The walls of Yainna rose high into the misty night, an unbroken line of stone and steel bathed in the cold shimmer of moonlight. Upon them, shoulder to shoulder, stood the kingdom's strength — seasoned guards with weathered faces, grim-faced brutes in thick furs, and archers with taut bowstrings that quivered under the strain. They did not speak. The only sound was the wind, whistling between crenellations, carrying with it the distant roar of horns that had been silenced moments ago.
Virvo sat atop his monstrous mount, still smiling. The crescent moon caught on the edges of his blackened armor, dripping with what looked to be veins of molten silver. Behind him, his Venomids shifted and twitched, their shapes jagged and wrong — like creatures sculpted from nightmares and given breath. The air around them rippled faintly, as if the world itself rejected their presence.
"They have only heard of me," Virvo murmured to himself, voice curling with amusement, "but never seen what I truly am."
His smile stretched further, teeth flashing unnaturally white against the shadow of his face.
In the King's Chambers
Within the towering keep, King Derek stood before a tall mirror as servants fastened the clasps of his gold-and-black armor. The plates caught the torchlight, gleaming like the promise of unyielding rule. His dark hair had been pulled back, revealing a jaw set in steel and eyes fixed on nothing but the thought of the walls.
A servant knelt, offering him his sword and shield. Derek took them without a word, the weight familiar, grounding him in the moment. Beside him, Lord Alric — Yainna's war chief — was also being suited, the heavy leather straps of his pauldrons pulled tight. Where Derek's armor shone like a king's, Alric's bore the scars of battles long past, each dent and scratch a silent testimony.
Derek's gaze never left the far wall as he spoke low, almost as if to himself."Alric… I will not let Yainna fall. Not while I reign. Not while my children's children bear my name."
Alric's lips twitched into a small smirk. "Prideful words. But your pride made you King, Derek. And tonight, it will keep your men standing." He paused, eyes scanning Derek's face. "The city will see your resolve before they see the enemy. That is worth more than any sword."
Derek finally turned his head toward him, jaw clenched. "Then we stand together."
Their eyes locked for a brief moment — not as king and subject, but as men who had grown from boyhood side by side, bound by loyalty and years of shared struggle. No further words were needed. The king took one final look at himself, sheathed his sword, and together they strode out, their appointed knights falling into step behind them.
The Search for Thalia
In another corridor, a knight in full mail hurried toward the princess's chambers, boots ringing against the polished stone. He stopped at her door, knocking sharply.
"Princess Thalia — your father has ordered I take you to safety!"
No answer.
His hand tightened around the pommel of his sword. "Princess?" he called again, louder now. Still silence. He stepped back, bracing himself to break down the door — but just as his shoulder tensed, the door swung inward.
It wasn't Thalia.
William stood there, chest heaving, hair disheveled. The knight's brow furrowed at the sight. "Where is she?"
"She's gone." William's voice was breathless, but his eyes were sharp with the same fear the knight carried. "I don't know where — but I think I do."
The knight didn't ask for explanation. He knew. And he knew why William's face betrayed more than concern it was something deeper.
Thalia's Descent
Elsewhere in the keep, Thalia knelt on the cold floor of William's chambers, her palms pressed into the stone. Her heart was pounding so violently she thought it might tear itself free. For the first time in her life, fear wasn't for herself or even her father it was for him. The thought that William could already be lost made her stomach twist and her breath come short.
Then, through the haze, she heard it a sound carried faintly on the air.A squawk. Familiar. Haunting. Like a thread pulled from an old memory, though she couldn't place where she'd heard it before. She turned toward the open window, listening, trying to focus.
It grounded her just enough to stand. She inhaled sharply, forcing her breath steady, and left the room without looking back.
If William was anywhere… he'd be upon the walls. And if he was upon the walls, then her father would be too. She moved with purpose now, her steps quickening as she passed through long, torch-lit halls toward the stairs leading up.
The Walls of Yainna
Above, the ramparts groaned under the weight of men. Guards in polished armor, brutes gripping heavy axes, archers with their arrows already drawn all lined the battlements. Among them were young boys barely past their first shave and old men whose hands trembled around the hilts of hastily-issued swords. Fear was there, yes in the darting eyes, in the shallow breaths but so too was the stubborn resolve that made Yainna the ruling power of these lands.
King Derek emerged onto the high ground, his steps deliberate. The murmurs stilled. The men straightened, as though his presence alone was a bulwark against what lay beyond.
A general stepped to his side, gaze fixed outward. "This is what the depths of hell look like," he said, voice heavy.
Derek followed his gaze and the sight tightened his jaw. The plain before the city was a writhing sea of blackened shapes, the Venomids arrayed in perfect, unnatural formation. Their bodies twisted and hunched, each different in its wrongness. Some dripped with a dark ichor that steamed against the cold. Some breathed ragged clouds of vapor. All watched. All waited.
And at their head… Virvo.
The Parley
Virvo dismounted with eerie grace, his boots sinking slightly into the churned earth. His gaze rose to the walls, locking on Derek. That smile — too wide, too knowing — stayed fixed as he spread his arms.
"King of Yainna," he called up, his voice carrying unnaturally far, as if the air itself bore it upward. "You have ruled long. Held strong. But every wall falls."
Derek's voice rang out steady. "You've come far to find your death."
Virvo chuckled, tilting his head like a predator humoring its prey. "Not death, King. I come for what was promised. I am but a servant to a greater will… yet tonight " his tone darkened, the smile twisting "tonight is personal."
Derek's hand rested on the pommel of his sword. "What do you want?"
Virvo's eyes narrowed, the humor gone. "A name. A soul. And the city that shelters it."
"Whose soul?" Derek demanded.
Virvo did not answer. Instead, he took a slow step forward, his Venomids mirroring the movement like a tide inching toward shore. "You'll know it when you hear the screaming."
The Final Moments Before the Storm
On the battlements, archers tightened their grips, the string biting into their fingers. Young men exchanged quick, shallow breaths, some whispering prayers to gods they barely believed in. The brutes grunted low, stamping their boots, trying to summon courage.
Thalia emerged onto the wall, her eyes immediately scanning for William. Her gaze swept past her father, past the line of lords and generals but no sight of him yet. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword as her heart climbed into her throat.
Below, Virvo's smile returned, slow and deliberate. "Shall we begin?"
He raised one gauntleted hand and the Venomids roared, a sound like stone grinding against bone. The ground trembled under their first steps forward.
And then… they charged.
The night exploded into chaos.