First Strike

The war room was a heavy place that morning. Maps, markers, and scraps of parchment were spread across the great table, lit only by the pale morning light spilling through the tall windows. Around it stood the Council of Blades, armored captains, and the King himself, each bearing the weight of what was to come.

Kazuki entered at Zephyr's side. As they took their place, he leaned toward her and murmured quietly enough that only she could hear.

"I know the twins have wind affinity… and master Ardent has water. But what about the others? What are their strengths?"

Zephyr's eyes moved over the room as she answered.

"Gornak, who passed away, was fire. Lady Meris is water—fierce and relentless. Sir Galen is earth—unyielding and immovable. Alvis… he is unique. Fire and earth together, a rarity even in the oldest records. And my father… his magic is fire, though he rarely wields it in battle."

She paused, her voice softening.

"I will not be on the frontlines."

Kazuki looked at her sharply, about to speak, but she raised her hand.

"It's not because I fear battle. My place will be here, imbuing every weapon—swords, spears, arrows—with light magic. It will make them sharper, strike harder and be more effective against the demons. But the enchantment for all the weapons will drain much of my mana and strength. That's why I won't be able to take part in the battle."

Kazuki nodded.

The meeting pressed on. Markers moved across the map, positions assigned—council members leading squads at the main gates, others positioned on the sides, archers along the western walls. Kazuki was placed at the western gate with Ardent and Alvis, the first line against the coming tide.

That afternoon, the castle courtyard filled with the gathered soldiers, adventurers, and militia. The King stood upon the high steps, his voice ringing out over the clamor of armor and weapons.

"People of Numeria!" his voice boomed, reaching to the furthest walls. "For generations, our land has stood proud. Not because we were the strongest… not because we were the richest… but because we never turned our backs on one another!"

The murmurs stilled, every eye fixed upon him.

"Today," Alaric continued, "a tide of darkness crashes upon our shores. An army that believes fear will break us. That blood will divide us. They demand our homes, our lives… even our women and children. And they believe we will bow!"

The king drew his sword, the fire-affinity within him flaring, wreathing the steel in a red-gold blaze.

"But I tell you now — Numeria does not bow! We fight for the ones behind these walls, for the laughter of children not yet born, for the peace our ancestors gave us. If we fall, the flame dies here. If we stand — then no darkness can smother us!"

He lifted the sword high, the flames reflecting in the eyes of his people. "Stand with me! Stand for Numeria!"

The courtyard erupted in a roar — swords lifted, fists raised, shields struck.

"I ask this of you: women and children, go to the castle's dungeons, where walls and iron will keep you safe. If you will not come here, then bar your doors, shutter your windows, and do not emerge until the danger has passed."

A cheer rose from the crowd, grim yet resolute.

The next three days passed in a blur of preparation. In the city, windows were boarded, food and water stockpiled. On the battlements, archers trained until their fingers bled. In the great hall, Zephyr worked tirelessly, her hands glowing as she imbued weapon after weapon with light until her shoulders shook from the strain.

By the morning of the fourth day, the horizon was no longer empty. Dark smoke rose from the west.

At the western gate, Kazuki stood among the ranks. He glanced sideways and saw them—Gorran, the twins, and Maeryn who had once fought beside Kael. Their eyes met his. Gorran and Maeryn raised a fist high; after a heartbeat, Kazuki raised his in return. No words were exchanged, but in that silent gesture, he felt their trust… or perhaps their hope. The twins, however, turned their faces away.

A group moved nearer, and with them came a sight that turned stomachs. At the forefront of the enemy host strode a tall, armored figure, dragging a broken body in one clawed hand. It was Gornak—unmoving, unrecognizable save for the massive frame that had once stood like a wall for his allies.

The enemy commander halted within shouting distance. His armor was blackened steel, edges jagged like fangs, and across his helm ran cruel etchings in a language not of men. His eyes, pale and cold, glimmered beneath the shadow of his helm.

When he spoke, his voice carried with unnatural clarity:

"I am Vaerik Morrath. Offer your women in the name of my Lord, and I shall grant you a swift death. Refuse… and you shall suffer the same fate as your comrade." He ended his words by hurling Gornak's broken body against the western gate's walls.

From the wall, Alvis stepped forward, his staff planted firmly.

"You shall not find such surrender here, child of darkness."

Vaerik's lips curled into a smile—an expression without warmth.

"So be it."

He raised a clawed hand, a black spark blooming in his palm. With a sharp flick, he cast it into the air. It burst into a dark flare high above, staining the daylight like ink had bled across the sky.

A deep whump rattled the air, followed by a shattering BOOM from the far side of the castle. The ground trembled beneath their feet.

"South wall! They've breached the south wall!" a panicked voice screamed from the battlements.

Gasps and shouts tore through the defenders — the enemy had struck where none expected. Not from the front… but from behind.

Smoke billowed upward as flames began to devour the rooftops of the southern quarter. The cries of civilians pierced the chaos.

And on the front lines, Vaerik raised his hand. His guttural voice carried across the field:

"Now! From the front! CRUSH THEM!"

The demon host surged forward, their battle-cries mingling with the screams from the south.

Inside the castle, Zephyr felt the explosion reverberate through the stone. She had spent the last three days pouring her light magic into every weapon and arrow, her body aching from the strain. She could have stayed safe within the keep.

But when the cries of children reached her ears, her decision was made.

Gripping her sword, she sprinted toward the southern breach.

The light she had poured into others weapons now blazed in her own hand and she would use it until her body failed her.