The Siege Begins

The horns echoed across the frozen expanse at dawn, their call vibrating through stone, snow, and bone alike. From the battlements of the northern fortress, soldiers scrambled into position as the shadow of the enemy rose on the horizon. The corrupted spirits surged like a frozen black tide.

Lord Halveth, draped in his dark fur cloak, stood above the courtyard, voice sharp as steel as he commanded the opening of defenses. "Archers to the walls. Mages, prepare volleys. Knights, hold the gate. Today, we show once again the north does not falter. Not even before a god."

The first clash came with a shuddering roar.

On the eastern wall, Caldris raised his staff, channels of thunder and fire twisting around his form. He chanted steadily, weaving barriers of fire to slow the climbing spirits before unleashing gouts of flame to drive them back. His calm presence anchored the soldiers beside him. Every spell struck with precision, clearing the wall whenever the enemy surged too close. The men shouted in relief when his magic cascaded over the writhing horde, lighting the night with brief, defiant brilliance.

Not far from him, Seren fought shoulder to shoulder with Barkley. The knight’s blade gleamed with spirit-light, every swing ringing with Barkley’s answering growl. Where Seren struck, Barkley followed. The wolf’s massive jaws tore into corrupted limbs. His fur shimmered faintly with energy. Together, they moved like a single body - Seren’s sword arcs extended by Barkley’s snapping strikes, their coordination honed into perfection. Soldiers rallied at their side, hearts lifted by the sight of man and spirit fighting as one. Seren’s commands were steady, and Barkley’s howl carried like a war horn across the wall, uniting those who faltered.

Branek held the southern gate, a mountain of a man with a spear in hand. No spirit aided him, no spell shielded him - only muscle, grit, and the will to protect. He smashed corrupted skulls, drove back clawing arms, and stood unmoved when the tide pressed. "Stand firm!" he bellowed at his men, blood streaking his cheek. "You are not allowed to fall before me!" His sheer presence steadied wavering recruits and trained soldiers, forcing them into courage. He was everywhere at once, shoving back a collapsing shield line, dragging a wounded soldier to safety, and striking with such force that the earth itself seemed to tremble.

Lysandra stood on the western wall, eyes glowing faintly as she guided bolts of light into the horde. Her voice never shook like that day, her casting precise despite the chaos.

At her side, Morrin shielded her exactly like they practiced, knocking aside spirits that tried to scale the wall. Sweat streaked his brow, but he did not yield. "Stay behind me!" he shouted over the noise. "Your magic reaches farther than most mages I’ve met. I’ll hold them. Don’t worry about anything!" Lysandra gave him the faintest nod, then loosed another beam of light into the mass below. Her spells burned with steady rhythm, and Morrin’s shield caught blow after blow, his determination shining through the mud and blood.

At the northern barricades, Noel stood with Akari perched at his shoulder. He swung his blade with measured force, never reckless, his remaining eye sharp as he cut down any spirit that neared. Akari’s flame wove through his strikes, bursting outward with every slash. She cried out warnings when enemies approached from his blind side, her warmth and guidance merging with his steel until they moved as one. Where Noel’s reach faltered, her fire stretched. Where his sight failed, her voice filled the gap. The soldiers near them whispered of how human and spirit fought as though bound by blood itself.

Between the squads, Father Tharen moved like a shadow of mercy. He knelt over the fallen, hands glowing with divine light as he mended torn flesh and eased the pain of the dying in the blink of an eye. His prayers rose above the noise, a low, steady chant that gave hope to the battered. Even when blood stained his robes, his expression never faltered, his voice anchoring those who listened. To soldiers on the brink of despair, he was a beacon, a reminder that even here, in the frozen maw of death, the gods still listened.

Ansel, in awe of the experienced priest, followed in his footsteps.

The fighting dragged on, hours melting into one another. Arrows darkened the sky, screams echoed against the walls, and the stench of corruption burned in the throat. Snow churned black beneath clawed feet. Yet still the defenders held.

By dusk, the horns signaled retreat. The corrupted spirits drew back into the frost, howls fading into the distant night. Soldiers sagged where they stood, breath steaming in the frigid air, eyes hollow but alive.

The casualty list was read aloud in the courtyard. Dozens of names rang out, each followed by murmurs of mourning or silence for those unknown. Among them: Darius Althier.

The name slipped from the priest’s lips and was carried away by the wind. No one wept. No one bowed their heads. No one spoke of him again. His death passed like a stone into water, leaving barely a ripple. For all his smugness and ambition, Darius Althier was erased in a single breath, forgotten to history as though he had never lived.

The soldiers dispersed, some to rest, others to brace for the next day. Noel tightened his gloves, Akari curling against his shoulder, both weary yet unbroken. Branek leaned against his spear, and Lysandra steadying herself with deep breaths.

Seren and Barkley prowled the walls once more, eyes sharp, unwilling to rest until certain the night was safe. Caldris sat with his staff across his lap, gaze lifted to the frozen sky as if asking for strength to endure tomorrow, his smile faltering a little. Father Tharen’s and Ansel’s prayers carried long into the evening, their voice a quiet reminder that faith still lingered even amid ruin.

The first day ended without great tragedy. And yet...

The air itself seemed to shudder, heavy with an unspoken truth. Somewhere beyond the frozen horizon, the enemy stirred again, stronger, hungrier. The walls had held for a day. They would not hold forever.

Someone would not live to see the end of the week.