Three days passed like slow suffocation.
The creek never rose.
Not even an inch.
Ridgebrook rationed every drop of water with desperate care. Children cried from thirst. Adults forced smiles they didn't feel. Even the animals grew restless, pacing and snorting as if they could sense the end creeping closer.
By the fourth morning, fear had weight. It clung to the air—thick, bitter, and impossible to escape.
The Summoner's Ledger pulsed faintly in my hand.
[DAYS UNTIL NEXT SUMMON: 12]
[WATER STORED: 23%]
[SIEGE PRESSURE: RISING]
"Twelve days…" I muttered. "Just twelve more."
Orin stood beside me on the barricade, spear resting against her shoulder, dark circles under her eyes. None of us had slept properly in days.
"Do you think we'll make it?" she asked quietly.
"We're not dead yet," I replied.
She gave a dry snort. "Encouraging."
Below us, villagers gathered near the creek with empty buckets, waiting for a miracle that didn't come. Many returned with nothing but cracked lips and lowered eyes.
Lira arrived moments later, breathless from running.
"Liam—the southern scouts heard something," she said. "You need to know."
My stomach tightened. "What is it?"
"They overheard Warguard officers arguing," she said softly. "About rations. Desertions. Discipline." She swallowed. "They hanged one of their own last night."
Behind us, Vlad smiled faintly.
"Cracks form quickly in frightened men," he said.
Orin let out a slow breath. "They're turning on each other."
"They will continue," Vlad added. "Fear accelerates decay."
"Great," I snapped. "Because while they're tearing themselves apart, we're the ones dying of thirst."
Vlad met my glare but didn't argue.
As afternoon crept in, something shifted.
Torches lit earlier than usual along the forest edge. Warguard silhouettes moved closer than they had yesterday. Two short horn blasts echoed through the trees.
A warning.
"They're planning something," Lira whispered.
"No," I said. "They're testing us."
As if on cue, eight Warguard soldiers marched to the edge of the treeline and stopped. One stepped forward, lifted a waterskin, and slowly poured it onto the dirt.
Mocking.
Orin cursed under her breath. "Bastards."
I leaned over the barricade and shouted, "Enjoy wasting water, shitheads! You'll die thirsty before we do!"
They didn't understand every word—but the meaning landed. One spat on the ground.
"Your village dies soon," their leader called back. "Surrender, and we may spare the children."
"Fuck your mother!" I yelled.
The soldiers stiffened, clearly insulted.
Orin bit back a laugh.
Lira buried her face in her hands.
Vlad nodded approvingly. "A strong declaration of dominance."
"Glad you approve," I muttered.
The patrol withdrew into the forest.
But none of us believed that was the end of it.
Night fell heavy and tense.
Mothers hushed their children. Fathers sharpened blades by firelight. No one spoke louder than a whisper.
At the well, Lira stood beside me, her voice trembling.
"I'm scared, Liam."
"So am I," I admitted.
She touched my arm, gentle and grounding. "But when you shout back at them… it feels like we're not helpless."
Her fingers lingered.
Before either of us could say more, a villager came running.
"Chief! Something's happening at the eastern barricade!"
Orin grabbed her spear. "Move."
Vlad rolled his shoulders. "Finally."
We reached the wall just as villagers began pointing into the forest.
Torches were gathering.
Dozens of them.
Slow. Ordered. Deliberate.
Then the sound hit us.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
Drums.
Siege drums.
"They've never done this before," Orin whispered.
Lira went pale. "It's starting."
The torches split into two curved lines, spreading wide.
A tightening noose.
Vlad watched with interest. "They believe pressure will break you."
"What do we do?" Lira asked.
I stared into the wall of fire and shadows, heart pounding, hands shaking.
Then I forced a grin.
"We hold," I said. "We piss them off. We survive twelve more days."
Orin exhaled slowly. "And after twelve days?"
"After twelve days," I said, "we get help from another friend."
The torches burned brighter.
The drums grew louder.
The night pressed down harder.
Ridgebrook stood on the edge.
And the siege was entering its deadliest phase.