The sound of battle echoed through the stone corridors like thunder—screams of dying men, the clash of steel, and beneath it all, the rhythmic pounding of boots. Warriors were running, their footsteps creating a stampede of urgency as they charged in one direction. Toward the gates. Something was happening out there, something that required every available sword.
Signy's fingers dug into the armrests of his throne, his knuckles bone-white. The walls themselves seemed to shake with each new wave of screams. He could hear officers shouting commands, the desperate urgency in their voices cutting through the chaos. His heart hammered against his ribs like a war drum.
Another crash from outside—closer this time—followed by screams that were abruptly silenced. More men were dying. Many men. The sounds painted a picture Signy didn't want to see: his walls being overrun, his warriors falling, his kingdom crumbling around him.
Through it all, Jan sat.
