The stone of the battlements still hummed with residual power as the last echoes of the ritual faded.
Below, Varen's forces pulled back into the smoke-choked streets, their siege ladders broken and their war-horns silent for now. But the real war had already moved inside the Cathedral of the Eternal Flame.
Aiden stood at the edge of the parapet, chest heaving, sweat and other fluids cooling on his skin. The fractures along his arms and chest pulsed faintly, no longer splitting wide but feeling… unstable.
Like cracks in glass that had been melted together too quickly. Every breath sent tiny sparks of dark holy energy crawling under his flesh.
"Secure the inner cloister!" Isolde shouted, voice sharp as a blade. Her armor was half-unbuckled, hair wild, but her sword arm never wavered. "Morten's dogs have the Eastern Gatehouse and half the cardinal's quarters. Move!"
