The first rays of dawn clawed over the horizon as the imperial horns sounded. Thousands of boots pounded the ground outside the walls.
Fresh troops from the capital, backed by heavy artillery and the last of Varyn's loyalists hungry for revenge. They came in waves that didn't stop.
Clara stood on the highest tower, her body more shadow than flesh now. Black veins pulsed under translucent skin. Selene sat beside her on a throne of coiled darkness, small legs dangling, eyes fixed on the battlefield. The child had grown overnight. Again.
Atlas gripped his sword with his good hand. His left arm hung useless at his side, bones still broken from the last fight.
Grief sat heavy in his chest—Elizabeth's death, the collapse of everything they built. He charged the front anyway. No time for caution.
"Hold the breach!" he roared.
Lara watched from the command post behind the walls. Her leg was swollen black from infection, shoulder wrapped in bloody bandages.
