< Damu's Dawn >
The air of dawn was chilly.
Darkness was retreating from the western ramparts of Damu. The sky had not yet fully brightened; only a faint gray light spread from the eastern horizon.
Stars were vanishing one by one, and the two moons had already slipped below the western horizon.
Winter dew clung to the leaves of the trees lining the wall. The branches of the great trees were damp, with tiny droplets hanging from each leaf. Every now and then the wind blew, and the drops fell onto the stone floor with soft, irregular sounds: plop, plip-plop.
The stones of the rampart carried a bluish tint, chilled by the gray dawn light seeping into them. The black crystals on their surfaces glinted faintly. These were stones quarried from Monos, heavy and unyielding, stacked not long ago so the joints were still rough.
At the corner where the west and south walls met stood a massive watchtower.
It was unfinished. The uppermost section lacked its final stones, exposing the timber framework beneath a flapping canvas cover that snapped in the wind.
Parts of the tower's outer wall were still roughly hewn, but its overall shape was unmistakable—vast, several times larger than a standard watchtower.
After word came of an approaching orc and minotaur army, Keuraber had ordered every scaffold on the outer face dismantled. The wooden posts had been pulled up, the platforms stacked in the inner courtyard.
Some sections of the wall were still incomplete, with wide gaps between stones and unfinished surfaces, but the rampart was already functional: tall and thick enough to hold back the enemy.
Braziers burned atop the wall.
Iron braziers stood at regular intervals—hemispherical bowls on three legs, flames flickering within. Charcoal glowed dull orange inside, the fire muted and unsteady against the blue-gray dawn. Heat rippled upward, shimmering the air.
A Dawi soldier stood beside one brazier.
Since the tidings of the orc and minotaur advance, he had donned heavier gear than usual. Thick plate armor covered his broad shoulders and chest; old dents still marked the shoulder pauldrons. His helm concealed his face, but brown fur showed beneath at the neck and jaw.
He held his shield close, back to the brazier's warmth, staring out beyond the wall. In his other hand he gripped a long spear; a short leather thong hung loosely from the shaft's midpoint, ready to be looped around his wrist when battle came.
He set the spear against the parapet for a moment and blew warm breath into his chilled palms. The thong swayed in the breeze.
A Muwa winged soldier landed beside him.
Talons scraped stone as he touched down, wings folding smoothly, black feathers settling along his flanks. He too was armored—leather plates reinforced with iron shoulder guards. A metal ring at his neck secured a short cloak that ended at the waist so it would not hinder his wings. Bronze sheaths capped his talons.
As the Muwa approached the brazier, the Dawi finally turned his head.
"Ugh… colder than yesterday." the Muwa said.
"Yeah." the Dawi replied. He planted his spear and held one hand over the flames.
"They'll be here soon, won't they?"
The Muwa settled beside the brazier, talons curling.
"Looks that way."
A short silence fell between them, broken only by the soft crackle of charcoal.
"Orcs and minotaurs at Damu." the Muwa muttered.
"Never thought I'd see it."
"How many did Quilin say there were? Orcs—seventy thousand? No, fifty thousand?"
The Dawi tilted his head.
"And thirty thousand minotaurs."
"Ridiculous."
The Muwa shook his beak.
"That's what I heard."
The Dawi shrugged.
"That many and the whole Tharn Forest will be crawling with them."
"Probably…"
"But it's no rumor. Warchief Salma saw them himself."
"Warchief Salma."
The Dawi's voice dropped.
"He came back recently after losing half the Yakra Winged Legion."
"And Sebire's dead, they say."
"He was one of the Mosrow Clan's captains…"
"Even a captain that strong fell."
The Muwa sighed.
"What about us?"
"We'll survive. We have to."
The Dawi stared into the brazier flames.
The Muwa lifted his gaze toward the west. Beyond the still-dark Tharn Forest, the trees stood as black silhouettes, branches scraping in the wind.
Then his eyes narrowed.
"There."
He pointed with a wingtip.
The Dawi followed his gaze. Far beyond the western forest, something stirred.
Dust.
Clouds of dust rose—not one, but dozens—gray masses overlapping as they drifted slowly forward above the trees.
"What is that?" the Dawi asked.
The Muwa did not answer. He spread his wings, talons pushing off stone, and launched upward.
He beat his wings once, twice, three times, climbing dozens of cubits until the wind buffeted him and feathers scattered. Eyes narrowed, he scanned the west.
Beyond the dust, trees were falling.
Huge trees toppled one after another, visible even at this distance. Not uprooted—severed midway by axes. The great trees of Tharn Forest.
"Three or four tita(1.5~2km) away, maybe?" the Muwa murmured.
Four tita was no small distance, yet the falling trees and rising dust were clear.
He descended slowly, wings folding, talons gripping stone again.
"They're cutting trees." he said.
"Trees? Who? Orcs? Minotaurs?"
"Yes. Right now."
The Dawi fell silent, staring west as the dust thickened.
Other soldiers began to notice.
A patrolling Dawi halted, hand on the parapet, eyes widening beneath his helm.
"What is that thing?"
His companion shook his head.
"I don't know, but it's nothing good."
Soldiers gathered along the wall, clustering near the braziers, all staring west.
More dust rose.
Dull thuds carried on the wind.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Trees crashing to the ground—massive trunks hitting earth. Irregular, coming from many places at once. Dozens falling simultaneously.
"That's definitely…"
One Dawi began, then stopped.
"Orcs!" another finished.
"There—minotaurs too." a Muwa added.
Time passed.
The sun rose. Red light spread from the east, turning the sky orange and tinting the clouds with faint crimson. The blue of dawn faded, replaced by warm morning light that bathed the wall.
But every gaze remained fixed westward.
Now more was visible.
Not only falling trees—felled trunks were being dragged together, hauled by many hands. Massive logs scraped across the ground, kicking up thicker dust.
Through the haze, gray shapes and horned silhouettes moved busily among the timber. Orcs and minotaurs.
A palisade was rising. Rough logs were driven into the earth one by one, forming an uneven line. The work was crude but swift.
Elsewhere, earthen ramparts took shape—soil dug up and piled, then added in front of the stakes.
Smoke rose. Black plumes from multiple fires. Flames flickered beneath, smoke climbing straight into the sky.
Wagons appeared. Too distant to make out clearly, but moving, wheels turning slowly, laden with unidentifiable cargo.
Tents began to appear.
Crude hide tents of varying sizes and shapes, many still bearing long patches of fur, others scraped down to the leather. Colors differed: faded brown, grayish, soot-black. Almost no two were alike.
Wooden poles rose at each peak, guy lines staked out and tightened. More tents went up rapidly, claiming a wide stretch of ground.
The soldiers on the wall fell silent.
One Dawi finally spoke.
"All of that… orcs and… minotaurs?"
No one answered.
"How are there so many…?"
Another murmured.
"We're supposed to fight them."
A Muwa's wings trembled.
"What will the Grand Warlord say?"
"I don't know. But we'll fight. Of course we will."
"Can we win?"
"We have to. This is Damu."
Unease spread through the ranks, yet so did resolve. Fear was there, but retreat was not an option.
An older Dawi stepped forward and removed his helm, revealing gray-streaked brown fur and an old scar near one eye.
"Report to the warchief. Now."
A younger Dawi beside him gave a quick nod, turned, and ran.
The older soldier looked west again.
The invaders' camp kept expanding—more tents, lengthening palisades, rising earthworks, thicker smoke.
And farther off, deep in the Tharn Forest, another movement appeared.
Shapes were still indistinct, but their numbers were unmistakable—countless black specks threading through the trees, many carrying something that glinted: torches.
The older Dawi gripped his spear tighter.
"They're coming."
Soldiers began to move. Those near the braziers dispersed; some seized spears and moved to the battlements, others took up bows and headed for the ladders.
Armor scraped, boots rang on stone. They went to their posts without a word.
At the edge of the wall a Muwa's wings spread.
"Moon side!—stretching beyond the forest!"
With the cry he launched skyward.
The winged soldier flew low along the rampart, his shadow sweeping over the soldiers, then veered inward to carry the warning to the other walls and towers.
Sunlight fell across the rampart—warm light. Yet the air atop the wall remained cold and heavy.
Beyond the western forest, the enemy camp grew sharper by the moment