The wind turned.
Not just in direction, but in tone—icy gusts no longer howling, but whistling through the arrow slits like whispers from the past. From the ramparts, Leon saw them coming: a new wave of soldiers, heavier-armoured than before, their boots churning the snow to mud.
"Second breach squad," Marien barked, already moving along the line. "Pikes forward. Crossbows target kneecaps—drop them before they reach the wall."
Leon adjusted his grip on the second blade. It no longer pulsed softly—it throbbed, resonating with the fortress itself. The walls beneath them no longer felt cold. They felt alive.
The enemy advanced in ranks, rams now escorted by tower shields bearing no sigil. These weren't honourable knights or bound orders—they were hired blades, expendable to the Council.
A horn sounded. Not theirs. One of the forward towers had spotted movement on the right flank.
"Diversion?" Elaine asked, eyes narrowing.
"Or an opening," Leon replied.
