Chapter 24: The Siege Begins

The rising sun had yet to crest the ice-cloaked mountains, but Caelrhime was already alive — not with peace, but with the low, pounding rhythm of preparation.

On the ramparts, watchmen pointed toward the horizon, where a dark smear of movement crept closer with every hour.

Inside the war chamber, Aurette and Seralyne stood with the other leaders — Aelric, the bloodline heads, captains of the guard. A large map of Caelrhime and its surrounding passes lay unrolled across the war table, pins marking choke points, supply caches, and fallback lines.

Seralyne’s voice cut across the room — steady, commanding.

“They come with siege weapons. With magic. And with numbers meant to swallow us whole.”

Murmurs rose. Some voices trembled.

“We barely survived the tribes—”

“And now we face a true army—”

“Will the reinforcements arrive in time—?”

“Enough,” Seralyne snapped.

The room silenced. Her gaze swept across the chamber.

“We cannot meet them in the open. That would be death. Our walls are ancient, but Caelrhime’s true strength lies in its bones — in the way it forces even the strongest enemy to crawl, not charge.”

She pointed to the outer streets.

“We will not defend the gates directly. Instead, we’ll fall back — collapse the alleys, rig choke points with traps and falling ice. Archers on every rooftop. Bottlenecks at every turn. If they wish to take Caelrhime, they must bleed for every step.”

Aelric added with a grim nod:

“Every corner they turn, we make it a kill zone.”

Aurette stepped forward, voice cold and clear.

“Our numbers are small, but that means we strike like shadows. Quick. Ruthless. We lead them in — then bury them.”

One of the older bloodline heads, Veylin of the Mornshade line, narrowed his eyes.

“And what of the reinforcements you speak of, Seralyne? From the Aeldenmarch?”

The name alone stirred discomfort. Uneasy glances passed between several elders. Another voice scoffed.

“Do we now rely on outsiders to hold our ground? Shall we kneel and beg for help like a shattered clan?”

Seralyne looked to Aurette. For a moment, the storm-born warrior said nothing.

Then her voice rang out — sharp and firm.

“Listen to me, all of you.”

They stilled. Her presence, carved from frost and fire, pulled every gaze.

“This is not a question of pride. This is survival. I bled for this place. I’ve seen the monster leading this army with my own eyes. Vaerond is no ordinary foe — he wields strength that shatters walls, and now he marches with dark mages and kingdoms under his banner.”

She took a breath.

“Caelrhime stands alone now. But if we stand alone tomorrow, we may not stand at all.”

A silence fell. Tense. Thoughtful. The elders glanced among themselves, unsure — but something in Aurette’s tone, in her unwavering stance, silenced their protest.

Seralyne spoke again, gentler now.

“The call has already been sent. Reinforcements may arrive in time… or they may not. But until they do, we hold. And we make our enemies remember why no one has ever broken Caelrhime.”

She pointed to the wall map again.

“Get the traps laid. Ration the supplies. Every soul in this fortress, fighter or not, has a role. If this is where we make our stand—”

Aurette finished for her, voice like ice and steel.

“Then let it be the place they break their blades.”

The winds of Caelrhime had gone still — a silence far more unsettling than the storm that once howled through its icy streets. In that silence, every heartbeat, every breath felt too loud.

On the outer ramparts, scouts peered through frosted scopes and glass lenses. One of them, a wiry man named Theren, slowly lowered his looking glass, his face pale beneath the cowl of his snow-masked cloak.

“They’re moving.”

The word passed like a chill wind. Horns did not sound. No great fanfare. But from beyond the ridgelines of white, dark shapes spilled across the frozen fields — a black tide against the snow.

From Caelrhime’s high towers, the scene unfolded in pieces.

First, the banners.

Golden Lion and Purple Wolf — the mark of Empire and Vaerond’s army.

Then the mass of Drakhenwald mages, robes billowing unnaturally even in the stillness. Behind them, the soldiers of Serena, armor glinting with a dull silver hue.

Then came the siege engines. Towering. Brutal. Spiked wheels churned over the snow as war beasts pulled massive battering rams and trellis towers across the plain.

The snow cracked beneath their weight.

And still they came.

Scouts hurried down from the walls. Breathless. Urgent.

Inside the war chamber, the doors burst open.

“They’re almost here,” Theren announced. “The army is moving into formation. Siege weapons being positioned. Estimated numbers still hold — five thousand. Maybe more. And… they brought everything.”

The room held its breath.

Aelric cursed under his breath, gripping the hilt of his blade.

“So it begins…”

Seralyne closed her eyes briefly, then looked to Aurette.

“We have hours. Perhaps less.”

Aurette didn’t speak at first. She simply turned toward the window, where she could already see the black stain spreading across the horizon.

The storm may have passed — but something far worse was arriving.

She breathed deeply, cold air filling her lungs like steel.

“Then we bleed them, like we said.”

Outside, bells began to toll. Not a cry of alarm — a signal. A call to position. To battle.

Across Caelrhime, soldiers ran to their stations. Traps were primed. Arrows dipped in oil and stacked high on walls.

The fortress wasn’t silent anymore.

It was waking up.

Preparing.

And from the north, death marched steadily toward them.

It was time. The sun had already risen.

But the light of morning never touched Caelrhime that day.

Not because the sun did not rise — but because its light was swallowed by shadow.

The field before the frozen walls was no longer snow and stone. It was iron and flame. Five thousand strong, Vaerond’s army had taken its positions like a well-choreographed machine of war. Each soldier a cog. Each mage a spark. Each siege weapon a hammer poised to fall.

And then…

Silence.

No drums. No horns. Only the slow groan of wooden wheels as siege towers rolled into position and war beasts howled in restraint.

On the walls of Caelrhime, defenders waited. Spears pointed. Arrows notched. Frost-covered helmets glinting dully in the low light. The air was so tense it felt like it could shatter.

Then a single scream broke the silence.

Not from the defenders.

From below.

A Drakhenwald mage, draped in deep crimson, raised his staff to the sky. The runes on it blazed like wildfire. He brought it down—

Boom.

A shockwave split the silence. Magic surged forward — a concussive burst that tore through the outer barrier wall. The explosion shook the ground. Ice and stone splintered into the air.

The siege had begun.

“Archers! Loose!”

From the battlements, Aurette’s voice rang out like lightning.

Arrows blackened the sky, descending on the advancing army like deadly hail. Screams rose, steel clanged against shields, fire collided with frost.

Another blast — this time a siege ram, slamming into a lower gate again and again, shaking the very bones of Caelrhime.

Below the walls, Serena soldiers began their advance — tight lines, shields up, methodical, disciplined. Behind them, magic-weaving mages of Drakhenwald ignited flares and firebolts, hurling them at the towers.

But Caelrhime was not a city of flat ground and soft stone.

“Now!” cried one of the wall captains.

Hidden slits opened in the walls, pouring boiling oil and icy shards into the narrow chokepoints where the enemy advanced. Spears lunged from alleyways where they thought no resistance hid. Whole sections of the path collapsed under the weight of siege towers, triggering hidden pit traps laid by Caelrhime’s engineers.

“Let them come,” Aelric growled from the battlements. “Let them bleed for every step.”

But still they came.

Aurette, breath steady despite the chaos, raised a spyglass to her eye, scanning the enemy lines.

“Where is he…” she muttered under her breath.

She swept across the field, her gaze sharp, but... nothing.

“He’s not here,” she said finally, lowering the glass with a frown. “Vaerond isn’t leading them.”

A moment later, Seralyne took the spyglass from her daughter’s hands, suspicion already etched on her face. She peered down at the field — toward the center of the army, just behind the siege lines.

And then she saw him.

A towering figure in darkened plate, motionless amidst the chaos. No banner, no fanfare — but the soldiers around him gave him space as if his presence alone threatened to crush the air.

Seralyne’s breath caught in her throat.

“...It's him.”

Aelric turned sharply. “Vaerond?”

Seralyne slowly shook her head.

“No. The one we fought. The one we couldn't even scratch.”

Her voice was quiet, but laced with grim certainty.

“Vaerond’s second… the monster in black steel. He’s the one leading them.”

And even though the name of the second-in-command was unknown to them, his presence was more than enough to set ice in their veins.