The Crimson Dawn

Still, the dawn's pale light could not dispel the blood-soaked reality of the battle. Smoke lay heavy in the air, suffocating veil over the fortress. The cries of the wounded mixed with the clangor of steel, creating a macabre symphony of war. Galarcia's forces seemed relentless; their siege engines wheeled closer now, lobbing boulders and fire into our midst.

Chris and I stood shoulder to shoulder on the parapet, sweat and blood streaking our faces. The advance of the Blackwood Legion was swift, a precision assault meant to cripple us before reinforcements could stabilize the lines.

"Where's the second wave of our troops?" Chris yelled over the din.

A runner emerged from the chaos, clutching his side. "They're delayed! Enemy ambush in the valley!"

He slammed his fist against the stone wall. "Damn it!"

I stepped forward, my voice slicing through the turmoil like a blade. "We can't rely on them. If the valley's lost, then this is the line. This wall is all we have!"

When Chris's eyes met mine, I saw the same weariness that lined my bones, but he was in no position to be hesitant. He nodded and roared out to the men, "Form ranks! Hold steady!"

The men stiffened, battered as they were, with their formation. They knew as well as we did: retreat was not an option. Behind us lay not just the villagers but the hope of any future beyond this night.

A roar went up from the tower, now spitting forth fresh enemies onto the wall. Their armor shone with the wet sheen of blood, and their swords sang as they struck. I raised my blade and cut down the first assailant with a swift strike to his neck.

To my right, Chris fought like a demon unleashed. His sword moved in deadly arcs, carving through the enemy with a ferocity that inspired the men around him.

The battle raged, each heartbeat a struggle to survive. My arms ached from the weight of my sword, my vision narrowed by exhaustion. I stumbled over fallen comrades but kept moving, kept fighting.

Then came the sound that ran down my spine—a deep, guttural rumble.

"Siege ram!" Chris shouted.

Below, Galarcia's engineers wheeled forth a monstrous battering ram, its iron head shaped like a snarling beast. It was aimed directly at the fortress gates, which had already begun to splinter under the relentless assault.

"Archers!" I cried. "Focus fire on the ram! Take out their engineers!"

The archers obeyed, releasing a hail of arrows. Many found their mark, felling the men pushing the ram. But more surged forward, undeterred. The ram's head crashed into the gates again, shaking the ground beneath our feet.

Chris turned to me, his voice grim. "We can't hold the gates much longer. If they break through—"

"They won't," I cut him off, though I wasn't sure if I believed it myself.

A new figure stepped forward from the enemy lines, cloaked in dark armor etched with silver runes. The commander of the Blackwood Legion, his presence exuding menace. He raised his sword high, and the enemy forces surged with renewed ferocity.

"Chloe," Chris said, low. "That one's mine."

I grabbed his arm, shaking my head. "You can't—"

"I have to," he said, cutting me off. "Keep the men together. If we lose this wall, it's over."

Before I could argue further, he leaped down into the fray, charging toward the enemy commander. I turned back to the soldiers, swallowing the fear rising in my throat.

"Hold the gates! Hold the wall! Do not let them through!"

Men roared in response, defiance shining in the mayhem. We fought like cornered wolves, each strike fueled by desperation and faint hope of survival.

From the corner of my eye I saw Chris fight the Blackwood commander. Their blades clashed in a dance of death, sparks flashing with each strike. Chris fought with everything he had, his movements a blur of speed and precision.

But the enemy commander was a man in his own right. He countered Chris's onslaught with ease, backhanded strokes bared with brutal precision. My heart grew tight as I saw Chris stumble and blood stain his side.

"Chris!" I yelled out, but my call was lost in the din of war.

The ram lashed at the gates again, a crash deafening it echoed through the fortress. Splinters flew as the ancient wood started to give.

But then came a sound I hadn't expected: a long horn blast, held out in joyous prolongation. This wasn't the Blackwood Legion, with their mournful horn's sad refrain; this sounded different.

From the western horizon, they appeared, banners unfolding in the breeze like the first promise of the morning. Salvation itself seemed shining in their armor.

"Reinforcements!" a soldier shouted, and our ranks erupted into cheers.

But the fight was far from being over. The gates were breaking down, and Chris continued to be grappled in mortal combat with the Blackwood commander.

I turned to the men and raised my sword into the air. "This is our chance! Push them back! For the fortress, for our people!"

With one voice, we rushed forward, rolling the enemy back, step by bloody step. The arriving reinforcements gave us strength and turned things in our favor.

And yet, amidst all of this, as I pushed to reach Chris, I knew one thing: the battle to hold the fortress, it wasn't just about survival; it was about sacrifice. And I feared that more of us might have to pay a price than we were willing to ante up.