The morning broke not with sunlight, but with noise.
Shunya had barely gotten three bites of dried bread down when the first horn split the air. It was not the kind of horn blown for festivals or processions. This one was jagged, urgent— ripped straight from the lungs of panic.
Naomi was on her feet before the echo faded. Sword already in hand, eyes sharp, shoulders squared. "Merchants. Get them behind the line."
Vikoria grabbed Shunya's sleeve and yanked him up. "Move!"
The courtyard, calm a breath ago, now spun like an upturned hive. Traders scrambled with their carts, pulling ropes, spilling bags of grain and bolts of cloth across the stone. NGCO soldiers shouted orders, but the sound of hooves and splintering wood outside the wall was louder.
