The ridge had fallen silent again, but the silence was different now.

It was not the stillness of strategy, nor the hush before a battle cry. It was the breath held between sorrow and necessity: a moment stolen before the weight of duty reclaimed them.

Cayden’s body lay at the highest point of the slope, his head tilted slightly toward the smoke-veiled city he’d never reach. Kiera had folded his arms across his chest. Jaxson had placed a scrap of dark cloth over his face. No one spoke for a long while.

Boaz sat beside him, hands resting on his knees, the Sigil warm beneath his shirt.

“I should’ve said something,” he murmured. “Anything.”

“He knew,” Kiera said softly.

Theo knelt nearby, head bowed, Tink curled quietly in his lap. “He didn’t need words. He watched us become what he hoped we would.”

Aldryn approached slowly, leaning more heavily on his staff than usual. “He died a captain,” he said, voice rough. “And not just of a company.”

The group stood together, heads low, the shadows long behind them. But the faint sound of horns in the distance, blown from Cirol’s walls, called them back.

“We move,” Aldryn said. “He would’ve been the first to say it.” No one argued.

Lyra stepped forward, adjusting the strap of her sword. “We can’t bury him.”

“No,” Jaxson said. “But we can finish the fight he started.”

They fashioned a cairn from broken stones, simple and unmarked. Thorne stood watch beside it until Boaz whispered something only the lynx could hear. Then they turned, one by one, and made their way down the slope; toward the river, and the war still waiting for them.

The fellowship followed the river’s mossy scent down a sloping trail lined with pale birches and moss-wrapped roots. The sounds of the siege were no longer distant; the clash of steel and roar of siege engines rumbled in the earth now, rising from Cirol’s northern gate across the river.

Boaz moved quietly near the front. “Thorne says there’s movement ahead. A lot of it.”

Jaxson crouched on a rock outcropping just off the trail, Kestel circling overhead. “Tents,” he said. “Fires. War banners. It’s a camp.”

“How many?” Kiera asked, her hand tightening on her sling.

“Two dozen at first count,” Jaxson said.

“Mika says more: closer to fifty.” Lyra paused, listening to Mika. “They’re spread along the ridge near the culvert.”

Another pause. Even Aldryn exhaled slowly.

“It’s not a patrol,” Lyra said. “It’s a siege wall.”

Boaz frowned. “They’re trying to cut off the river: keep anyone from escaping or entering the city from the south, or the western gate.”

Theo glanced toward the tree line. “You think we can skirt them?”

“Not with fifty,” said Merran, shaking his head. “They’ve boxed in the terrain. The culvert’s the only way in now.”

From their position, they could hear rough Tulogan voices, carried on the smoke-sweet wind.

“I told you to watch the south bend, Wurrg!”

“And I told you, Varrik, I don’t take orders from a tuskless runt!”

“Tuskless?! Your second row was the first to soil itself when the riders came last week.”

“Better than hiding behind logs like a spotted cub.”

There was general laughter, grunted and sharp like stones cracking together. Peering through the branches, the fellowship saw the group: brutish and mismatched, with heights ranging from five to nearly eight feet. Some were stooped, others thick-necked and bald, their hides mottled with ash and paint. Their weapons were crude but deadly: axes, clubs, jagged spears.

A massive Tulogan with three ivory tusks sprouting from his back barked an order in their guttural tongue. Another Tulogan, thick-shouldered and scarred, echoed it with a sneer: “You heard Brukk: settle down or he’ll take your hides for tent leather.” Around them, the warband began to fall in line, some sharpening blades, others muttering curses as they prepared.

Boaz looked over the group. “Thoughts?”

“They’re ugly, loud, disorganized,” Theo said. “But fifty’s still fifty.”

“They’ll hear us if we wait too long,” Jaxson muttered. “We’ve got maybe a minute before patrols sweep this way again.”

Kiera spoke low and even. “We’ve come too far to go around.”

Mika growled in agreement, slinking up beside Lyra. The hyena’s hackles were raised.

Aldryn tapped his staff once on the stone beneath his feet. “We strike. Hit hard. Break their middle. If Merran can hold the river when the moment comes, we make for the culvert and don’t look back.”

Boaz hesitated, just for a breath, and nodded. “All right. Spread out. Keep to the brush. Jaxson, give us a minute to be in our places, then have Kestel give the signal from a high perch.”

Lyra spoke a soft word to Mika, who vanished into the woods.

Jaxson whispered to Kestel. “Above and fast. I need eyes on that left flank.”

Tink handed Theo a glowing rune stone. Theo looked at her and said, “Try not to die.”

Aldryn closed his eyes, whispering something old. Nevara flapped once, then soared into the smoky sky.

Boaz stepped forward, Thorne at his heel. The fire was already building in his hands.

The signal came with a sudden cry from Kestel, high and piercing. From the treeline, the fellowship surged forward.

Boaz led the charge, Thorne flanking low beside him. Fire sparked across his palms, then coiled into a focused burst that struck the nearest Tulogan cooking fire. The explosion knocked two warriors backward and sent several scrambling, coughing through smoke.

Jaxson blurred ahead in a streak of motion, blades flashing. He struck from the left, carving through the outer sentries before darting back into the mist. Kestel dove and spun, distracting a lumbering brute who swung blindly with a spiked mace.

Theo’s Golem came crashing through the brush, twice the height of a man, roaring in a voice that wasn’t quite human. It slammed into the Tulogan front line and broke a shield formation in half. Tink, who had been riding on it, whooped and leapt from its shoulder onto a stunned fighter’s back, pulling at his helmet straps.

Mika swept in with teeth bared. Lyra followed behind her familiar, crossbow loaded and steady. She fired once, reloaded, and fired again, each bolt finding its mark.

Kiera’s sling whistled, a precise shot dropping one Tulogan before she stepped forward with her mace. She moved with measured, practiced strikes, keeping herself between Theo and the nearest charging enemies. Eira circled above, crying out each time a new fighter broke from the trees.

The Tulogan reeled, surprised by the precision of the attack. For a moment, it worked. Several fell. Their formation bent.

Then they roared back.

Brukk, the three-tusked brute, raised his axe and bellowed something harsh in their native tongue. More warriors poured from behind the crude palisade, snarling, weapons raised. They surged forward, pushing the fellowship back toward the shallows.

One slammed into Theo’s Golem hard enough to stagger it. Another hurled a jagged spear at Jaxson, clipping his leg and forcing him to roll behind a tree. A Tulogan warhorn sounded across the river.

Aldryn stood firm, whispering and moving his staff in slow arcs. He didn’t release power yet, conserving his strength, but Nevara circled overhead and marked targets with low sweeps.

Boaz ducked a swinging club, then released a spray of flame low across the grass, his sword in his right hand. The flame forced three Tulogan to fall back, weapons hot to the touch. Thorne darted into the gap and clawed one across the thigh before spinning away.

Kiera caught one of the Tulogan who tried to flank them, her mace crunching into his ribs. Eira dropped a stone from above, striking another in the temple. Still, the enemy pressed in.

“We need to split their line!” Boaz shouted.

“They’re rallying!” Jaxson called from the left. Blood ran down his thigh but he kept moving. “If they lock shields again, we’re done!”

Merran stepped forward, face grim. He raised his arms and pulled at the water with his will. The river behind the Tulogan buckled, a crest of water surging up unnaturally. It didn’t crash, but twisted mid-air and slammed into the enemy line. Several were swept from their feet. Two were dragged under.

“Push now!” Aldryn shouted.

Tink shouted something unintelligible as Theo’s Golem lumbered back into position. It grabbed one of the fallen Tulogan and hurled him into the palisade, smashing through a section of it. Mika and Lyra charged through the breach, catching the stunned guards off-balance.

More Tulogan roared in protest, but their unity began to crack.

Boaz felt it too: the momentum tipping. He raised both hands, channeling fire through his fingertips into a searing whip. It lashed across a Tulogan spear-wielder, scattering the front rank.

“Form up! Stay close!” Kiera barked. “We’ve got them moving.”

For a breathless moment, the fellowship began to press forward again. But they were not done yet.

Brukk roared again, a deep sound that made the hair on Boaz’s neck stand up. From the rear, a new wave of Tulogan warriors approached, this group heavier and more armored. One of them wore a crude bronze crown welded into his helm.

Aldryn looked grim. “They’ve kept their champions in reserve.”

The armored Tulogan champions advanced, snarling and clanging their weapons against dented shields. Their leader stood nearly a head taller than the others, a thick bronze crown fused into the jagged iron of his helm. His voice cut through the clamor like a drumbeat, rallying the warriors behind him into a thundering charge.

Boaz didn’t wait. Fire gathered in his hands, but as he loosed the first blast, a javelin clipped his upper arm. He stumbled back, clutching the wound, flame sputtering. Thorne leapt in front of him, low and silent, warding off a follow-up strike.

“I’ve got him!” Lyra shouted, appearing beside Boaz in a blink. She dragged him back behind a tree, then vanished again, her crossbow raised and ready.

Theo dropped to a crouch behind a rock outcropping, conjured another smaller Golem from the earth, then loaded a bolt with quick, practiced hands. His first shot buried itself in the throat of a Tulogan who had just breached their forward line. Then, with a nod to Tink, he charged forward, twin hand-axes swinging in quick arcs. His larger Golem matched him stride for stride, clearing space with wide, brutal swipes. Tink darted around their ankles, planting the smaller Golem with a hiss and a grin.

Kiera’s sling whirled and snapped. One stone cracked a champion’s skull; the next took a second fighter through the eye, dropping him instantly. When one got too close, she stepped forward, mace raised, and broke his knee with a side-swing before finishing him with a downward blow. Eira shrieked above her, disorienting any who tried to flank.

Jaxson had not been idle. With Kestel guiding him from above, he moved in and out of the skirmish, slashing tendons, disarming stunned fighters, and pulling Tulogan away from the others with targeted precision. His speed and aerial awareness made him nearly untouchable, despite his leg wound.

Mika circled the battlefield with low, deadly precision. Lyra, now fully in sync with her familiar, disappeared and reappeared near weakened fighters, finishing them with sword or bolt. Once, Mika drove a warrior down, and Lyra finished the job with a clean thrust.

The battle surged. Merran summoned another wall of water, not as wide as before, but fast and high. It crashed down into a group of charging Tulogan, flattening them long enough for Aldryn to strike. This time, not with radiant force, but with a short, sharp blast of concentrated wind that knocked their banner carrier into a heap.

Brukk, the three-tusked champion, howled in rage. The Tulogan were faltering, but not broken. The rear guard began to form a wedge, driving toward the center where Boaz was recovering.

“We need to break now or we won’t make it,” Aldryn said. “The culvert’s close, but they’ll cut us off if we hesitate.”

Boaz rose, face pale, blood trailing down his arm. “Then we don’t hesitate.”

Theo’s Golem slammed its fists together and threw itself into the wedge, slowing the enemy. The smaller Golem, now grown to man-sized, locked with two Tulogan champions, holding them in place with brute strength. Mika and Thorne struck opposite flanks, while Eira and Kestel worked the skies, dropping stones and shrieking.

“Back to the river!” Merran called. “I can hold the water for only seconds!”

One by one, the companions broke free from the melee and sprinted for the culvert. Boaz trailed last, helped by Lyra and protected by Thorne.

At the river’s edge, Merran stood waist-deep, his hands raised. The current bent backward in an arc of water, revealing the slick stone floor beneath. The culvert yawned ahead like a dark throat.

“Go!” Merran shouted.

Kiera slipped in first, followed by Theo and Tink, then Jaxson and Lyra. Mika vanished into the dark behind them. Boaz and Aldryn came last. The older mage, drained but resolute, leaned on Boaz’s good shoulder as they staggered through the shallows.

Merran dropped in and the river surged forward once more, closing behind them with a roar.

The Tulogan never saw where they had gone.

The roar of the river sealed behind them, muffled by moss-slicked stone and twisting passage. The culvert was dark, damp, and low-ceilinged — barely enough room to stand upright. Moisture clung to the curved walls, and the air tasted of limestone and old decay.

Boaz kneeled down, set down his pack, and rummaged through it. He produced a small bundle of torches and flint and steel, which he struck together, the sparks dancing onto the pitch-wrapped end of a torch. It flared, casting a flickering orange glow that stretched their shadows along the tunnel. He passed two more to Lyra and Jaxson.

“Glad we thought to bring these from Coralhaven,” he said, wincing as he shifted his injured arm.

Kiera was already kneeling beside him. “You shouldn’t have waited this long.”

“Didn’t seem so urgent while we were being attacked.”

She didn’t smile. Her fingers hovered over the torn flesh. “The javelin was a Tulogan weapon. Filthy. I can feel something in the wound… like rot creeping in.”

Boaz looked away. “So… not just a patch job?”

“No.” Her brows furrowed. “I’ll need to draw it out before I close it. Hold still.”

Eira fluttered down beside her, the owl’s eyes bright with watchfulness. Kiera closed her own and placed a hand lightly above the wound. A faint glow began to gather: not radiant, but soft and pulsing, like moonlight beneath water.

Boaz stiffened as a slow heat spread through the wound. Not painful, exactly, but insistent. As if something deeper than flesh was being pulled into the open. He felt pressure, then cold. Kiera exhaled, and the glow faded.

“It’s clean now,” she said quietly. “But don’t stretch it.”

Boaz gave a faint nod. “Thank you.”

Nearby, Theo sat against the wall, crossbow resting across his knees, Tink curled beside him in a tight, twitching ball of fur. Mika paced just ahead, sniffing the stale tunnel air. Merran sat with his eyes closed, shoulders hunched and breathing uneven. His legs dangled in the shallow runoff channel, boots off and soaked through.

“I’ve used more magic in one day than I have in a year,” he muttered. “I’m not built for this.”

“You’re still standing,” Jaxson said, offering a half-smile. “More than we can say for most.” Kiera came over and tended his leg wound, which was not deep. She made sure there was no poison.

Lyra took a place near the bend, crossbow raised, torch jammed into a wall sconce so she could see both ways.

Aldryn stood apart, one hand on Nevara’s back, the other resting on his staff. He looked older in this light, and not just from age. There was weight in his posture: of loss, of duty, of choices still ahead.

“We move soon,” he said softly. “This passage should bring us into the lower wards… if the culvert hasn’t collapsed or been sealed.”

“And if it has?” Theo asked.

“Then we dig, or we die,” Aldryn said. Silence followed.

Boaz shifted, tested his arm. It still burned, but the sharp edge of pain had dulled. He met the others’ eyes in turn. Tired. Bloody. Determined. “No turning back now,” he said. “Let’s see what’s left of Cirol.”

They pressed onward into the dark.

The culvert narrowed the farther they went, its walls bowing inward as if the stone itself had grown weary. Boaz’s torch flickered across jagged seams where time had warped the masonry, and the footing turned slick with moss. Their footsteps echoed in unpredictable rhythms, always one too many, as if something unseen followed just behind.

“We’re too quiet,” Theo muttered, adjusting the strap on his crossbow. “I’m starting to miss the sound of people trying to kill us.”

“No, you’re not,” Lyra said.

“I said starting to.”

Kiera glanced back at them, her voice low. “Stay focused. These tunnels could branch. We can’t afford to split.”

“We won’t,” Boaz said, though his tone carried more determination than certainty.

The air grew thicker, more metallic. The stink of old water and something fouler — smoke, maybe? — seeped through the seams in the stone. They passed beneath a rusted drainpipe where faint murmurs echoed down. Boaz paused and tilted his head. “Voices?”

Aldryn nodded slowly. “Soldiers, perhaps. The streets above are not empty.”

Nevara glided ahead, wings silent in the gloom. The raven curved upward through a grate cracked open at the edge of the ceiling, then returned moments later with a soft caw.

“She’s found something,” Aldryn murmured. “There’s an old flood bypass chamber not far. Likely built before the last reconstruction of Cirol. Could lead upward.”

They pressed on. Mika scouted ahead, her padded paws almost silent. Tink darted behind her, ears twitching, occasionally pausing to sniff a discolored wall or tilt her head at a distant sound only she could hear.

Boaz slowed his pace, falling into step beside Merran.

“You doing alright?” he asked.

Merran grunted. “Just trying not to fall face-first into mold.”

Boaz gave a dry smile, but his eyes stayed sharp. He felt the weight again: not just of the sword on his hip or the torch in his hand, but the company around him. Their strength had grown, yes, but so had their dependence on one another. They weren’t the same uncertain group that had left the warden camp. And now, they were leaderless. Cayden’s absence pressed into the air like an open wound.

Eventually, Nevara circled once and descended to a pile of loose bricks. She tapped her beak against the wall: once, twice, then hopped to the side. A seam of mortar was visible beneath the grime.

“There,” Aldryn said. “Smugglers’ hatch, or old maintenance access.”

Jaxson tested the edge with his knife and found a latch. It groaned open with a reluctant scrape of stone on rusted metal. A blast of stale, dry air greeted them.

Above: stairs. Steep. Cracked. Leading up and out of the dark.

Boaz glanced behind them once more before lifting the torch. “Let’s go.”

The stone hatch opened into a narrow stairwell carved between the foundations of buildings long buried. The air shifted as they stepped through, warmer, but laced with soot. Boaz lifted his torch higher and saw the stair curve sharply upward, vanishing into shadow.

“Up we go,” Lyra said, voice low. “Again.”

Jaxson took the lead, sword drawn, with Kestel soaring ahead in tight spirals through the stairwell’s upper reaches. Boaz followed, torch in one hand, his other gripping the stair rail to steady his steps. The pain in his arm still burned, but Kiera’s healing had held.

As they climbed, the sounds of battle grew clearer: no longer muffled echoes but distinct rhythms. Screams. Steel. Roars. The pounding cadence of siege drums. Somewhere ahead, something exploded with a wet, cracking sound.

“They’re still fighting,” Kiera whispered.

“Which means the city hasn’t fallen,” Aldryn said from below, his staff clicking against the steps. “Not yet.”

The stair twisted again, then again; an ancient spiral long forgotten, its stones grooved and pitted by time and damp. On the third turn, they paused. Boaz had stopped, his hand on the wall, eyes closed.

“You alright?” Lyra asked.

“Just… thinking.” He opened his eyes. “Cayden always walked at the front. Took the first arrow. Made the first cut.”

“Not this time,” Jaxson said, quietly.

They moved on.

Halfway up, Merran slipped, catching himself against the wall with a wince. Lyra offered a steadying hand without a word. He took it.

“Not made for climbing,” he muttered.

“You and me both,” she replied. “But here we are.”

As they neared the top, the smoke grew thicker. Boaz held his torch close to his face and saw the haze in the air, rising through cracks in the ceiling, drawn down from vents and broken stones.

A soft whoosh sounded above, and Nevara reappeared, wings glinting faintly in the torchlight. She circled once and cawed. “She’s found the hatch,” Aldryn said. “It’s not sealed.”

“Good,” said Theo. “Because I’d rather not fight a stone wall right now.”

The final few steps opened into a cramped landing and a corroded iron grate. Boaz pressed against it. It didn’t budge.

“Tink,” Theo called softly. “Want to give it a look?”

The raccoon scampered up his back and onto the grate. She sniffed, then reached a tiny paw into a recess none of the others had seen. A click. A pop. The grate shifted.

Together, they pushed it aside.

Cool, open air hit them like a slap; tainted with smoke and ash, but free. They emerged one by one into a ruined courtyard, the stone cracked, the dry fountain in its center broken and choked with ash. Walls loomed close on either side: abandoned homes, windows shuttered, doors barred.

But the sky above… glowed orange with flame. Jaxson turned slowly in place, taking it in. “We’re inside Cirol,” he said. “But we’re not safe.”

Screams rang out in the near distance. The boom of impact against a distant wall. And high above, the groan of strained wood. The siege.

Boaz gripped his torch and looked toward the narrow alley ahead. “To the ramparts,” he said. “We need to see it with our own eyes.”

The streets of Cirol’s lower districts were a churn of motion and desperation.

Wounded soldiers slumped against broken walls. Civilians carried water and bandages through makeshift triage camps. Children were nowhere to be seen. The air smelled of ash, sweat, and something metallic, faintly sour: burnt iron, maybe, or blood on stone.

Aldryn led them forward, his step slow but deliberate. A city guard recognized him immediately, saluted in weary surprise, and pointed them toward the wall.

“Post Commander’s up there. You’ll want to see for yourselves.”

They climbed a narrow stair set into the inner rampart. At the top, wind hit them like a slap. Boaz blinked against the smoke and dust. They had arrived.

From the west-facing wall, the land rolled down into a field of churned earth, burning debris, and siege. The enemy host covered the horizon like spilled ink: disorganized in places, brutally efficient in others.

Boaz counted four siege towers in various stages of approach. Each was pulled by massive Tulogan in pairs; some tusked and towering, others lean and long-limbed, arguing even as they heaved forward. Around them clustered camps: cookfires, weapons racks, tents made from hide and rough canvas. Tulogan warriors sharpened blades, yelled insults, or beat on war drums with massive clubs.

Near the rear, squads of Fallen waited in eerie stillness with their Handlers, who were masked and robed, each standing like a dead tree with a leash of darkness in its hand. The air around them shimmered faintly, disturbed only when a command snapped forward and one squad moved like wolves released.

Cirol’s defenses were showing their wear. The wall to their left had been scorched in some earlier strike. Archers leaned between crenellations, loosing arrows in measured rhythm. Below, in the city courtyard, unfurled the banners of more than a dozen noble Huma houses: blue and silver of House Ferren, black bear of House Morvant, the winged horse of House Enrel.

Jaxson leaned forward, trying to make out the crests. “Are those… noble houses?”

Aldryn nodded. “Yes. Some I know by banner, others by reputation. House Ferren’s known for their ridgeward scouts: fast, light cavalry. Morvant holds the north forests. Enrel, the high plains. This is every banner within a week’s ride.”

Kiera looked over the edge at the massed horde of besiegers. “They’re not just Tulogan. There’s organization here. Discipline.“

Jaxson squinted. “Handlers are keeping the Fallen back. They’re letting the brutes batter us first.”

Theo rested his crossbow on the stone lip of the wall. “Well, they’re doing a fine job of it.”

A flaming bolt screamed past them, slamming into a distant tower with a crash that shook the stone. Debris spiraled upward like a phoenix of rubble. Merran hissed. “They’ll test us until they find the weakness. Then they’ll push.”

Boaz remained silent. His hand went to his chest, where the Sigil leaf lay beneath his shirt. It throbbed faintly. Not warning, just aware.

From farther up the wall, a grizzled officer barked orders. Younger soldiers ran past, hauling crates of arrows and spears. The defenders looked thin: tired eyes, bandaged limbs, grit layered on sweat, but they stood their posts.

As the group settled near the wall, a young courier approached. Dirt was caked under his eyes, and his arm was in a sling.

“You from Coralhaven?” he asked. “We heard a report from our scouts that something’s been happening at the lake. Commander said to keep an eye out for you.”

Aldryn nodded. “We came through. Barely.”

“Good. We need all we can get.”

The courier pointed to the banners below. “House Morvant’s cavalry came down from the hills three nights ago. Lost a third before they even hit the gate. Enrel’s archers are holding the northeast. Ferren’s doing what they can on the ridge. We’re holding, but… not for long. I’ll get my captain.”

He saluted and disappeared into the dark of the wall’s interior.

A moment later, a figure in battered Cirol livery approached: an officer with gray at the temples and a long scar down his jaw. His eyes swept across the group, then fixed on Aldryn.

“Storm and stone,” he muttered. “It is you, Aldryn. You and your crew are back.”

Aldryn inclined his head. “Captain Darrin.”

Darrin stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I saw you all at the gate five days ago. Didn’t expect to see you again, not walking.” His eyes shifted, scanning the fellowship. “Where’s Cayden?”

The question hit like a stone. Aldryn’s voice was quiet. “He fell. Held the line so we could reach the city.”

Darrin’s jaw tightened. He looked down, then out across the battlefield. “He was the best of us. I served under him when I was green. We’ll hold the line in his name.” He paused and glanced over the company. “You all look more tired than I feel. You should go to the citadel to rest a little, then join us, if you can.”

He clasped Aldryn’s forearm with a soldier’s grip, firm and final, before turning to shout fresh orders.

Jaxson let out a breath. “They weren’t ready.”

“No one ever is,” Kiera said, eyes scanning the far siege tower.

Aldryn stepped to the rampart edge. “They’ve drawn together. This isn’t just a raid. It’s the first stroke of something larger.”

Jaxson frowned. “And we’re the wall they’ve chosen to break.”

Lyra leaned on her longsword. “Better here than scattered and running.”

Theo helped pass a crate of bolts along the wall, sweat streaking through the grime on his face. “The view’s nice, at least.”

Boaz turned to the others, letting the sights burn themselves into his memory. Smoke curling into dusk. Drums pounding like distant thunder. The flutter of war banners, both friend and foe.

As the wind shifted, the smell of burning pitch and blood drifted stronger. A horn echoed again, closer now. The defenders tensed. Arrows were notched. A trebuchet creaked into position.

Below, the Tulogan roared and surged, testing Cirol’s will. Boaz didn’t flinch. He squared his shoulders and looked to the others. “We hold,” he said at last. “Until something breaks. Or we do.” No one argued.

They had come seeking answers, but now the city needed defenders.

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