen from their slumber.
