"In war, sleep is not rest. It is delay. Delay is death. So we lie awake—not out of fear, but because the fire still needs us."
—Jag, Prince of Stormwatch
Location: Cinderpath Bastion – Midnight
The battlefield still smoked.
Crimson fire-glyphs burned low across the trenches. Orc bodies lay stacked, limbs stiff in awkward poses. Some smoldered. Others, buried under rubble, still twitched from half-shattered spines.
Cinderpath had held—for now.
But it looked more like a scar than a victory.
Jag sat on a stone near the command tent, his right arm in a sling and face covered in dried blood. He hadn't slept in over 36 hours.
Rain approached, wiping grime from her cheeks with a soiled cloth.
"Healers say your shoulder's dislocated. You need rest, Jag."
He didn't look up.
"Rest comes after the next siege."
"Or after I'm dead."
"Whichever happens first."
Scene: The War Table – Stormwatch Command Tent
The remaining commanders gathered around the central map. New glyphs glowed red—warnings. Multiple orc battalions had encircled the southern plains.
Roderick, his breastplate dented and bloodstained, leaned in.
"They retreated before, but not in panic."
Ashra nodded. "They were testing our walls. Our people."
Rain tapped a symbol—a massive orc totem drawn crudely in black.
"Scouts confirmed this sigil appears on their war banners."
Jag stared.
A thick line. Curved horns. A third eye symbol at the center.
"They're not just coming with numbers."
"They're coming with a general."
POV Shift – Orcish Warcamp, Eastern Mesa
Ur'Zhul the Furnace, Warlord-General of the Southern Maw, stood atop a dead direbear, feasting on its liver raw.
His armor was layered plates of molten bone, each piece engraved with jagged war-runes. His back held a colossal hammer—Slagbreaker—an ancient relic rumored to have crushed dwarven citadels.
Surrounding him were orc captains, shamans, and beastbinders.
"Stormwatch does not break," one muttered.
Ur'Zhul growled, voice like grinding stone.
"No fortress breaks from the front."
He looked up.
"It breaks from within."
He raised his hammer and brought it down on the ground—BOOM—igniting the runes beneath them.
"Send the corpse-flayers. Let's see what their people scream when they see fire in their homes."
Scene: Stormwatch Inner Walls – Fear Takes Root
That night, dozens of fires broke out in smaller residential sectors of Stormwatch proper—areas once considered safe.
Screams echoed through the streets.
Guards rushed to action, only to find the fires started from below—through underground sabotage tunnels carved during the chaos of the last week.
Jag limped through the smoke, his cloak torn and face covered in ash.
"They're in our city."
Rain caught up with him. "Saboteurs. Not full forces. Just enough to cause chaos."
A civilian grabbed Jag's arm—an old woman, eyes wild.
"You promised safety!"
"You said we'd be safe inside the wall!"
Jag looked her in the eye.
"You're still breathing, aren't you?"
"That means I kept my promise."
He walked on.
Scene: Emotional Toll – Alone With Ashra
Later, in a quiet tent near the eastern trench, Ashra found Jag sitting alone, facing a flame glyph with his injured arm hanging limp.
He didn't notice her at first.
"They're learning," he whispered. "Faster than I expected."
Ashra folded her arms. "So are we."
"Not fast enough."
He turned to her.
"Do you know what I saw today? A mother—dead from a shrapnel trap… still holding her child's hand."
His voice cracked.
"We keep winning the day. But we're losing the nights."
Ashra crouched beside him.
"Stormwatch isn't a wall."
"It's a grief that refuses to die. And so do we."
Jag met her eyes.
"Then let's be the grief that fights back."
Scene: Choir Council Emergency Meeting
In the Citadel's inner chamber, the surviving mages of the Choir gathered. Floating glyph-maps showed troop movement, red-flagged areas of unrest, and glyph fatigue across core defense systems.
Master Glyphscribe Orlen stepped forward.
"We can't maintain this tempo. Barrier drains are spiking. Choir channels are cracked. We need to pull back and preserve core wards."
Rain, exhausted, slammed her hand on the table.
"If we pull back, we give them space to build siege lines."
Ashra spoke coldly.
"Then we give them nothing."
Jag stepped in, voice hoarse but steady.
"We're not pulling back."
"We fortify forward."
The mages balked.
"You'll drain the core!"
Jag nodded.
"Yes. But we'll burn the earth with it before they set foot inside this Bastion."
Scene: Strategy Reforged – The War Begins Again
Jag issued new orders before dawn:
Conscripts to begin building a new outer wall—sharper, narrower, layered with mirrored kill zones.
Choir engineers were assigned to weave interlocking glyph snares in alleyways and bridges.
Artillery teams worked overnight to build skybursts—explosive traps that detonated from above, designed to counter climbing beasts and siege trolls.
And the most controversial order?
"Every able-bodied civilian will be trained with a weapon—starting tomorrow."
"Not to fight."
"To outlast."
Cut to: Inner Monologue – Jag
As the moon began to fade and morning threatened, Jag sat on a parapet overlooking the valley.
His thoughts grew heavy.
We won battles. We never win peace.
He looked to the rising storm clouds.
How much longer can I pretend this is defense?
How many more will I send to die for a wall?
A gust of wind blew past him. He didn't flinch.
He closed his eyes.
"Stormwatch was never meant to survive."
"It was meant to give us the time to become something more."
Final Scene: Ur'Zhul's War Banner Raised
In the southern mesa, Ur'Zhul raised his war banner.
The blood-soaked cloth bore a single phrase in the Orcish tongue:
"We do not knock."
A hundred war drums began to beat again—faster. Louder.
The sky turned iron.