The War cilThe city of Vellmont rose from the earth like a jagged , its stone walkways and t spires etched against the stray sky. The streets below were a byrinth of cobblestone and shadow, where the st of roasted meats and spiced wine mingled with the acrid tang of fear. The city’s walls, a and unyielding, were fortified by barrier magic—a shimmering ttice of blue light that pulsed like a heartbeat, a relic of a time when magic was as on as the air itself. Ballistae, their bolts tipped with elemental entments, lihe ramparts, their presence a stark reminder of a bygone era when such ons were enough to hold back the tide of war. Now, they seemed almost quaint pared to the lumiurrets and starfre ons of Vallorien, but they were all Vellmont had.

  The chamber stank of sweat, ink, and dle smoke. The map stretched before them, marked with lines of ink that would soon be rewritten in blood.

  Magnus Thalgrin, Lord Mayor of Vellmont, sat at the table’s head. His silver hair was bound tightly, his crimson robes heavy upon his shoulders. To those who looked upon him, he was the pilr that held the city. But beh the mask, beh the iron trol, his mind raced with calcutions, eae ending in the same clusion: the walls would not hold forever.

  His cilors were less posed.

  “House Drais.” The words were spat, as if speaking the self might summoorm. The speaker, a hawk-nosed man with sharp eyes and a voice like grinding stone, smmed his fist against the table. “They march a dragoates and expeo resistahey have been waiting for this sihe st war.”

  “They’ve given no demands,” a woman with frost in her voice tered. “ions. No ultimatums.” Her gaze was sharp enough to carve through steel. “They simply march.”

  “Then why are we debating?” she hawk-nosed man. “Do we wait for them to knock?”

  Magnus exhaled, slow and measured. When he spoke, his voice cut through the cmor like a bde. “We are not here to specute. We are here to act. What are our options?”

  Silence.

  Finally, a burly man, his beard thick as thorns, cleared his throat. “The walls are strong. Our barrier mages stand ready. But we are outnumbered. Even with the city guard and the Adventurer’s Guild, we ot hold indefinitely.”

  “What of supplies?” asked ahin and hunched, his fiwitg over an ink-stained ledger.

  “A month. Maybe two.” The bearded man’s voice was grim. “If the barrier holds.”

  If.

  No one spoke the alternative aloud. The silence was a fession in itself.

  Magnus’ gaze fell upon the map, his fingers brushing the inked borders of their city. “What of Vallorien? Have we heard from Governeneral Garett Fenralis?”

  A pause.

  “Vallorien has been informed.” The words were careful, hesitant. “But it will take time.”The War cil

  The chamber stank of sweat, ink, and dle smoke. The map stretched before them, marked with lines of ink that would soon be rewritten in blood.

  Magnus Thalgrin, Lord Mayor of Vellmont, sat at the table’s head. His silver hair was bound tightly, his crimson robes heavy upon his shoulders. To those who looked upon him, he was the pilr that held the city. But beh the mask, beh the iron trol, his mind raced with calcutions, eae ending in the same clusion: the walls would not hold forever.

  His cilors were less posed.

  “House Drais.” The words were spat, as if speaking the self might summoorm. The speaker, a hawk-nosed man with sharp eyes and a voice like grinding stone, smmed his fist against the table. “They march a dragoates and expeo resistahey have been waiting for this sihe st war.”

  “They’ve given no demands,” a woman with frost in her voice tered. “ions. No ultimatums.” Her gaze was sharp enough to carve through steel. “They simply march.”

  “Then why are we debating?” she hawk-nosed man. “Do we wait for them to knock?”

  Magnus exhaled, slow and measured. When he spoke, his voice cut through the cmor like a bde. “We are not here to specute. We are here to act. What are our options?”

  Silence.

  Finally, a burly man, his beard thick as thorns, cleared his throat. “The walls are strong. Our barrier mages stand ready. But we are outnumbered. Even with the city guard and the Adventurer’s Guild, we ot hold indefinitely.”

  “What of supplies?” asked ahin and hunched, his fiwitg over an ink-stained ledger.

  “A month. Maybe two.” The bearded man’s voice was grim. “If the barrier holds.”

  If.

  No one spoke the alternative aloud. The silence was a fession in itself.

  Magnus’ gaze fell upon the map, his fingers brushing the inked borders of their city. “What of Vallorien? Have we heard from Governeneral Garett Fenralis?”

  A pause.

  “Vallorien has been informed.” The words were careful, hesitant. “But it will take time.”

  Magnus’ jaw tighteime they did not have. Even a few days were beyond fantasy.

  “And House Fenralis?”

  “No word.”

  Magnus leaned back, exhaling through his nose. He had spent his life preparing for this moment. He had always known the day would e whees of Vellmont would be tested. But knowing was not the same as fag it.

  “We ot wait for Vallorien,” he said at st. “We must assume we stand alone.”

  Uneasy gnces were exged. No one dared tue.

  “Then what do you propose?” The woman with the frostbitten voice met his gaze, unfling.

  Magnus’ eyes hardened. “We hold the line.”

  There was no rousing speeo false promises. Only the quiet weight of reality settling over their shoulders.

  “We reinforce the walls,” he tinued. “Ration supplies. Prepare for siege. And we send word—to House Fenralis, to the Adventurer’s Guild, to any fool with a sword who might listen. We ot afford to stand alone.”

  The cilors heir faces drawn. The decision was made.

  As they filed out, Magnus remained seated, his eyes fixed on the map. The ink seemed to shift before his eyes, the borders bleeding into something darker.

  He had alrided himself on seeing the bigger picture. But the board was moving too quickly. And for the first time in his life, he feared he was already too te.

  Anya Bckstark stood atop the loading bay, her arms crossed as she watched her Direhound mech being hoisted onto the transport. The st of oil, sweat, and something slightly burnt filled the air—probably Brody messing with the t again. The tension was thick, the kind that made your chest tighten and your hands itch for something to do. But Anya wasn’t oo let silence linger, not when it gave her crew too much time to think.

  “Brody,” she called down, her voice sharp but ced with a teasing edge. “If that leg actuator locks up mid-charge again, I’m throwing you in front of the enemy first. sider it your official role in this operation—human shield.”

  Brody, crouched beh the mech’s massive frame, wiped his hands on his already filthy trousers and grinned up at her. “Aye, Captain, but then who’d keep ylorious hunk of metal from falling apart? Face it, you need me.”

  Nissa, perched on the mech’s shoulder and running st-minute diagnostics, snorted. “Falling apart is generous. More like ‘held together by prayer and Brody’s bad decisions.’”

  “Hey!” Brody shot back, pointing a grease-streaked fi her. “My bad decisions have kept us alive so far. Mostly.”

  “Mostly?” Anya raised an eyebrow, her lips twitg despite herself. “That’s ly a glowing endorsement, Brody.”

  “It’s the best yon,” he retorted, dug bader the mech. “Besides, if I die, who’s gonna tell you how to fix this thing when it iably breaks?”

  “I’ll figure it out,” Anya said, rolling her eyes. “Somehow.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Nissa muttered, tapping at her datapad. “Just like st time when you nearly blew the core trying to ‘figure it out.’”

  Anya shot her a gre. “That was oime.”

  “Oime too many,” Nissa shot back, smirking.

  The banter was familiar, f even, but there was an undercurrent of uhat none of them could ighe weight of what was ing hung heavy in the air, unspoken but felt in every pause, every gnce.

  Nearby, Brenn, the ky heavy gunner, was sitting on a crate, his massive frame hunched over a ration pack. He tore into it with the enthusiasm of a man who’d missed three meals, crumbs scattering across his chest pte. “You know,” he said between bites, his voice a low rumble, “if we die out there, at least I won’t die hungry.”

  Anya turo him, her expression sharp. “No. Absolutely not. We’re not doing this.”

  Brenn paused mid-bite, blinking at her. “Doing what?”

  “The death fgs,” Anya said, crossing her arms. “No, I’m not starting a bakery with any of you after this. No, we’re not all gonire to some sunny bead drink fruity cocktails. And no, I don’t want to hear about your ‘st wishes’ or how it’s been an honor serving with me. you all stop with that shit? We’re not dying today.”

  Brody popped his head out from uhe mech, grinning. “Atain, you do care.”

  “I care about not having to listen to your morbid nonsense,” Anya shot back. “Now get back to work.”

  Nissa smirked, leaning against the mech. “She’s got a point. If we’re gonna die, let’s at least die without the cheesy speeches.”

  “Agreed,” said Jerik, the nky scout, who erched inside his mech’s cockpit. He had one boot propped up on the sole, the faint glow of a holo-s illuminating his sharp features. The unmistakable sound of muffled moans drifted out, and Nissa’s ears twitched.

  “Jerik,” she called, her voice dripping with disdain. “Are you seriously watg pht now?”

  Jerik didn’t even look up. “It’s research.”

  “Research?” Nissa repeated, incredulous.

  “Yeah,” Jerik said, finally gng over with a smirk. “Gotta stay sharp, you know? Keep the reflexes quick.”

  Brody snorted. “Quick reflexes? You’re sitting in a tin , Jerik. What are you gonna do, outrun the enemy with your other reflexes?”

  Jerik shrugged. “Hey, if it works, it works.”

  Anya pihe bridge of her nose. “Jerik, if you get us all killed because you were distracted by… whatever that is, I’m going to haunt you ierlife.”

  Jerik grinned, shutting off the holo-s. “Rex, Captain. I’m a professional. I multitask.”

  “Sure you ,” Nissa muttered, rolling her eyes.

  Garett approached, fnked by Leona, Lyra, and Nyx. His presence was like a storm cloud rolling in—calm on the surface, but you could feel the pressure building. “Everything ready?” he asked, his voice steady but with an edge that made Anya straighten.

  “Nearly, milord,” she replied, smoothing back her dark braid. “Just st-minute checks.”

  Leona smirked, elbowing Nyx. “Look at her, trying to act all professional now.”

  Nyx nodded sagely, his arms crossed. “Cssic.”

  Anya shot them a withering look. “Would you two prefer I throw you in front of the enemy instead? I’m sure Brody could use the pany.”

  Lyra chuckled, leaning against a crate. “Careful, Anya. They might take you up on that. Leona’s been looking for an excuse to show off her sword skills.”

  “Oh, I don’t need an excuse,” Leona said, her haing on the hilt of her bde. “But if you’re , I’ll take it.”

  Garett, oblivious to the exge—or perhaps choosing to ig—simply nodded. “Carry on. We leave soon.”

  Anya watched him go, her expression softening for just a moment before she turned back to her crew. “Alright, enough chatter. Let’s make sure this thing doesn’t fall apart the sed we hit the field.”

  Brody popped his head out from uhe mech. “No promises, Captain.”

  “Brody,” she said, her voice low and warning.

  “Kidding!” he said, holding up his hands. “Mostly.”

  Nissa hopped down from the mech, her datapad tucked under her arm. “He’s n, though. This thing’s held together by duct tape and hope.”

  Anya sighed, running a hand over the mech’s scarred metal pting. “Yeah, well, hope’s all we’ve ght now.”

  The words hung in the air, heavier thaended. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Brenn, still chewing on his ration pack, broke the silence. “Hope and duct tape. Sounds like the title of our memoirs.”

  Anya groaned. “I said h fgs, Brenn.”

  “That wasn’t a death fg,” Brenn said, grinning. “That timism.”

  “Sure it was,” Nissa muttered, rolling her eyes.

  As they turned back to their work, the banter tinued, but there was a new weight to it now. A quiet aowledgment of what was ing, and what they might lose. And in that moment, despite the fear, despite the odds, they were together. And for now, that was enough.

  The transport ship cut through the night sky like a bde, its magitegines humming with a low, resonant thrum that vibrated through the hull. The sound was steady, almost soothing, if not for the tension that hung thi the air. The ship’s exterior bristled with lumiurrets, their crystalline barrels glowing faintly with stored energy, and starfre rifles lihe sides, their sleek, silver frames catg the starlight. The clear night sky above estry of stars, cold and indifferent, betraying nothing of the storm brewing below.

  Ihe bridge, Garett stood with Leona, their faces illuminated by the soft blue glow of a holo-projector. The image of Lord Maynus Thalgrin flickered before them, his silver hair and crimson robes rendered in ghostly light. His expression was grim, his voice tight with barely restrained worry.

  “We’re lucky they haven’t attacked yet,” Magnus said, his hands csped tightly behind his back. “They’ve been sc the outskirts, tearing apart the tryside. It’s like they’re searg for something.”

  Garett’s jaw tightened. “Any idea what?”

  Magnus shook his head. “None. But our scouts rephly two to three thousand Embercd troops, all likely capable of some form of magid the Iron Revenants—around two hundred of them. They’re not just foot soldiers, Garett. They’re elite. And then there’s the dragon mech.”

  At the mention of the dragon mech, Garett’s mind fshed back to his childhood—to the night of his soiree, when Duke Dragan had arrived in his Vhaerax Dominus, a t monstrosity of steel and fire that had left the young Garett both awestrud terrified. The memory was sharp, vivid, and it sent a chill down his spine.

  Leona’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and bitter. “We’ve had suspis, but that pretty much firms it. Damned House Drais.”

  Garett nodded, his expression hardening. “House Drais or not, we’ll ha. I’ve already anded my forces from Vallorien to deploy in aid of Vellmont. It’ll take at least two days to mobilize, but my ship and some of my elite troops are only a few hours away.”

  Magnus visibly rexed, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank you, Garett. Truly. We’ll hold out as long as we .”

  The holo-proje flickered and faded, leaving the bridge in silence. Garett exhaled slowly, his gaze distant. Leona pced a hand on his shoulder, her touch grounding him.

  “We’ll get through this,” she said, her voice firm. “We always do.”

  Garett nodded, but his mind was already elsewhere.

  Outside on the deck, the night air was crisp and cold, carrying with it the faint st of ozone from the ship’s engines. Lyra stood at the railing, her staff resting against her shoulder, her pink hair—ending in turquoise tips—catg the starlight like a cascade of silk. Her golden-hazel eyes glimmered as she stared out at the horizon, her expression unreadable.

  Footsteps approached, steady and familiar. She didn’t turn.

  “You know,” Garett said, his voice carrying that zy fidehat made everything sound like a joke, “if you don’t get enough sleep tonight, you might misfire a spell and take us all out tomorrow.”

  Lyra smirked, though her gaze remained fixed on the horizon. “And here I thought you had faith in me.”

  “Oh, I do,” he said, leaning against the railing beside her. “I just have less faith in probability.”

  She scoffed, finally gng at him. “Probability favors the prepared.”

  He tilted his head, studying her. “And are you?”

  Lyra hesitated, grippiaff a little tighter. She knew he was only teasing, but the weight of her secret pressed against her ribs. Her power had never felt heavier, like a storm barely held at bay.

  “Of course,” she said lightly. “Are you?”

  Garett grinned. “I always make it up as I go.”

  “Reassuring.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  For a moment, sileretched betweehe hum of the engines filling the space where words didn’t. Then, Garett shifted, his fingers brushing against hers—a fleeting touch, almost actal. Almost.

  Lyra’s breath caught. She should pull away. She should say something, crack a joke, ge the subject. But she didn’t.

  “Whatever happens,” he said, quieter now, “we’ll face it together.”

  She wished she could believe that. Instead, she forced a smile, even as her heart ached with the weight of what she couldn’t say. “Together.”

  The word tasted like a lie.