Maren City had been built to hold ten million.
Now more than thirty million souls sheltered behind its walls — refugees crammed into every street, plaza, and stairwell, driven inward by the collapse of half the continent.
And beyond the eastern ramparts, across the scorched plain where the infected army gathered, the defenders made their stand.
Lieutenant General Anderson stood at the very front of the line. His broad frame radiated restrained killing intent as he surveyed the horizon, scarred arms folded, every motion deliberate. To his right, Ayla sat astride her golden-striped tiger, her silver beasts circling restlessly at its feet. To his left, Formation Master Arctus had already begun activating his banners, hundreds of yellow flags shivering in the wind as glowing runes crept beneath the soil.
