Uruk fell before the swords did.
When the news arrived… no drums were beaten—only the earth trembled beneath the weight of grief.
In the royal palace of Ora, the proud capital of the Kingdom of Uruk, a suffocating silence reigned. The handmaidens stood like statues. The guards barely breathed. It was as if they had heard the news but couldn't comprehend it.
Then Lara, the queen's personal servant, entered quietly and knelt.
She whispered, her voice trembling:
"King Karis… has fallen."
Queen Lina Krios never knew it was possible for a person to feel themselves detach from their body. Something inside her shattered—quietly, irrevocably.
The tears didn't wait for permission. They fell freely, as if they knew their path.
"No…" she whispered, gazing at the sky through her balcony. "Not him… it can't be…"
She dropped to her knees, her golden gown brushing the cold marble. Her arms wrapped around her abdomen as if to protect it from the wound her heart had taken.
But it was true.
Her husband… her king… had died in war.
Then came the second blow.
Worse than the first.
Marcus.
Her own brother.
A traitor.
He now led the remnants of Uruk's army—hand in hand with Ashur's forces, under the command of General Nirsa—marching toward the capital.
As if the heavens had decided to collapse all at once.
Lina wiped her tears and stood. There was no time for despair.
"Summon the Shadow Army… immediately," she commanded.
Lara entered once more, her face pale as death.
"My queen… the Shadow Army… has vanished."
"…What did you say?"
"The assassin women… their tents are empty. Training halls abandoned. No one knows where they went—or when they left."
The queen felt glass flow through her veins.
The Shadow Army… her last card… gone.
And what was once her shadow—was now a terrifying void.
In the streets, the people divided.
Farmers picked up tools in place of swords.
Young men volunteered to defend the walls.
Women prepared food, arrows, and bandages.
And the merchants… fled.
Carts filled with gold. Sacks of wheat stolen. Soldiers unable to control the rising madness. Everyone knew… the enemy was coming.
Amid the chaos, Max Krios, son of the late king and heir to the throne, stood tall beside his younger brother Alex, a strange calm on his face.
"I'll lead the defense of the walls, mother," he said firmly.
Alex, barely sixteen, raised his head proudly.
"I'll stand by you, brother."
The queen, eyes drowning in sorrow, nodded slowly.
"Hold them… until I prepare the palace's last line of defense."
But she didn't know… Max's heart no longer beat for Uruk.
Upon the walls, the brothers oversaw the fortifications. Soldiers dug trenches, young men stacked stones, and tension sliced through the air.
"Alex…" Max suddenly said, "Do you believe in destiny?"
Alex smiled innocently.
"I believe we were born to protect our kingdom."
"And I believe we were born… to end it."
Before Alex could understand,
Max plunged a dagger into his brother's stomach—laced with poison.
"Why…?" Alex gasped, collapsing.
"Because Uruk… is finished, little brother."
Max knelt beside him, dragging the dying body out of sight and wiped the blade clean.
Then, with chilling calm, he approached the northern gate—and slowly opened it.
Through the dust, Ashur's banners emerged. Marcus rode at the front.
Beside him marched Nirsa, her sword still stained with the king's blood.
Max stood atop the wall and raised his hand in signal.
"Everything is ready… for your entry."