Thorne stood beside Uncle in the towering command room, the two of them silhouetted against the wide-open windows overlooking the city.

From their vantage point, the northern gate was a vivid tableau of chaos, a desperate collision of forces illuminated by the flickering light of Alvar's burning rooftops. The green-and-gold of the Thornfield banners surged forward in tight formations, their soldiers clashing against the steel wall of Lockridge warriors entrenched before the barracks.

"They're not slowing down," Uncle murmured, his gaze intent. His goblet of wine sat untouched on the ledge beside him, a rare sign of the tension even he felt.

Thorne's glowing eyes scanned the battlefield, catching the glittering armor of Viremont soldiers moving in disciplined precision as they joined the fray. Their crimson banners streamed behind them like blood streaks on the wind, a stark contrast to the ragged banners of the Thornfield allies, fluttering defiantly in the smoke-choked air.

"It's a slugfest," Thorne muttered, leaning forward. "No skill, no strategy. Just two armies throwing themselves at each other."

Uncle chuckled lowly, the sound rough and devoid of humor. "You think that's all this is? Look closer, boy." He gestured toward the Thornfield line with a sweep of his hand. "Watch."

Thorne narrowed his gaze. For a moment, the chaos clarified, he saw captains weaving through the fray, shouting orders that shifted formations with surprising precision. Small pockets of soldiers broke off, flanking Lockridge forces and breaking their cohesion. The Thornfields weren't as haphazard as they'd seemed.

"They're holding," Thorne admitted, though doubt edged his voice.

"For now," Uncle corrected. "The Lockridges are disciplined but overconfident. Watch their center."

As if on cue, the Thornfield soldiers formed a wedge and slammed into the Lockridge line. The force of the charge rippled outward like a stone cast into still water. The Lockridge center bent but didn't break, their shields interlocking in a wall of steel.

"They need more," Uncle muttered, fingers drumming against the window frame. His eyes flicked toward the barracks, where the beleaguered remnants of the city guard were mounting a desperate defense. "The guards are faltering. If the barracks fall before the Thornfield forces break through, it's over."

A flicker of doubt crossed Thorne's mind. His chest tightened as he realized how much blood would soak the streets before the night was over.

"And Viremont?" Thorne asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his mind.

Uncle gestured toward the red-clad force, methodically carving their way toward the barracks. Unlike the Thornfields, they moved as one, an unyielding wave of discipline and steel. "They're the backbone," Uncle said with a smirk. "The Thornfields will punch holes, but Viremont will fill them. Together, they'll force the Lockridges to crumble."

"Unless the Lockridges rally," Thorne countered. His gaze flicked toward a towering figure at the heart of the Lockridge line, a commander directing his troops with booming orders. The man was a beacon of stability, his presence holding the line together.

Uncle followed his gaze and grinned. "Then it's a matter of who falls first. Their commander, or ours."

Thorne suppressed a shiver. Below, the battle roared, a tide of blood and steel that seemed to drown out even the flames consuming the city.

The battlefield was a living tempest. The Lockridge soldiers stood in perfect formation, a wall of polished steel and unwavering discipline that seemed immovable even under the relentless onslaught of their foes. Towering knights in gleaming armor anchored their line, shields interlocked and spears bristling forward like the spines of a monstrous beast. Behind them, rows of halberdiers waited, their polearms held at the ready, while the cavalry circled outside the gates, waiting for the moment to strike.

The Thornfield forces surged toward the gate like a tide of green and gold, their initial disorganization giving way to a concerted push as their captains barked orders. Smaller noble houses followed in their wake, their banners a patchwork of colors that added chaos to the charge. The cacophony of battle grew louder with every second, the clash of swords against shields, the roars of men pushing forward, and the guttural screams of those who fell.

The Lockridge knights didn't falter. Their shields absorbed the Thornfield charge with a deafening crash. Spears thrust forward in calculated movements, skewering soldiers in the front line. Blood sprayed the cobblestones, and the bodies of the fallen were trampled underfoot as the Thornfield troops tried to press forward.

A captain at the front of the Thornfield line, a burly man wielding a massive warhammer, roared as he activated a skill. His weapon glowed faintly, and with a single swing, he shattered a Lockridge knight's shield and sent the man sprawling. The Thornfield soldiers surged forward, trying to exploit the opening, but the Lockridges reacted instantly.

The halberdiers behind the front line stepped forward in perfect unison. Their polearms sliced downward with brutal precision, cutting through flesh and armor alike. The captain who had created the opening fell to his knees, a halberd protruding from his chest.

Viremont soldiers joined the fray, their arrival marked by a synchronized advance that cut through the chaos like a blade through water. Their commanders barked sharp, concise orders, and their soldiers moved as one. Their shields clanged together in a protective phalanx, and their spears jabbed forward in coordinated thrusts. The disciplined Viremont soldiers formed wedges that punched into the Lockridge line, creating brief openings that the Thornfields were quick to exploit.

For every step forward, however, the combined forces paid a steep price. The Lockridge knights unleashed devastating skills that turned the tide back in their favor. One knight, his armor stained with blood, planted his feet and raised his sword high. A faint shimmer of aether coated the blade as he swung, sending a shockwave that knocked the advancing Thornfields off their feet.

Another Lockridge warrior activated a skill that made his shield glow faintly. He became a bastion, unmovable as Thornfield soldiers threw themselves against him. Arrows rained down from Thornfield archers stationed atop nearby buildings, but the Lockridge knights barely flinched, their shields absorbing the volleys with stoic resolve.

The Lockridge line bent under the relentless pressure but refused to break. Their captains moved with precision, shouting orders that kept their formation intact. Whenever a gap appeared, a knight would step forward, swinging a glowing weapon or activating a skill that rallied their comrades and drove the attackers back.

The Thornfield and Viremont forces adapted, their captains coordinating their movements with increasing efficiency. A group of Viremont pikemen used their long weapons to hook and drag down the shields of the Lockridge front line, exposing them to sword strikes from Thornfield soldiers. The smaller noble houses contributed where they could, their forces acting as skirmishers who darted around the edges of the battle, harrying the Lockridge flanks.

The northern gate itself was a choke point that worked against the attackers. The narrow space funneled the Thornfield and Viremont forces into a tight column, where they became easy targets for the Lockridge knights. The bodies of the fallen piled up in grotesque mounds, creating obstacles that slowed the advance and gave the defenders an even greater advantage.

And yet, the attackers pressed on. A Thornfield soldier wielding a greatsword managed to cut through a halberdier's weapon, sending splinters flying. Another slammed into a Lockridge knight with a glowing shield, breaking his stance long enough for a Viremont spearman to drive a weapon into his armpit.

The battle swayed back and forth like a pendulum, the balance of power shifting with every skill unleashed and every life lost.

The Lockridge commanders moved with practiced precision, directing their soldiers to hold key positions and execute counterattacks that pushed the attackers back. A knight with an ornate helm raised his hand, and a volley of javelins rained down from behind the Lockridge line, impaling dozens of advancing Thornfield soldiers.

But the attackers had numbers on their side. The Thornfield forces surged forward again, their captains shouting for another charge. Viremont soldiers filled the gaps, their disciplined ranks holding firm even as the Lockridge knights unleashed devastating skills.

At the northern gate, the tide of the battle teetered on the edge. The defenders were outnumbered, but their discipline and skill kept the attackers at bay. The attackers had momentum, but every inch they gained was paid for in blood.

High above, Thorne watched the chaos unfold with a mix of awe and unease. "This isn't a battle," he muttered. "It's a massacre."

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Uncle stood beside him, his expression inscrutable as he sipped his wine. "It's war," he said simply. "Victory doesn't come without sacrifice. Remember that, boy."

*

Darius leaned against the stone wall of the northern barracks, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His greatsword, chipped and bloodstained, was still clenched in his trembling hands. Sweat dripped into his eyes, mixing with the blood splattered across his face. The shouts of his fellow guards and the relentless clang of steel filled the air, a chaotic symphony of desperation and death.

He stole a glance at the gate below, its metal-bound wood scarred from countless strikes. Through the gaps, he could see the Lockridge knights pressing forward like an unrelenting tide, their banners rippling above them as their armored boots crunched over bodies.

"They just keep coming," Darius muttered, his voice hoarse. He turned to his squad, what was left of it. Only four of the twelve men who'd stood with him at sunrise remained, their faces pale and eyes wide. One of them was barely out of training, his shaking hands clutching a spear that dripped crimson.

"Focus!" Darius barked, his deep voice cutting through their terror. "We hold the line. If that city guard falls, the city falls!"

The boy with the spear nodded shakily but didn't move. Darius groaned inwardly. This is no place for the green ones.

The Lockridge soldiers slammed into the gate again, their spears and axes hammering against it with an almost mechanical precision. Above them, the barracks archers rained arrows down, but it barely slowed their advance. Darius leaned over the battlements, squinting through the smoke and chaos. That's when he saw them, two massive armies closing in from the north.

His heart leapt for a moment. Reinforcements? His excitement waned as he took in the chaos of the approaching forces. One army wore the green cloaks of the Thornfields, their ranks interspersed with the gaudy banners of minor houses. The second army, smaller but more disciplined, marched in the deep red of House Viremont.

Darius's knuckles tightened around his sword. "More of them," he muttered bitterly. To him, it didn't matter if they were allies; they were just more noble pawns spilling blood in the name of power. The city would burn, no matter who won.

The gate groaned beneath another assault, the reinforced wood splintering. "They're breaching!" one of the guards shouted, panic thick in his voice.

"Get ready!" Darius roared, stepping back from the edge. He activated Defender's Stance, his body tingling as a faint aura surrounded him, bolstering his resilience. His greatsword glowed faintly with residual aether as he gripped it tightly, preparing for the inevitable.

The gate burst open, a deafening crash echoing through the barracks. The Lockridge knights poured in like a tide of steel, their shields raised and weapons flashing. Darius surged forward, meeting them head-on.

He swung his greatsword in a wide arc, the blade carving through the first knight's shield and biting into his shoulder. Blood sprayed, and the knight staggered, but another took his place immediately, thrusting a spear at Darius's gut. He twisted to the side, the spearhead grazing his armor, and brought his sword down in a brutal overhead strike.

Precision Slash. His weapon glowed briefly, and the strike cleaved through the knight's helmet, splitting it in two.

Another knight came at him, swinging an axe in a move that radiated with aetheric energy. Darius raised his sword to block, the impact jarring his arms and rattling his teeth. He kicked the knight's knee, forcing him off-balance, and drove his blade into his chest.

All around him, the guards were falling. The boy with the spear let out a strangled cry as a halberdier's weapon pierced his chest, pinning him to the ground. Darius didn't have time to mourn; another knight was already upon him.

The enemy soldier lunged, and Darius countered with Riposte, redirecting the blow and slamming the pommel of his sword into the knight's face. The man crumpled, and Darius pressed forward, trying to close the gap to the second line of defense.

The Lockridges were too well-trained, their skills too strong. Each knight seemed to move with a deadly efficiency, their attacks coordinated to overwhelm. Darius activated Second Wind, a surge of aether flooding his body, numbing the pain of his wounds and restoring his flagging stamina.

"Fall back! To the stairs!" Darius's commander bellowed, his voice hoarse but commanding.

Darius's heart pounded as the commander's order rang out. Retreat wasn't in his nature, but he knew they had no choice. This wasn't a fight, they were being slaughtered. These knights weren't like the petty criminals and street thugs he was used to dealing with. They were trained killers, every move precise and deadly.

"Is this how it ends?" he thought, his grip tightening on his blade. "Cut down like rats in our own home?"

Darius spun to see the remaining guards beginning to retreat, their shields up as they backed toward the narrow staircase leading to the battlements. Lockridge knights surged forward, relentless in their assault.

"Move!" Darius roared at the younger guards, shoving one of them toward the stairwell with the flat of his blade. The guard stumbled, fear etched on his face, and for a moment, Darius saw himself in the boy's place, green, untested, and terrified.

"Get it together, Darius," he scolded himself, pushing the thought away. "If you don't, these men will die, and it'll be on you." He turned to cover their retreat, his sword raised defensively.

A knight came at him with a mace that radiated faint traces of aether. Darius ducked under the swing, the air rushing over his head, and slammed his shoulder into the knight's chest. The man staggered back, and Darius took the opening to slice at his thigh, the blade biting through armor and sending him to the ground with a roar of pain.

Another knight closed in, swinging a longsword in a wide arc. Darius parried the strike, the force jarring his arms, and riposted with a quick thrust aimed at the knight's neck. The blade glanced off the man's gorget, and Darius had to roll to the side as a second swing came down, carving a deep gouge in the floor where he had just stood.

He'd never felt so outmatched. Every clash of steel felt like a delay, not a victory. "How do you fight someone who's better in every way?" The thought struck him hard, but he gritted his teeth, his focus narrowing to survival.

A sudden sharp pain erupted in his shoulder as a spear struck him from behind, its head scraping against his armor and tearing through flesh. He bit back a cry, whirling around and slamming his gauntlet into the face of the spear-wielder. The man stumbled, and Darius lunged, his sword finding a gap in the armor beneath his arm.

"Darius! Move!" the commander barked, waving him toward the stairs.

Darius nodded grimly, his breath ragged as he fought his way toward the narrow staircase. He activated Second Wind once more, the familiar rush of energy dulling the pain in his shoulder and replenishing his stamina. He pushed forward, parrying another strike and slamming his pommel into an attacker's visor.

The guards reached the base of the staircase, and Darius turned to see the commander motioning for the last few men to ascend. "Go! Go!"

Darius planted his feet, swinging his blade in a wide arc to keep the advancing knights at bay. His Defender's Stance flared again, the faint aura around him absorbing some of the incoming blows. A halberd struck his side, the force making him stagger, but he recovered quickly, twisting his body and slashing at the halberdier's exposed knee. The man fell with a scream, and Darius pressed on.

As the last of the guards reached the stairs, Darius followed, his boots clanging against the stone steps. The commander and another guard shoved a heavy wooden table down the staircase to slow the advancing knights, but it wouldn't hold them for long.

"Bar the door!" the commander ordered as they reached the top of the battlements.

Darius and two others shoved a thick wooden beam across the door, securing it just as the first hammering blows echoed from the other side. Darius braced against the heavy beam with the others, the door shaking with each impact from the other side. "How long can we keep this up?" he wondered, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. His gaze flicked to the guards around him, faces pale, movements sluggish. "We're all running on fumes, and they know it."

The respite was brief. The Lockridge soldiers found another way up, their dark forms spilling onto the battlements like a tide of shadows.

"They're on the walls!" someone shouted.

Darius raised his sword again, his muscles burning from the constant strain. He barely had time to process the sight of the knights scaling the outer walls before he was fighting again.

A Lockridge knight charged at him, swinging a broadsword in a powerful overhead strike. Darius raised his weapon to block, the clash of steel sending shockwaves through his arms. He stepped to the side and activated Precision Strike, his sword glowing faintly as he drove it into the knight's shoulder joint. The man cried out and fell back, but another was already closing in.

This one swung a flail, the spiked ball whistling through the air. Darius ducked, the weapon smashing into the stone behind him, sending shards flying. He rolled to the side and came up swinging, his blade slicing across the knight's side.

Pain flared in his leg as another attacker's blade caught him, cutting through the leather beneath his armor. He stumbled, his leg buckling beneath him for a split second before he forced himself upright. "Not now," he told himself, activating Iron Will. "Not here. If I fall, the others will, too." The skill dampened his pain, allowing him to focus despite his mounting injuries.

The battlements were chaos. Guards and knights fought in close quarters, the narrow space offering little room to maneuver. Darius's blade clashed against another's, the Lockridge knight pressing forward with brute strength. Darius pivoted, using the man's momentum against him, and slammed his sword into the back of his knee. The knight crumpled, and Darius finished him with a quick thrust.

Blood dripped from his wounds, his vision blurring slightly as exhaustion began to take its toll. But he refused to fall.

Darius gritted his teeth, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth from where he'd bitten his tongue. "This city deserves better than this." The thought burned in his mind, fueling his strikes. "We deserve better than to be the meat in this grinder, fighting a war we didn't start."

"Hold the line!" the commander shouted, his own blade cleaving through an attacker's shield.

Darius surged forward again, his sword cutting through the chaos as the Lockridge knights continued their relentless assault.

Even as he fought, Darius couldn't shake the growing despair. The Thornfield and Viremont forces had reached the gate, but they didn't feel like salvation. The Thornfields were disorganized, their soldiers pushing forward with reckless abandon, while the Viremont troops moved like clockwork, their disciplined formation forcing the Lockridge line to bend but not break.

The Lockridge soldiers fought like demons, their knights activating skills that sent shockwaves through the battlefield. One knight's shield glowed as he smashed it into a Thornfield soldier, sending him flying into the mass of his comrades. Another swung his halberd in a sweeping arc, its blade leaving a faint trail of light that cleaved through two attackers at once.

From the battlements, Darius could only watch as the Lockridge forces pushed back against the combined assault. He gritted his teeth, his hands tightening on his sword. "Where are you, Jonah?" he muttered, thinking of his friend. "You'd have a plan for this madness."

A shout brought him back to the present. A Lockridge knight had broken through and was charging at him. Darius raised his sword and roared, meeting the man in a thunderous clash of steel.

They were losing ground, but Darius refused to fall. Not yet.

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