Our scout troops explored the wrong ruins and unleashed a beast upon the land. A colossal glowing beast, fuelled by Dust. A Guardian angered by our consumption of the Dust that fuels our civilisation. The monster has our capital in its sights, and we have little time to prepare for the oncoming siege.

We were fools. We didn’t think it to be any real danger at first. But as the beast out of dust loomed ever closer we realised it could destroy our home, and with it our empire would fall. We wanted to intercept it, destroy it before it reached Somaj, but the giant beast would wipe our entire army out within minutes.

As winter fell, we had to fall back to Somaj and wait. We knew it would be here within a week. The glow of it in the distance looked like a sunrise at night. It almost felt like a beacon of warmth in the chill of the cold nights. But we had to wait in the frost, and build our defenses. We used the very thing it was made of to raise our army. Dust would be our destruction or or our salvation. The irony isn’t lost on us. It is angry at us for using Dust, but we can only defend ourselves with more Dust.

Rangers, wolfmen, and shaman were raised from the Dust. We gave our leaders better weapons to help defend the city. The rest of us waited, watching glow become brighter night by night. We needed to be well rested before the coming battle, but we found it troublesome to sleep. We couldn’t let our guard down.

After we spent all our Dust we had a decent sized army. But we had no idea if it would be enough. By now, the beast loomed on the road to Somaj, its glowing form a harbinger of destruction. It would be upon us within a day. We readied our troops, prepared them with rousing speeches about honour and glory. But morale was low. They weren’t fighting for a noble cause. They were fighting for their very lives, and the lives of those they cared for.

The beast approached the city and our archers were ready for it. It’s voice boomed over the cliffs as it declared its name, the name of the beast that would destroy us.

“Skoros,” it boomed, its voice resonating like an avalanche, “Harbinger of Dust’s reckoning. You have taken what was never yours.” Its glowing eyes swept over our troops, unblinking. “Return to the earth, or be consumed by it.”

We didn’t care for its threats. We had to defend our home. Our archers took up position, led by Soyola Tocho, a general raised out of the Dust just for this battle. His inexperience may be a hindrance, but our army is still few in number. He gave the order and arrows rained upon the beast, disappearing when it was hit. We weren’t sure if it was even hurt.

The two-headed wolfmen, the Jotus moved forward to strike with their crossbows. Skoros turned toward them and raised its tree-sized staff. A giant ball of dust and flame launched from it across the snowy plains and struck the crossbowmen, leaving only melted snow and charred fur behind.

We continued our barrage of arrows and Soyola rushed closer to the Dust Guardian. It launched another fireball at the green general, consuming him in a mass of fire and dust. When it cleared and smoke rose from where he stood, somehow he was still alive. His armor, glowing faintly with Dust-infused runes, had absorbed the worst of the blast.

Through the searing pain, Soyola thought of the faces of those who would perish if he failed: innocent children, weary elders, the friends he had yet to make. His flesh charred and bloody, he raised his crossbow to begin another volley.

His voice cracked as he bellowed, “Is that all you’ve got?” It was not defiance alone that held him upright; it was the duty we had thrust upon him.

More Jotus moved between Soyola and Skoros, protecting the general from more fireballs. Bright dust had started falling out of the Guardian from the gaping holes we had made in its body. As night fell, the beast began summoning dust from the earth to regenerate itself. This siege would not be over before daybreak.

It’s attack laid off for the night, and we took advantage of the time to rest and recover. The camp was hushed save for the crackle of dying fires. Soldiers huddled together, their breath fogging in the frozen air. Across the snowy plains, the Guardian paced, a monstrous silhouette against the stars, glowing faintly as Dust swirled around its body.

“It’ll be stronger by morning,” one ranger muttered, his voice trembling.

“Do you think it feels pain?” another asked, eyes fixed on the beast. No one answered.

When morning came, the assault began in the same way as the first, as more Jotun were destroyed by a fireball. But we could see it was not fully restored, we may have a chance to win this. The Jotun take even more casualties as the Guardian sends more fireballs into their ranks. Arrows rain upon the Guardian, opening holes in its glowing shell. We watch as Dust drains from its body back into the ground from whence it came. It seems weaker than the day before. We might win this yet!

The beast falls to one knee, desperately trying to use its staff to pull itself back up. But it is unable to defend against the volley we send its way. Its colossal size, once its strength, now made it an easy target. It’s glow fades as its head disintegrates, and the rest of its body joins the Dust. The staff falls, striking the ground with such force it launches snow into the air.

The Guardian was ended. It is no longer coming for our home. We had won. But it had cost us the lives of many Jotun. Their sacrifice shall be remembered, a memorial will be built for them. The Guardian was protecting Dust, but Dust is the source of our civilisation. Many citizens argue we should give up on Dust, but doing so would leave us defenseless. And there are threats out there other than the Dust Guardians.

For now, we would continue to wield Dust, knowing each use brought us closer to another Guardian’s wrath. Somaj had survived, but the land around it bore scars: snow melted to ash, trees stripped bare where Dust had been drawn. Could we truly call it victory, when Dust itself seemed to erode the world it sustained?