At the edges of Haven Point, right at the worn, splintering city gates, the remnants of the Royal Army were hard at work. Their ranks thinned, their bodies battered, yet still they toiled, fortifying every inch of the defense line. Sandbags, makeshift barricades, rusted spikes—anything to slow the coming wave of Blazzarene fury.
Behind the gates, at the crossroads where the dirt path split toward the eastern and southern walls, four figures gathered beneath the cold torchlight: Captain Fitzgerald, Captain Haide, Elric, and Espada.
Fitzgerald and Haide were hunched over a crude map scratched onto a stone slab, voices sharp.
"We hold here," Fitzgerald barked, tapping a spot near the inner wall. "If they breach the gate, we collapse to the second tier."
Haide shook her head. "No. We can't retreat. We make our stand at the gate—die there if we must."
Off to the side, Elric glanced toward Espada. "You holding up?"
