Chapter 26: The Storm Before the Siege

  M broke over Vellmont Keep in strokes of rose and gold, the sky a painter’s masterpietouched by the shadow of war. The rolling fields beyond the city walls stretched green and lush, speckled with wildflowers that bowed uhe kiss of the wind. Birds flitted between the orchard trees that lihe outer farmnds, their songs carefree, oblivious to the stathering beyond the horizon.

  A, past the serenity, past the quiet hum of life, the enemy stood poised to strike.

  Ihe keep, the defenders stirred. The air buzzed with a quiet urgency as the people of Vellmont readied themselves for what was to e. Some soldiers doheir mail in hurried silence, fortification runes glowing along the surface of the armor. Their fingers had grown nimble from years of practice. Others tightehe straps of their leather tunics, their breath slow and steady. At the barracks, a young squire scrubbed at a stubborn stain on his trousers, his hands raw from the cold water, cursing the ale he had spilled the night before.

  Further down, a grizzled veteran sharpened his bde against a whetstohe rhythmic scrape filling the air like a funeral dirge. Beside him, an archer muttered to himself as he fletched a fresh set of arrows, his hands moving in an almost meditative trance. A few men broke their fast in the courtyard, hunched over steaming bowls of pe, eating as if it were their st meal.

  Atop the ramparts, the ented ballistae stood ready. These were not simple siege ons of wood and iron, but structs of a craft—great ballistae bound with runiscriptions, their bolts infused with magic that crackled with untamed energy. The wat statiohere whispered among themselves, eyes flig between the distant enemy lines and the sun creeping over the horizon.

  Beyond the ramparts, the world turo steel and fire. The foothills of Vellmont swarmed with dark figures—rows upon rows of meized war maes, their forms blending the grotesque and the divi Iron Revenants, once ogres of flesh and fury, now power armor adorned with the sigils of their new masters. Their eyes burned with eerie lumihe telltale glow of the Starfre Bayos and Psma Gives humming in unison. Eaent was slow, deliberate—bodies trapped between uh and duty.

  Surrounding them, the Emberfantry waited, warriors draped in the crimson and obsidian garb of the Vale’s rebellion. Some bore the scorched insignias of old houses, remnants of their shattered pasts, while others donned ented cuirasses, whispering silent prayers to the spirits that bound them. Among them, the warries of the Vale stood with their staffs and swords, juring sigils in the m light, their breath f ruhat dissipated in the cool air.

  Elsewhere, Embercd soldiers prepared for the day in various ways. Some scrubbed their trousers in basins of cold water, cursing the stains of the night before, while others polished their armor, rubbing away the grime of past battles. A handful took their breakfast in quiet ption, while the more fortunate indulged in the warmth of the bathis, assisted by attendants who poured steaming water over their shoulders.

  In one such tent, Lyrius Drais lounged like a king upon a cushioned bench, his bare chest gleaming from the warmth of the bath. Steam curled around him, dissipating into the air as he swirled a goblet of spiced wine in one hand, his fingers drumming zily against its rim. His posture was one of indulgent ease—legs stretched out, shoulders x, as if war itself were a mere formality to be eai his leisure. A soldier burst inside, breaking the seremosphere. "Sire, there is an urgent message on your inter."

  Lyrius took the offered device, activating the holo-dispy. Wulfriame flickered on the s, along with coordinates and a simple message: a request for parley.

  A smirk tugged at the er of Lyrius’s lips. Without hesitation, he snapped a picture of himself with his middle finger raised—his own personal coordinates dispyed at the tip—before sending it back with a curt respoake it or leave it."

  The site of the parley en field, chosen by Lyrius for its clear vantage points, ensuring no ambush could go unnoticed. The wind carried the st of damp earth and distant fires, rustling through the golden pins as the two fas approached.

  Wulfric arrived first, his warbison stamping impatiently as he rei in. His personal guard fnked him, their armor scarred and their gazes sharp with suspi. Across the field, Lyrius and his men approached—some on horseback, others, like their leader, mouop warbisons of their own. The shifting loyalties within the Embercd Rebellion were evident; many who once followed Wulfriow stood beside Lyrius, their silent presence a wound Wulfric could not ignore. His grip tightened on the reins, his rage barely cealed.

  “The fug whore’s son t shows himself,” Wulfric spat, his voice ced with venom.

  Lyrius arched a brow, his smirk zy. “In the flesh.”

  Wulfric’s gre could have melted steel. “Tell me, you snake—was it you who unleashed the Ghouls upon Elderwynd?”

  Lyrius tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Ghouls? On Elderwynd? Hells, if I had known you were there, I would have sent flowers.”

  Wulfric bristled. “You think this is a game?”

  Lyrius sighed, iing his gloved fingers. “Oh, I don’t think, dear Wulfric. I know. Now, I assume there’s a reason you haven’t simply had me killed?”

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.”

  Lyrius leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Oh, I don’t know—perhaps the fact that my Dragon-mech is currently patrolling the skies on autopilot?”

  A flicker of hesitation crossed Wulfric’s face, his men shifting uneasily. The tension alpable.

  Lyrius extended a hand, mock siy in his tone. “Join me, Wulfric. Be on the winning side for once.”

  Wulfric’s response was swift—he spat directly at Lyrius’s face.

  Lyrius chuckled, wiping it away with the back of his glove. “Suit yourself.” He raised his hand. “Soldraknirr.”

  The sky darkened as the massive Dragon-mech desded, its metal wings slig through the air like bdes. A thunderous roar reverberated across the pins, shaking the very earth as the beast nded, its gleaming body exuding raw, meical menace. Wulfric’s guards paled, some gripping their ons in futile defiance.

  Wulfric’s rage faltered, repced by grim resignation. With a final, lingering gre at Lyrius, he turned away. His men followed, some leading their warbisons on foot, eyes flickering back toward the looming mae that watched their retreat.

  Lyrius exhaled, then lowered his hand. A burst of Starfire erupted from the mech’s maw, searing the ground where Wulfric had stood moments before.

  “sider that my answer,” Lyrius murmured.