Along the northern wall, the air turned sharp, the scent of ash and frost curling in the soldiers' throats. The mist, once slow and circling, surged like a wave—silent, merciless, a pale tide clawing toward the blackstone.
Valtor moved first. His claws raked across the gateposts as he slammed them shut, the heavy iron bar groaning into place. His voice cut through the rising panic—not a shout, but a growl, cold and commanding."Hold your lines. Eyes forward. Steel ready."
Behind him, the newly trained watchmen snapped to position. Their grips tightened on spears and swords, jaws clenched—not with panic, but with the tempered resolve Valtor had hammered into them. One young guard's fingers trembled—but his mind clung to a voice that had shaped his fear into iron. "Fear is a blade," Valtor had snarled in the torch-lit yard. "Sharpen it. Make them bleed for every step they take." The memory burned brighter than the torches above.
On the far end of the wall, Kaela crouched low, every muscle coiled, every breath measured. Her golden eyes flashed in the half-light, tracking the ripple of the fog as it twisted unnaturally—tight spirals carving through the air, marking where something vast moved just beyond sight. Beneath her cloak, the mark pulsed like a second heartbeat—hot, cold, whispering of things older than her own name. Kaela gritted her teeth. She had tried to forget it, to outrun it. But the mark was no burden tonight. It was a compass—and it was pointing straight into the dark. Without turning, she murmured to the nearest scout, "Shields in pairs. Watch the gaps. Move only on my word."
The scout nodded sharply before darting away to relay the orders.
Further south, Lilith stood still, the torches casting crimson flickers over pale skin. Her daughters waited in the shadows, silent as falling ash. One daughter leaned toward the other, her voice as thin as silk through smoke. "The herald comes," she murmured. "Does it hunger—or does it remember?" The other smiled faintly, her blade glinting. "Let it remember." With a faint tilt of her head, Lilith vanished—her form folding into darkness as if the night itself swallowed her.
At the center of it all, Lysanthir stood like an anchor in the storm. His cloak stirred faintly in the restless wind, arms folded, eyes half-lidded—not in indifference, but in the silence of one who watched deeper currents.Slowly, deliberately, he raised a hand. The runes carved into the blackstone pulsed faintly, casting a dull glow along the inner wall. For a fleeting moment, Lysanthir felt the echo of another battlefield, centuries gone—when the ground had trembled under his will, when gods had whispered his name with equal parts awe and dread. The runes answered now, slower, older—but they still answered. For a breath, the mist recoiled.Then it surged forward.
A hiss of steel. A sharp intake of breath.
Kaela's voice cracked across the ramparts."Positions. We hold."
Valtor's tail lashed, claws sliding free with a sound like stone on stone.Lilith's daughters slipped into the dark, pale streaks vanishing between the battlements.
For a heartbeat, the world balanced on a blade's edge.
Then the mist struck.
It hit the wall like a battering ram—a pressure without weight, a scream without sound. Figures tore through the haze: half-shaped things, jaws unhinged, eyes void of light.The watchmen staggered but held, steel flashing as the first wave shattered against stone.
From below, Valtor's voice roared."Steady! Anchor your feet—drive them back!"
Kaela moved like a golden flicker—daggers cutting, turning shapes to ash. Further south, screams tore the dark—short, wet. Lilith had begun her work.
Atop the tower, Lysanthir lifted his hand again. The runes flared brighter, jagged light slicing across stone. The mist recoiled—but this time, it shrieked back, a sound like the sky tearing open.
Kaela spun, heart hammering. And then she saw it.
A shape. Tall. Wrong. Waiting.
Her claws tightened on the hilt, a whisper cold and alien slithering through her mind. It knows me.
Without turning, she called, voice low, sharp. "Prepare yourselves."
From the base of the wall, Lysanthir's voice rose—quiet, unshakable. "Let it come."
The mist shuddered—and parted.
From its depths, a figure emerged.
Not running. Not charging. Walking.
The herald. Even among wraiths , it was myth—a shape born from the fracture itself, the first whisper of a world unraveling. Where it walked, boundaries thinned. Where it spoke, cities crumbled. Few had seen it and drawn breath again.
It moved like a shadow unstuck from the world, limbs too long, face a hollow mask crowned by burning gold eyes. Around it, the mist trembled, strained, as if the beast it served was barely leashed.
Kaela's breath hitched. The mark on her skin pulsed—hot, cold, all at once, a beat that drummed down her spine. Her fingers clenched until her knuckles ached. It's here for me.
Below, Valtor stilled, claws flexing once. "Master," he rumbled. "Say the word."
Beside him, Lilith slipped from shadow, crimson gaze locked on the herald. A faint smile touched her lips—calm, unreadable. Her daughters flanked her, pale knives gleaming in the dark.
But Lysanthir lifted his hand, a single, deliberate motion. Not yet.
Kaela drew a long breath. Smooth. Steady.
Then, in one fluid motion, she stepped to the edge——and leapt.
"Kaela—" Lilith's voice broke, but too late.
Kaela landed in a crouch, blades whispering free. The earth shuddered under her boots, the frostbitten ground hissing where the mist recoiled from her presence.
The herald tilted its head, golden eyes narrowing.
Kaela smiled—small, sharp."Come."
Behind her, Lysanthir watched, eyes glinting cold silver. Lilith's fingers twitched. Valtor's claws raked the dirt.
And then—the herald moved.
The air broke, a ripple through the world's skin. The ground screamed under its stride, the mist splitting like torn cloth.
Kaela surged forward—no hesitation, no backward glance. Daggers gleamed as she blurred into motion, a streak of gold and steel.
The first clash split the night. The second carved the dark. The third bit deep—not into flesh or bone, but something older, stranger.
Kaela's mark ignited, a blazing streak across her skin. The herald reeled back, a scream splitting the air—high, jagged, enough to rattle stone and marrow alike.
On the wall, Valtor roared, surging forward. Lilith raised her hand, summoning the shadows.
And Lysanthir's voice cut the chaos, soft but final. "Wait."