Chapter Fifty-one– The Last Light Before the Storm
Kael sat atop the cold stone wall of Vareth, the last stronghold between Andrew's rising shadow kingdom and total control of the Ashren continent. Below him, a quiet fog settled over the makeshift campfires of the remaining 20,000 soldiers. Many were wounded, exhausted, barely standing—only 5,000 had been assigned to defend Vareth's battered walls. The rest were either scattered across the countryside or dead.
The fire in Kael's chest burned hotter than ever, but it wasn't from rage. It was shame. The image of Alex, unconscious and bleeding, being dragged away. The memory of David, roaring in defiance as he held back the shadow forces just long enough for them to escape. Their voices haunted him, mingled with the moans of the dying he couldn't save.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked.
Natalia, sitting beside him on the wall, watched the stars silently. Her hands trembled, though she did her best to hide it.
"They were stronger than we thought," she whispered.
Kael didn't reply. He didn't know what to say anymore.
They were running. Again.
Lira walked up from the inner courtyard, where Cristi had finally collapsed after training non-stop. She had been healing soldiers since they arrived, and exhaustion hung on her like a shadow.
"We lost over ten thousand in that battle," she said, blunt and tired. "The rest barely made it here. If the Sultan attacks… I don't know if Vareth can survive another siege."
Kael looked at her with eyes that had stopped blinking long ago. "Then we make him bleed before he takes it."
Before anyone could respond, GreenWolf leapt silently over the wall and landed next to them like a ghost in the mist.
"Scouted the perimeter," he said without a breath of fatigue. "No enemy forces close to the gates, but something's coming. I saw the Sultan's banners being raised in the east, maybe twenty kilometers out. They're making camp."
"Tomorrow?" Kael asked.
GreenWolf nodded. "By dawn."
Kael rose. "Then we fight tomorrow."
The Sultan's Camp – Nightfall
In the valley east of Vareth, the golden crescent moon reflected off hundreds of polished spears. The black banners of the Sultanate of Targheil fluttered in the wind, casting long shadows over the enormous tent in the center of the war camp.
Inside, Sultan Mohamed the First stood before a wide table of maps and scrolls, flanked by his Royal Vizier, three top generals, and a handful of elite warriors from the distant lands of the other continent.
The Sultan was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sharp beard of coal black and eyes that gleamed with ancient ambition. His presence demanded silence, and in this tent, none spoke unless spoken to.
He pointed to the map, his voice low and laced with steel.
"Vareth is the final chokehold. Take it, and the remaining resistance collapses. With David and Alex under the shadows' control, morale is already shattered."
The Vizier nodded. "And Kael?"
"Still alive," said one of the scouts. "Along with the girl—Natalia."
A twitch of interest crossed the Sultan's eyes.
"She is Andrew's blood, yes?"
"Yes, my Sultan," the scout confirmed.
The Sultan stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Then we shall use her. Alive, she is a tool. Dead… she's a message."
Another general leaned in. "What of the shadows? The last scouts said a battalion of ten thousand advanced south of the city, perhaps preparing to flank us."
The Sultan sneered. "Let the cursed shadows come. Andrew may have forgotten the strength of the old world, but I have not. My army is of the desert and the mountain. We were tempered in war while his men were still wearing polished boots and speaking of honor."
He looked over the map again, then stabbed a dagger into Vareth's symbol.
"At dawn, we move. Crush the city. Claim Natalia. Then we march to the heart of this cursed continent and remind Andrew who rules the true world."
A murmur of approval echoed through the tent.
Back in Vareth
Kael stood in the old war hall of Vareth, once used by Andreas during the golden years. Now, cracked banners and broken blades hung from the walls like ghosts of a forgotten era.
Before him stood Cristi, Lira, Natalia, GreenWolf, and Mario, along with the last few surviving captains.
"Tomorrow, the Sultan attacks," Kael said. "We have twenty thousand. He has more, and they're better armed. But this city is all we have. If Vareth falls, we lose our last foothold in Ashren."
Cristi stepped forward. "Then we hold it. If only for a day longer."
Kael looked at them, one by one. This wasn't a formal army anymore. It was a handful of survivors clinging to the edge of annihilation.
But they were his people now. And tomorrow… they would make the Sultan bleed.