Year 217 Post-Collapse

  Fortress of Dornhal, Eve of Battle

  The wind whistled through the crumbling towers of Dornhal, carrying the distant scent of enemy campfires. The sky, an unbroken expanse of gray, loomed over the fortress like a funeral shroud, ready to engulf it.

  Kael stood atop the ramparts, his gaze fixed on the horizon. In the distance, the dark silhouettes of Revaris’s soldiers stretched like a creeping tide. Torches flickered here and there, illuminating rows of tents and the siege engines being assembled at the forest’s edge.

  — "Impressive, isn’t it?"

  Darius’s deep voice pulled Kael from his thoughts. The former mercenary stepped forward, his broad frame casting a long shadow under the dim twilight. He wore his reinforced leather armor, worn from years of battle, and bore his signature wolfish grin.

  Kael nodded slowly.

  — "He doesn’t do things halfway."

  Lysara, standing nearby, approached as well. Her sharp gaze, accentuated by the soot marks smeared across her face, seemed to pierce through the darkness.

  — "Our scouts estimate he’s gathered at least two thousand men. Mostly veterans. He’s set up trebuchets at the forest’s edge."

  Kael sighed inwardly. They were only eight hundred strong. The fortress gave them an advantage, but a prolonged siege would doom them.

  Darius crossed his arms, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

  — "We don’t have the strength to repel a full assault. So, what’s your plan?"

  Kael stared at the enemy lines for a moment before answering.

  — "We strike before dawn."

  A heavy silence fell over his officers.

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  — "An attack at night?" Lysara asked, surprised.

  Kael turned to her, his gaze as sharp as the blade at his hip.

  — "Revaris expects a siege. He thinks we’ll bunker down and wait. We’ll catch him off guard."

  Darius let out a booming laugh.

  — "I like this plan."

  A few hours later, under the cover of a moonless night, Kael and a hundred of his best warriors slipped out of the fortress through an old tunnel, dug long before their arrival.

  The air was frigid, and every step in the mud felt too loud in the suffocating silence.

  They moved across the plains, crouching in the tall grass whenever an enemy patrol passed too close. Kael could hear the rapid thudding of his own heartbeat.

  The enemy camp loomed ahead—vast, disorganized. Revaris’s soldiers, confident in their numbers, had let their guard down.

  Kael raised a clenched fist—the signal.

  In an instant, his warriors leaped from the shadows, striking without mercy.

  The sentries were slain before they could raise the alarm. One by one, the tents were set ablaze. Oil was poured over supply carts and arrow stockpiles.

  Panic erupted as flames consumed the camp. Kael’s warriors struck fast and hard, cutting down enemies before they even had time to react.

  Kael himself fought at the heart of the chaos, deflecting a clumsy strike before driving his blade into an enemy’s chest. Blood sprayed across his face, but he paid it no mind. He sidestepped another attack, cleaving through a soldier’s skull with ruthless precision.

  Darius, roaring like a demon, gutted one opponent with a sweeping axe strike before slamming his shield into another, crushing the man beneath its weight. Lysara, swift and deadly, weaved through the battlefield, her daggers finding every gap in enemy armor.

  But already, war horns were sounding in the distance.

  Kael gave the retreat order. His men slipped away into the darkness as reinforcements poured into the burning camp.

  Behind them, the enemy’s base burned like a funeral pyre.

  At dawn, Revaris stood before the smoldering remains of his camp, his jaw clenched in barely contained fury.

  — "That Kael…" he murmured. "He’s more cunning than I thought."

  Beside him, his captain scowled.

  — "He’s weakened us, but not enough to change the battle’s outcome. Dornhal will fall today."

  Revaris nodded, his expression dark.

  — "Then let’s make sure they remember this day."

  He raised his arm and gave the order to attack.

  On the ramparts of Dornhal, Kael watched the advancing tide of soldiers. He tightened his grip on his sword, feeling the rush of adrenaline surge through his veins.

  Today, they would carve their names into history.