The Vanishing Army

The Battle of Ivaris was supposed to be a decisive victory, a moment that would shift the tides of war. King Aldric III had sent his most elite force—5,000 men, well-trained and battle-hardened—into the Valley of Ivaris to strike a crippling blow against their enemies. But history never recorded their triumph. Instead, it recorded something far more terrifying.

They vanished.

Not a single soldier returned. No bodies were ever found. No weapons, no armor, no signs of battle. It was as if the entire army had been swallowed by the earth itself. The only clue was a lone, half-mad scout who stumbled back into the capital three weeks later, his eyes hollow with fear. He could not speak of what he had seen, only muttering the same words over and over: "The sky opened… and they were taken."

For centuries, historians debated what had happened to Aldric’s army. Some believed it was an ambush so precise that no trace remained. Others whispered of supernatural forces—curses, gods, or ancient beings that did not wish for war in their valley. But no evidence, no explanation, ever surfaced.

Then, in the year 1897, an expedition led by Professor William Grayson ventured into the Valley of Ivaris, determined to solve the mystery once and for all. Equipped with the latest archaeological tools, his team spent months searching the valley floor, scanning the soil, and digging deep beneath the surface.

At first, they found nothing. Then, in the ruins of an ancient temple, they uncovered something chilling—a massive stone tablet covered in forgotten symbols. The markings depicted a battle, but not between men. The carvings showed figures descending from the sky, surrounded by blinding light, pulling soldiers into the heavens.

Grayson’s team laughed at the idea of ancient extraterrestrial intervention. But their laughter faded when they unearthed something impossible: a suit of armor, perfectly preserved, with metal that did not rust and designs that did not match any known civilization.

But what truly disturbed them was the helmet.

It was still occupied.

Inside, the remains of a soldier sat frozen in time, his face twisted in terror. The bones were ancient—carbon dating placed them over a thousand years old—but there was something strange. The body had not decomposed normally. It was as if some unknown force had preserved it, locked in a moment of fear that had lasted centuries.

That night, the valley came alive.

Strange lights flickered in the sky, the same way ancient records had described. A deep, unnatural hum vibrated through the air. Grayson and his team awoke to find one of their own missing. His bedroll was empty, his belongings untouched. The only clue was a set of footprints leading away from the camp—except they did not stop. They simply faded into the dirt, as if he had been lifted off the ground.

Terrified, the team fled the valley, abandoning their equipment and their research. Grayson, once a firm skeptic, returned home a broken man, refusing to speak of what had happened. His final words, scrawled in his journal before his death, mirrored those of the lone scout from centuries before:

"The sky opened… and they were taken."

To this day, no one dares venture into the Valley of Ivaris.

Some believe the army was lost to history.

Others believe they never truly left.


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