The elevator doors slid open with a worn hiss.
Raven stepped out into the stone corridor, boots clicking against scorched tile. The air still held the bite of soot and steel. Burnt dust clung to the edges of the dwarven carvings, and deep cracks ran like spiderwebs through the murals on the wall.
But the gate stood.
Blackened, chipped—but upright. Whole.
Ash still clung to the wind.
The battlefield beyond the outer gate stretched like a scar—charred barricades, shattered ballistae, and the burned remains of Velkarin siege armor scattered like bones across the stone.
Rusted helms and broken banners lay abandoned in the blood-soaked mud. Somewhere near the ridge, a dwarven engineer worked alone, dragging a half-melted turret back to the line with nothing but a grunt and a rope.
One section of the wall still smoked faintly. A young dwarf sat at its base, cradling a cracked shield as though it were a fallen comrade.
