Citadel Under Siege

The first boulder struck the western wall with a thunderous crack, sending a tremor through the stone beneath Kael's boots. Dust rained from the battlements as he steadied himself, his grip tightening on the hilt of his spirit dagger. Around him, the Legion's defenders scrambled—archers nocking arrows, mages muttering incantations, soldiers bracing shields against the coming storm.

"They're not waiting for dawn," growled Veyra, her scarred face lit by the flickering glow of fire arrows streaking overhead. She spat into the dirt. "Cowards."

Kael didn't answer. The enemy had never been ones for honor. The Black Maw's forces stretched across the valley below, a sea of torchlight and steel, their war drums pounding like a dying heartbeat. The Citadel of the Twelfth Legion was the last bastion standing between them and the heartlands—and they meant to break it.

A horn blared from the enemy ranks, and the second wave surged forward. Siege ladders scraped against the walls as grappling hooks bit into the parapets. Kael moved on instinct, slicing through a rope before the first invader could crest the battlements. The man fell with a scream, swallowed by the chaos below.

"Mages!" Captain Dain bellowed from the central tower. "We need cover on the east gate!"

Kael risked a glance toward the crumbling gatehouse. The Maw's battering ram was already in motion, its iron head wreathed in void magic—a sickly purple haze that ate at the reinforced oak like rot. If it fell, the Legion wouldn't hold.

Veyra cursed, slamming her fist against the stone. "Where in the hells is Ryn?"

As if summoned, a gust of wind howled through the courtyard below. The air shimmered, and then Ryn was there, her silver hair whipping around her face as she landed in a crouch, her staff crackling with aether. She didn't pause. With a sweep of her arm, she sent a surge of raw energy toward the gate. The battering ram shuddered, its void shield flickering under the assault.

"That won't hold them long," Ryn shouted over the din. Her voice was strained, her hands trembling—mana exhaustion. Kael had seen it before. She was pushing herself too hard.

He vaulted down the nearest stairway, dodging a stray arrow as he sprinted toward her. "You're going to burn out."

She flashed him a sharp grin, though her eyes were shadowed. "Then you'd better make it count."

A roar erupted from the walls. Kael turned just in time to see the first of the Maw's shock troops breach the defenses—hulking figures clad in black iron, their weapons dripping with poison. Berserkers.

Veyra met the first one head-on, her twin axes a blur. Steel clashed, sparks flying as she drove the brute back, but another took its place. The Legion's line wavered.

Kael didn't hesitate. He raised his spirit dagger, feeling the familiar pull of mana as the blade ignited with blue flame. The magic seared through him, sharp and clean, a contrast to the creeping dread of the void. He lunged into the fray.

The berserker swung a massive cleaver, but Kael twisted beneath it, driving his dagger into the gap in the enemy's armor. The man howled as the spirit flame consumed him from within, his body collapsing into embers.

For a moment, the tide seemed to turn. The Legion rallied, pushing the invaders back. But then the ground trembled—not from siege engines, but from something deeper. Something unnatural.

A fissure split the courtyard, jagged and black. From its depths rose a figure wrapped in shadows, its form shifting like smoke. The air turned frigid.

"Voidbringer," Ryn whispered, her face pale.

Kael's blood ran cold. The Maw hadn't just come to conquer. They'd come to unleash hell.

The creature lifted a hand, and the nearest soldiers screamed as their flesh withered, their life force draining into the abyss.

Captain Dain's voice cut through the panic. "Fall back to the inner keep! Mages, shield formation!"

Kael grabbed Ryn's arm, dragging her toward the retreating line. "We need to go. Now."

She resisted, her gaze locked on the Voidbringer. "I can slow it down."

"You'll die."

Her jaw set. "Then I die."

Before he could argue, she wrenched free and sprinted toward the monstrosity, her staff blazing with desperate light. Kael swore, turning to follow—but a hand yanked him back.

Veyra's grip was iron. "Don't be a fool. We hold the keep or we lose everything."

He wanted to fight her. Wanted to charge after Ryn and drag her back from the edge. But the Legion was crumbling, and the Citadel was all that stood between the Maw and the thousands of souls beyond its walls.

Gritting his teeth, Kael turned away.

The last thing he saw before the gates of the inner keep slammed shut was Ryn's silhouette, small and defiant, as she raised her staff against the dark.

And then the world exploded in light.

---

The silence that followed was worse than the battle.

Kael stood in the dim torchlight of the keep's hall, his hands shaking, his dagger cold. Around him, the survivors huddled—wounded, exhausted, waiting for the end.

Veyra leaned against the wall, her axes bloodied, her breathing ragged. "She bought us time. That's all."

Kael didn't answer. Time for what? Another hour? A final, futile stand?

Then the ground shook again.

But this time, it wasn't the Voidbringer.

From the north, beyond the Citadel's walls, a horn sounded—clear and bright, cutting through the gloom.

Captain Dain's head snapped up. "That's not the Maw."

Kael rushed to the nearest arrow slit, his heart pounding.

On the horizon, banners fluttered in the dawn light. Golden wings on a field of crimson.

The Twelfth Legion's reinforcements had arrived.

And with them, hope.