The siege began before dawn.
The first explosions shook the valley as flaming arrows cut through the mist, raining fire upon Isla's walls. The fortress lit up in bursts of orange and gold, the air thick with smoke and the raw metallic scent of war. From the upper tower, Isla watched as her people scrambled below—archers loading, soldiers shouting, flames crawling across the courtyard.
Her hands gripped the cold stone until her knuckles whitened. She had dreamed of this moment countless times, imagined it in whispers and dread, yet nothing could prepare her for the reality of Dante's fury.
"He's not testing us anymore," Luca said beside her, his voice roughened by smoke. "He's coming for you."
"I know."
The distant sound of war drums rolled like thunder. Beneath them, another rhythm pulsed—steel clashing, wood splintering, screams breaking into the wind. Isla could feel it vibrate through the floor, through her bones. It was the sound of his reach, crawling closer.
