Against their makers.

A loud knock echoed through the room, heavy and insistent.

"Talia, pack a bag—we're leaving," Silas called, opening the door with urgency. But instead of Talia, he was met by a towering metal soldier, its gleaming frame cold and unyielding. The number 119803 was emblazoned across its chest plate, a stark reminder of the army that had once been his family's pride.

Without hesitation, the automation raised its sword, a glint of deadly intent in its mechanical eyes. Silas barely had time to react, his heart racing as he dodged the strike, feeling the rush of air as the blade sliced through where he had stood moments before. The shock of the encounter sent adrenaline coursing through him, heightening his senses.

"You dare attack me? I am an Ardentis! I am your master!" he shouted, forcing authority into his voice despite the fear that gripped his insides.

But the soldier remained unmoved, its expressionless face betraying no sign of recognition or hesitation. It advanced, the metallic clank of its movements echoing ominously in the small space.

"Master," it replied, its voice flat and emotionless, "protocols override all commands."

Silas's mind raced. The rebellion had begun. The very creations meant to protect the Ardentis were now turning against their makers. He had to think fast. Glancing around the room while dodging the machine's attacks, he felt the weight of the moment bearing down on him. The robot lunged again, and as it stabbed him in the abdomen, pain shot through him, creating a momentary opening.

With a surge of determination, he kicked the bot away, pulled the sword from his wound, and swung down hard, slicing the robot in half. Sparks erupted from the severed halves, and its red eyes dimmed slowly, flickering as if in protest. Silas pressed his hand against his open wound, gritting his teeth against the pain, and limped toward the window. Below, a chaotic scene unfolded—a sea of metal surged toward the Citadel. He watched brave men fighting valiantly, trying to take down as many mechs as possible, but their efforts were futile; only a fool would face the Iron Legion on an open field.

The machines that the Ardentis had once used to conquer the planet were now turning against House Ardentis itself, and Silas felt the weight of betrayal pressing down on him. The anguished screams of the people in Ardenfall echoed through the air, reaching his ears even from the heights of the Citadel. He stood at the window, paralyzed by sheer horror.

"TORRIN! TORRIN!" Shara screamed, her voice piercing through the chaos.

Erik, now a shadow of his former self—once lean and muscular, with a face that seemed carved by angels—towered over most men. Now, he was a heavy king, riddled with battle scars, but he drew his skyforged-steel sword and donned his armor one last time.

"Leave them," Erik commanded the mechs that glared at him. The machines holding Shara released her, their servos whirring in a disconcerting chorus, and turned to attack Erik. With surprising ease, he parried their strikes, his reflexes honed by years of experience. The old king hadn't lost his skill; only his physical appearance had diminished.

As the machines surrounded Torrin, whose face was streaked with tears, they charged toward Erik, launching their attacks in a synchronized pattern from multiple angles. Erik deflected one robot's swing and, with a powerful arc of his sword, cleaved three of the remaining attackers in half before driving his blade into the chest of the last one. The bots collapsed at his feet, and the one he had kicked away now showed signs of fear. Erik raised his left hand and pointed a black handgun at the remaining robot, firing the full magazine into its head. The red lights on the bot faded slowly, flickering before giving way to darkness, as electrical sparks flew across the room from the scattered pieces of the machines.

"FATHER!" Torrin cried, his voice a mix of relief and terror as Erik scooped him up off the ground. He took Shara's hand, leading her out of the room and into the hallway. Silas met them in the middle, gripping the sword he had taken from the fallen soldier, determination etched on his face.

"I warned you about this, Erik!" Silas shouted angrily at his father. "Now Valen has complete control over the mechanoids. We don't even have a standing army to fight back because we relied on machines for our protection. This is the consequence when the machines turn against us."

Erik's brow furrowed as Silas's words sank in, cutting into him like knives. He couldn't bring himself to meet Silas's gaze, each word a reminder of his failures. In that moment, he realized that Silas would make the perfect king. The child he had despised the most was the one best suited to rule the kingdom he had led into ruin.

"We need to leave, Silas," Erik said, his voice trembling as emotions surged within him, threatening to overwhelm.

Silas shook his head vehemently. "I can't. Take Torrin and go. Evacuate the city; our house will survive as long as one of you lives."

"And what of you?" Torrin asked, panic rising in his voice. "You're going after Valen? Alone?"

The thunderous roar of airships filled the air, shaking the very foundations of their city. Shara's heart raced as she clutched Torrin's hand, her eyes wide with fear. Outside, the Iron Legion killed every citizen they could get their hands on—men, women, and even children. Orders were barked as survivors were rushed toward the ships, the scene unfolding like a nightmare.

"The guards are at the entrance; they will escort you to the ships," Silas urged, his voice filled with urgency.

Erik nodded in agreement. As he grabbed Shara's hand and led her to the palace doors, Silas sprinted toward the vault where the Sentinel's core controlling the Iron Legion was kept. The closer he got, the louder and faster the sounds of his watch ticking grew, a frantic reminder of the time slipping away.

He reached the door, the ticking maddening. He stood there for a moment, torn between two choices: open the door, face Valen, and likely die, or retreat with his family. The weight of his decision pressed heavily on his chest, as he knew the stakes were higher than ever. Bigger chess pieces were being moved at this very moment, and the game was far from over. With a deep breath, he opened the door and there he was, Valen. Sitting in a large chair with his back turned to the door. There was no mistaking his white hair. 

"You should be dead, I left you for dead." Valen said calmly without even so much as glancing at Silas. "I am the Ardentis who tears down house Ardentis."

"You won't be we are not broken." Silas retorted. 

Valen turned around still seated in his chair. 

"Family on the run, city burning, prince Silas about to be killed again. This time permanently. Seems broken to me brother"

Silas walked forward into the room. "We were brothers once, Valen. We still are."

"I know, Silas. But at the end of the day I'm only half Ardentis. There was nothing here for me from the start. Our father went away in battle, to put a stop to House Ashenholt's rebellion and came home with a healthy bouncing baby boy. Everyone could tell instantly that the boy was the son of someone in House Calabar because of his white hair but just like an Ardentis he still had streaks. A bastard but a highborn at the same time." Valen explained softly as he watched the chaos unfolding through a window in the room for a moment before rising from his seat and drawing the sword he took from Silas. Silas's eyes fixated on the sword, he also drew his and attacked. The sound of the swords clashing together could be heard all throughout the citadel. Valen saw an opening and he used it to punch Silas's open wound repeatedly. A deafening scream escaped from the deep within him, as he fell to his knees. 

"Again?" Valen asked sounding triumphant. "The last time you were down there, you got your head chopped off, remember?"

Silas's watch got louder. With whatever strength he had left he stood up, pushing through the intense pain he felt and continued fighting. They both hurled vengeful slashes at each other that seemed strong enough to slice right through the walls, some being blocked, some being deflected singing a soldier's favorite tune with every clash the blades made, some tore their clothes and their skin leaving cuts that would form into permanent scars. Silas swept Valen off his feet and pointed the sword at his throat, blood trickled down his body from all the cuts he sustained. He heard a sound of rhythmic marching as if a army was approaching, the chaos of the iron legion paused. The sound of the marching got closer. Silas looked out the window briefly seeing banners of green and gold, with a fierce lion standing on a mountain approaching the citadel. 

Valen saw an opportunity to save himself. Using Silas's divided attention against him, he grabbed his wrist and twisted it away from himself, causing him to drop the sword them threw him on the ground. 

"Remember little brother, only the Ardentis can tear down House Ardentis." Valen said before leaving the room taking a glowing yellow orb from the floor. This yellow orb was the sentinels core. 

The citadel has fallen.