Helen watched as the parade of people silently shuffled off from the walls of Yorktown, their destination being beyond the treeline of the bordering forest. Dawn was upon them, its faint light in the distant horizon. The veteran watched it with ever growing anxiety. Would the orcs figure out what they were trying to do? Would they stop it? Or, did they too think it was a useless tactic? That no matter how hard they tried, everyone on this island was destined to die.

Helen decided that she didn't want to find out and instead hurried the young guardsmen who were lagging behind. Amongst them, Harris yawned in complaint.

"So early," he muttered as he hefted his spear over his shoulder. "Was it really necessary?"

Helen shot him a glare. "Keep your ass moving, Harris. This march should do you some good, given that you've been slacking lately."

Harris only grumbled, his eyes kept forward as he hurried his walk. The other guardsmen shared the same look of tiredness but did a better job of hiding it as they moved along with the huddling townsfolk.

"First group," Felix suddenly spoke up from beside her. "And it's already too big. I don't know if we can get them to the other side before late morning."

"What matters is that we get them there," Helen said under her breath. "Besides, by the time they get past the mountains, the trees will do a fine job of covering their movements to any outside scouting."

Felix said nothing as the two trailed behind the moving group, snowfall beginning not long after. Helen looked up at the falling flakes, shivering as they drifted past. Once, she hated the snow. She hated its perfect whiteness, the glistening that it emitted when the sun shone upon it. The crunching it made when one stepped on it and the deep banks that threatened to drag you under its suffocating mass.

That was once before, back when she was a hateful girl who had a just as awful mother. A mother who wanted nothing to do with Helen.

'Blood on the snow.'

Helen shivered again and broke away from that line of thought. Today would not be a day to dredge up buried memories. She instead decided to focus on a conversation with Felix despite their awkward tension.

'Better than nothing.'

"How many more groups do we need to move?" Helen asked.

"Five," Felix said. "The first three are children and elderly. The last two are townsfolk who volunteered for relative safety."

"And we're currently moving one," Helen said as she gestured toward the mass of people who were struggling to move uphill. She could hear the babbles of shivering children and toddlers. Some were even crying from the cold.

"It's going to take us days," Felix admitted. "Days that I'm not sure we have. Where's Dahlia, anyway? Haven't seen her all morning."

"She headed over to Harald's hut the night before," Helen said. "Brought a couple squads and some of the orcs with her to set up temporary homes for the escaping townsfolk."

"I hope she sets up enough tents," Felix muttered. "I'm not sure if we can move enough food to accommodate everyone. Not when our resources are already so low."

"We take enough for at least the weaker ones," Helen said as she caught the eye of a small child who was being carried. Even shivering, he gave her a slight wave. Helen returned the gesture in kind, her stomach sinking with a weight that she couldn't shake off.

As Felix mulled over their conversation, a guardsman ran up to them. He was panting hard, his eyes wide with a primal fear that only spelled bad news for Helen. She stopped him before he could deliver his message, her thumb gesturing toward the townsfolk behind her. Thankfully, the terrified man was quick to notice, his head bowing as he neared the two.

"Catch your breath and spit it out," Helen said. "Quietly."

"Marshal Dunn," the man muttered after a second of regaining his composure. "Silas has sent for me. His scouts have reported activity on the longships. He believes the orcs are preparing to raid, Marshal."

"What?" Helen asked, blood turning to ice as she processed the guardsman's words. "Where is he?"

"Northern Watchtower, by New Aldren," the man answered.

Helen turned to Felix, whose face had gone pale.

"You're staying with the townspeople," Helen said to him. "They'll be needing their captain to watch over."

"What?" Felix hissed. "You cannot be serious! This is my town, Helen! I'm not going to stand around while orcs—"

"Keep your voice down," Helen murmured with a scowl. "Do you want these people to panic? No? Then stay with them. The minute they see the both of us bail, what will they think?"

"Then I will go instead," Felix insisted. "You stay here with them."

"Don't be a dunce, Arlo," Helen hissed. "I am the Marshal. I was assigned to protect this island because I know war."

"You know raiding!" Felix shot back before deciding to lower his voice. "You only know raiding, Dunn! You…" he trailed off, losing some steam as realization hit him. "Only know raiding."

Helen gave a grim nod as she turned away. "I'll send a messenger to you once I get the details. Stay with the townsfolk until then."

With a nod to the guardsman, Helen headed off to New Aldren, leaving behind a discouraged captain.

Falrick took in a deep breath, his mind cleared of all distractions. He felt at the rune circle's connections, his ley lines pulsing as he poured them into this ritual. Hours had passed since he started this complex circle, its purpose being to break through that accursed Dissonance Cloud the orc Shaman had placed. Falrick had to give it to the spellcaster; this was a well done domain spell.

It was so well done that Falrick had a hard time believing that such an experienced Shaman was working for orcs of all things. Such a barbaric race, their only goal being to destroy and eat whatever they pillaged.

'Could it be that their Shaman was forced into this? Is there something more to it?'

Falrick placed that thought aside, deciding to instead put all his focus on the circle. He let out the breath he was holding, his body relaxing. The fingers on his good hand grew hot at their tips, the rune circle's salt lines reacting.

"Dispel: Advanced."

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Falrick's words were punctuated with a burst of heat, the circle around him flaring in response. He gritted his teeth, eyes still closed as he felt for the Dissonance Cloud's ambient mana. If he could just pinpoint…

The sweet smell of fruit filled the room as the ritual reached a crescendo, the Wizard's amplified spell no longer able to be held. Falrick sharply breathed in, his metal prosthetic burning hot as he clenched it. His mind strained; he found what he was looking for.

'Right there. I got you.'

Falrick grinned. Still focused, he opened his working hand. The circle flared to life, and Falrick gave all he had at that moment. Usually, when it came to dispelling someone's domain, especially one like Dissonance Cloud, breaking it required the caster to wear it down over time. To try and break it in one fell swoop was a fool's way of doing things.

Falrick had long since decided that a fool's way of doing things was the only way.

The runes around the Wizard went dead after the spell's release, both salt and silver circles turning black. He would no longer be able to use them after this. That didn't matter for now. Right now, all Falrick needed was to break that damn domain.

He felt the air around him go staunch with the scents of something burning, his mind strained as he felt Dissonance Cloud react to his push. Falrick stayed strong, his eyes closed as he breathed in deeply. For a moment, it felt as if he had wasted yet another day tackling an impossible task. That was until he felt his Dispel puncture through Dissonance Cloud like a knife through soft flesh.

It tore through a small gap within its reach, but that was enough for Falrick to force it wide open. With a relieved sigh, Falrick opened his eyes. The task was done, and he had confirmed his hunch at the same time. The domain was enhanced. Its casting must have been flared, but Falrick still had a hard time believing that. This spell had been going on strong for weeks, all without any sign of faltering. Either the Shaman was someone leagues beyond the average Wizard, or something else was going on.

'No time for that. Must use this opportunity now.'

Falrick immediately started forming the runes for his next spell, his reserves pouring into his hands as he spoke the words of power.

"Communicate: Raven Keep," he cast, specifying the Keep in Vindis. If he had any luck, Nathan would be around to catch the signal with his crystal ball. Falrick's reserves slowly burned away deep inside him, the pool of seemingly infinite mana now trickling down. If he had to guess, he had roughly fifty basic spell slots left.

After only half a minute of this, Falrick felt something tug at his cast spell. He seized upon it, his body growing warm as he did so. Seasoned as he was, his body was not immune to the dangers of overheating. Even if he cast magic with efficiency, his core flared with a familiar uncomfortable warmth.

"This is Falrick, Wizard of Yorktown," Falrick stated. "We are under siege! We request reinforcements, now!"

His ears popped as buzzing filled the room, a voice coming through to him.

"Falrick? Caelus' balls, you're all still alive?"

That was Haggard's voice. Falrick faltered a bit at that, unsure of how to respond. Before he could, however, the buzzing grew frantic.

"Move aside, you oaf! Falrick, is that you? This is Nathan. How are things looking on the island?"

"Better yet, how come you haven't responded to our missives?" Haggard called out, his voice distant.

"Things have been… rough, to put it simply," Falrick admitted. "Our communications have been scrambled and obstructed by a Domain Spell cast by the orcs' Shaman. I've only just now managed to pierce through it. Nathan, Haggard, things are not looking good here. We do not have the manpower to fight off their numbers. We need reinforcements."

"As much as I'd like to send help," Nathan buzzed. "We've been facing difficulties of our own. James has gone missing these past weeks, with… questionable rumors floating around. Regardless, without him to order the other clans to help, we are not able to send enough ships to come to assist."

Falrick blinked. "James is missing? He is not with you all?"

"No," Nathan revealed. "We have not heard from him since he left to negotiate with Ivan Falk. We don't want to assume the worst, but…"

There was a sinking feeling in Falrick's stomach, his lips forming into a grimace as he put the pieces together. There was a reason as to why reinforcements had never come. Without James, they could not force nor convince the other nearby clans to help. The same clans that were forced under the pact. They would not care if Yorktown burned to cinders. They would not care if James were to die.

"Shit," Falrick cursed.

"We can still help," Haggard spoke up. "We've come up with something."

"Can you truly?" Falrick asked. A spark of hope flared within despite himself.

"It's not tested!" Nathan said. "Haggard, if it goes wrong, we can end up sinking ourselves!"

"It's worth the try!" Haggard responded. "We've run out of time."

"You don't know that! It could be days before the siege breaks. We can still—"

"I don't think we have days," Falrick murmured, his head turning as he heard shouts and calls come from outside. "Hel, I do not think we have hours."

Neither Nathan nor Haggard spoke. The room had gone dead silent, the only sounds being the ambient buzzing of the Communicate spell and the commotion from outside. Falrick couldn't help but feel cold.

They had no time left.

When Helen arrived at the watchtower, she found the orcs' leader standing by its base. Silas was still staring in the direction of the north, where most of the armada was stationed. When Helen got close enough, the orc turned with a frustrated gait. For the first time in months, the Marshal saw what looked to be nervousness in his expression.

"What's wrong?" Helen asked, her gaze moving to the north despite the palisade being in the way.

"Take a look for yourself," Silas only muttered, gesturing toward the ladder of the watchtower. Helen swallowed her nerve as she approached the wooden construction, her hand grabbing a rung. She climbed up the tower, Silas following behind.

The view from above was still a sight to behold for the aged Marshal. Even with the dreary weather and lack of sunlight, Yorktown looked beautiful. In a peaceful, solitary way that was. Helen never really appreciated the sprawling towers and canals of cities; their expansive size and neverending horizon were almost daunting for her.

Yorktown, on the other hand, was homely. The wooden and brick buildings were spaced comfortably between each other, blankets of snow lining their roofs in a layer of whiteness. The odd chimney smoke that rose from them also hammered in how lived-in it all was. It was no city, sure, but it was a home for many. Helen included.

It was why the Marshal's dread increased tenfold when she heard the distant thumping of drums, the sounds of rhythmic shouts disturbing the peaceful morning air like the buzz of locusts. Helen turned to the north, hands clenched into tight fists as she witnessed multiple pillars of black smoke originating from the ships that held this island in siege.

She didn't need a spotting glass to recognize that the orcs were celebrating, their cooking fires enough to light their decks like beacons. Somehow, it didn't seem enough to burn the cursed ships to cinders.

"Are they…?" she asked once Silas made it to the top.

"They are preparing," Silas said solemnly. Helen could hear those drums grow louder, the winds of Frost bringing along the faint sounds of chattering and singing.

"A song of war," Silas softly said, answering the question that had only begun to appear in Helen's mind. "We used to play it the day before a raid. A remnant from the times when our kind ruled the wastes of Atrox. Before we were driven out by the barbarians."

Helen was silent for a moment, frowning as she watched the pillars of smoke growing higher into the sky, the sounds of those damnable drums pounding at her head like a migraine.

"How long do we have?" Helen murmured finally.

"A day," Silas said. "Today will be a day of drinking and celebration. Tomorrow will be the day they take our island."

"Has Dahlia returned?" she asked.

"Not yet."

Helen nodded at that, turning to the orc with a hardened gaze. "Head to the longhouse. I will meet you there."

"What do you plan to do?" Silas asked.

"Prepare for the worst," Helen said as she began to climb down from the tower. "We're out of time and better options. Best we face the inevitable."

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