The battlefield trembled.
Chains snapped. From the eastern field, where the Orvanian siege had faltered, rose something ancient. A figure, monstrous and bound in glowing shackles, towered over man and horse alike. Its skin was dark like petrified stone, muscles rippling with inhuman power. Eyes like molten coals turned toward Zarethrone's ramparts.
A horn sounded. Not for men. But for monsters.
Kaelith gripped his sword tightly, the weight of it forgotten as fury rose in his chest.
"What is that?" Ronan asked, stepping beside him.
Kaelith didn't look away. A beast of old blood. Forbidden by war laws. Summoned to destroy kingdoms, not armies.
"They've gone mad," Ronan muttered.
From the ramparts, the great beast roared again. Its chains had shattered, and its black-scaled body rose like a mountain above the battlefield. Claws thicker than spears. Eyes burning with unnatural fire. It moved with fury, swiping through soldiers like dry leaves.
From the steps, Hale descended fast, armour clinking with every stride. His face was pale, but his eyes locked only on one man.
"Don't come down," Kaelith shouted without turning. His sword was already drawn. "Stay in position."
But Hale kept coming.
Kaelith turned sharply, voice harder. "That's an order."
Hale didn't stop. He kept walking through the falling ash and smoke. And this isn't a moment for orders, he said, his voice calm but firm. You'll need someone watching your flank.
Upon the ridge, Ronan watched the two of them. Watched the way Kaelith's jaw clenched when Hale spoke. Watched the way Kaelith didn't force him back. That wasn't fear for the kingdom. That was a fear for him.
Kaelith didn't argue.
He just gave a small nod and turned back to the chaos. From the second line. Archers to the towers. Aim for its joints. Make it bleed.
The ground thundered as the creature charged, bellowing like the voice of death itself.
Shield wall. Ronan barked.
Steel slammed into position. The first blow came like a quake. Soldiers stumbled. Some were thrown. The beast swiped its arm and sent five men crashing against the walls like dolls.
Kaelith led the charge from the centre. His sword found the creature's thigh. Black blood spilt, hissing where it touched the earth. Ronan flanked him on the left, his movements sharp and fluid, a blade master in motion.
But Hale never left Kaelith's side.
They fought in tandem, blades crossing, shields covering. More than soldiers. More than prince and guard.
When the beast howled and sent Kaelith stumbling, Hale grabbed him before he could fall.
"You all right?"
Kaelith didn't answer. He just looked at Hale a second longer than necessary.
Ronan caught the look.
He saw the closeness. The care. The way Kaelith reacted more to Hale's voice than to a general's command.
But he said nothing.
They had a beast to kill.
More soldiers surged forward, fighting shoulder to shoulder with the reinforcements from Vaelaris. The two kingdoms, once separate, now fought as one.
The beast reeled back, legs bleeding, fire sputtering from its jaws.
Now. Kaelith shouted. "Take it down!"
A final barrage of fire arrows soared through the night. A direct hit struck the creature's eye. It screamed a terrible sound, one that shook the stone towers.
And then it fell.
The ground cracked beneath its weight.
Silence.
Then, a roar of victory.
Kaelith collapsed to one knee, panting. Hale dropped beside him, a hand on his back, steadying him.
Behind them, King Aldric arrived at the gates, sword drawn but eyes wide at the sight of the fallen monster.
"It's done," Elion said quietly.
Lysaro nodded, blood on his cheek, eyes scanning the ruined field.
But something else had finally begun.
All across the battlefield, soldiers stood frozen staring at the carcass of the monster as if expecting it to rise again.
Its death had been thunderous, but the quiet it left behind was even louder.
Some wept. Others dropped their swords as if waking from a nightmare.
No one cheered this time. They simply… breathed."
Kaelith stood over the beast's corpse, breath heaving, blood trickling from a fresh cut at his brow. Around him, the armies of Zarethrone and Vaelaris moved in unison, disarming enemies, dragging the injured to safety, or standing still, wide-eyed with disbelief The war was not just survived. It was won.
From across the blood-slick stones, Hale approached. His armour was battered, his hair wet with sweat, but he was alive.
Kaelith's gaze flicked toward him instinctively, his jaw softening just slightly. Hale met his eyes as he passed, brushing shoulders briefly.
Hale murmured, nodding toward a smear of ash on Kaelith's cheek.
Kaelith wiped it with the back of his hand. "I was a little busy killing monsters."
"I noticed. Very regal."
Ronan, still winded from the final charge, raised an eyebrow as he walked up beside them. "Tell me I'm not the only one seeing this."
Kaelith straightened, clearing his throat. "He follows orders. That's all."
"Sure," Ronan smirked. "And my horse knows ballet."
From the western ridge, horns blew again, this time not of war but of victory. Civilians began to emerge slowly from behind barricaded windows, blinking at the daylight that now broke through the smoke. Children were pulled back into their arms. The terrified became the mourning. The mourning became grateful.
Atop the tower, King Aldric stepped forward. His cloak, torn at the edge, dragged lightly in the wind. His expression was grave but proud.
"Let it be known," he said aloud, his voice echoing across the broken walls, "Zarethrone does not fall. Not by steel. Not by monsters. And not by cowards who hide behind beasts."
A roar of approval rose from the remaining knights.
But the field was not fully cleared. From the Orvanian line, a final rider, wounded but alive, called out. His armor marked him as one of Orvania's highest warlords.
He spat blood on the earth. "This isn't the end. We will return. We will burn your royal veins and take every drop of blood you've stolen from our land."
King Aldric took a slow step forward. "You came to my gates with fire," he growled. You brought war to my people unprovoked. When I come for your blood, I will know that it will not be because I thirst. It will be because justice does.
The Orvanian retreated, dragging what was left of his forces into the forest beyond. Their flags did not flutter they dragged like chains.
The field slowly emptied. Soldiers knelt over friends. Healers began their rounds. The dead were counted.
Kaelith leaned against a broken pillar, finally letting the exhaustion show.
Hale returned with water, handing it to him silently.
"Don't look at me like that," Kaelith muttered, swallowing.
"Like what?"
"Like I almost died."
Hale gave a half-smile. "But you didn't."
Kaelith met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them.
Ronan, watching from a distance again let out a soft snort and shook his head.
He turned and walked toward the King.
King Aldric embraced Ronan with the strength of old comrades. "Your father will hear of this."
"I hope he does," Ronan replied. Maybe he'll finally stop sending me to boring borders.
As the sun dipped low, the fires of war cooled. But embers of something else stirred beneath the ashes, uncertain loyalty, buried emotions, and the hint of something tender wrapped in armor and guarded words.
Zarethrone had survived.
But what would rise next between kingdoms, between princes, between the brave and the broken was another war entirely.