Lance stood beside me, silent. He removed his helmet, letting the cool air rush against his face. His silver-blond hair caught the last light of day, and his massive chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm.
"Ha, it's shaped like a literal heart." Fee laughed.
That was true. PrideFall Heart's design mirrored an anatomical heart, meant to symbolize the kingdom's love for its people. But from this height, the love looked fractured. The once-proud city lay in ruin beneath the moonlight.
PrideFall Market sprawled in the south, its stalls overturned, the scent of rot no doubt rising from what was left of its wares. To the west, PrideFall Harbor—normally a beacon of trade—now held only tattered sails and empty piers. The four Bastions of the castle, standing like silent sentinels, had become mere shadows of their former selves.
Rogue knights rode through the streets on their monstrous hogs, their massive forms barely contained by makeshift armor. Trolls barked orders, reshaping entire homes into crude dens, while spiders and crows flitted between the ruins. Only a handful of streets remained untouched—for now. That would change soon enough.
The Royal Archives were in chaos, and even the main aqueduct system had been overrun. But it was the north that held our focus.
"The Royal Tower," Lancelot gasped, his breath hitching as he squinted at the structure in the distance.
"That's what I wanted to show you," Bolton sighed, rubbing his temples. "There's a new slime variant. The black slime. It's resistant to small fires now, and—based on my observations—it controls the rest of the slime. It's a hive-mind situation."
"We'll target the tower first once the cannon is ready," he continued. "Then tomorrow, you'll scout the city for weaknesses in the rogue knights' defenses, gather resources, and—"
"Bolton?" Fee interrupted, not looking at him.
"Yes?"
"Can you please shut your smart trap and enjoy the moment?"
For once, he didn't argue. He looked out over the ruined city, his lips curling slightly in something resembling amusement.
The archers huddled around Fee, eager to hear tales of her adventures. Hogan stood beside Lancelot, both silent, both watching. And I stood with my brother.
I squeezed his wrinkled hand.
We will win.
The night passed in restless slumber. Even with the warmth of my cloak, the sanctum's stone floor was unyielding.
The embers of a dying fire flickered along the walls, sending long shadows dancing across the ceiling. Beyond the balcony, the ruined city murmured—whispers of unrest carried on the wind. I shifted onto my side and peered toward Bolton. He sat cross-legged, hunched over his books, eyes flickering with exhaustion but never losing their sharpness. He wasn't going to sleep. Not while the cannon remained unfinished.
"Go to sleep, little brother," I muttered, suppressing a yawn.
Bolton smirked but said nothing, his fingers tracing the pages of his notes. I turned toward the others. Fee slept soundly between the archers, their bows stacked neatly beside them. Hogan lay curled around his pig, snoring softly. Lancelot lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling—unmoving. He wasn't sleeping either. He was likely running through battle formations, trying to make sense of the chaos waiting for us in the morning.
That was tomorrow's problem. For now, the night claimed me.
Morning arrived with golden light filtering through the heavy curtains. The dust floating in the air made the space feel almost peaceful—almost.
"I could get used to living here," Bolton murmured, stretching his arms above his head. "Even though this place needs maintenance, it's divine compared to the refugee camp in the sewers."
I inhaled deeply, silently agreeing. The air here was stale but nowhere near as putrid as it had been down below.
Lancelot was already awake, rifling through the supplies. He moved with a deliberate focus, taking inventory of our weapons, food, and any salvageable trinkets. When he finally turned to us, his voice was firm.
"Gather around," he called, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Fee, I know you're awake."
"Ugh. Okay, what now?" Fee groaned, dragging herself up and stretching lazily.
Something flickered in Lancelot's eyes when he looked at her. Distrust? Uncertainty? It was gone in an instant, replaced by a steely determination.
"Bolton and Hogan will continue refining the Phlogiston and modifying the cannon. That's already decided."
"Right, right," Bolton muttered, waving a hand. "And the rest of you?"
"Fee, Lessa, and Leil—you're the fastest and best with long-ranged attacks. You'll focus on scouting, scavenging, and hunting."
Fee made a face. "So we're on vulture duty? Wonderful."
"We need every ounce of food we can get," Lancelot said, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of command. "Mage and I will scout PrideFall Heart. Try to figure out how the slime operates and poke holes in the rogues' strategy."
Bolton stroked his greying beard. "Our entire fighting force is six people. They've got at least thirty rogue knights, twenty trolls, and whatever else is slithering through the streets. We can't beat them all."
"We don't need to," Lancelot countered. "We just need to predict their movements. If we can bait them into gathering at one spot, the cannon can wipe them out—unless they surrender first."
"Ha, good one," Fee muttered.
The archers exchanged glances, then nodded. No one seemed to believe surrender was an option.
"So it's a plan." Lancelot rested a hand on his hilt, as if grounding himself. "Mage and I will scout. The rest of you—stay low, gather resources, and don't pick fights unless you have no choice."
Fee scoffed. "Can't promise that."
Lancelot exhaled through his nose. "Just… don't get reckless."
"Telling Fee not to be reckless is like telling a venom spider not to eat you," Hogan quipped, grinning. Silence. "Tough crowd."
"Moving on…" Bolton cleared his throat. "The refugees are still in the sewer refuge, but they need check-ups. We don't want riots breaking out. Hogan and I will be locked in on the cannon, so that falls on you."
Lancelot nodded. "We'll do two check-ins a day. They've got weapons, food, and enough traps to keep out the rogues. Should hold them for now."
"Speaking of the cannon," Hogan piped up, shifting uneasily, "how long is this gonna take? I've never been higher than an apple tree. Spending days in this tower makes my stomach want to quit existing."
"Get a grip, boy," Bolton scolded. "Three days. Today, we replicate the Phlogiston fuel—"
"—From the fire tomes, got it," Hogan muttered.
"Tomorrow, we build and assemble. And on the third day, we integrate the Phlogiston and apply the fire glyph to trigger the blast."
Fee stretched her arms with an exaggerated yawn. "And I'll pretend I understood any of that."
Bolton's eye twitched. "I made that as simple as possible." He rubbed his forehead, grumbling. "Would be a hell of a lot easier with Dragon's blood as a catalyst…"
"Perfect." Lancelot grunted. "The archer unit should start departing. We're right behind you guys."
"Archer unit? This isn't the military," Lessa scoffed, adjusting her bowstring. Fee snorted in agreement, shifting her weight like she was itching to get moving.
"They might not be, but the rogues were," Lancelot countered, voice edged with warning. "Don't underestimate them. Most of those knights fought under our banners before they defected. They know our tactics, our blind spots—and they have nothing left to lose."
That shut them up. Even Fee, who always had something smart to say, only crossed her arms and looked away.
I opened the portal through the locked door for them, and Lessa, Leil, and Fee stepped through, their presence fading into the night. Leil, usually the quiet one, glanced back once, hesitation flickering across her face before she followed the others.
"Uhh, Sir Lancelot, a word?" Bolton motioned him closer. "You don't need to be in this discussion, Mage."
"Uh, no. Anywhere my brother is, I follow," I said flatly, stepping in before Lance could object.
Hogan was busy tinkering with the fire cannon, muttering to himself as metal scraped against metal. Outside, the city whispered with distant echoes—nothing immediate, but the kind of silence that carried the promise of danger.
Bolton lowered his voice. "So… what Ralph said about the Queen, King, and Duke. Is it true?" His fingers tapped nervously against his robe. "I know it could be a scare tactic from that rogue knight, but if it is true…"
His voice trailed off. I felt it too—the unspoken weight of the question.
Was there even a point in saving the kingdom anymore?
The thought settled in my chest like a stone. I was never the type to chant about duty or glory, but even I knew that symbols mattered. A kingdom without its rulers was like a body without a spine. The slime had hit the Royal Bastions first, wiping out the nobility in one brutal sweep. If the royal family was truly gone… it would explain everything. The defections. The rogue knights abandoning their oaths. The lack of coordinated resistance.
Lancelot didn't answer right away. But then I saw it—his knuckles, rough and scarred, clenched so tight they trembled for a fraction of a second before steadying. If I hadn't been watching, I would've missed it.
"The Queen is," he paused, inhaling sharply, "dead. The whereabouts of the King and Duke are unknown."