By the next morning, Ridgebrook felt smaller.
Not physically—but mentally.
The air itself seemed tighter, heavier, as if the siege had reached invisible hands into the village and begun squeezing the breath out of it, one slow press at a time.
We woke to drums.
Not scattered beats from patrols—
These were deliberate. Steady. Slow.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
A rhythm meant to threaten, not signal.
A message.
"They're pushing now," Orin muttered as we climbed the barricade. "Those drums… I've only heard them once before. When bandits surrounded Ironhill."
I glanced at her. "How did that end?"
"They burned the whole town."
Lira flinched, pulling her cloak tighter.
Beyond the barricades, the forest was alive with movement. Torches shifted constantly. Soldiers marched openly. Shapes gathered into formations that made no attempt to hide.
Vantor wanted us to see them.
Wanted us to understand the noose was tightening.
The Summoner's Ledger pulsed behind my eyes:
[WATER STORED: 19%]
[ENEMY PRESSURE INCREASING]
[DAYS UNTIL NEXT SUMMON: 11]
Orin noticed my stare. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"Looking at nothing while your face gets grim."
"Thinking," I said quickly. "About how screwed we are."
Vlad appeared beside us, silent as always. "They intend to break your resolve before they break your bodies."
"Comforting," Lira muttered.
"Truth rarely is," Vlad replied.
Orin pointed toward the southern treeline.
A group of Warguard soldiers had begun constructing something—wooden frames, stakes, stacks of timber.
"What are they building?" Lira whispered.
"A pyre," Vlad said without hesitation.
Cold settled in my stomach. "To burn us out?"
"Not yet," he answered. "It is a warning. A reminder of what happens to villages that resist."
Psychological warfare.
Perfect.
Below us, a mother knelt at the creek, trying to fill a bucket from the thin film of water clinging to the stones. When she lifted it and found barely a splash inside, she looked up at me with hollow eye
"Chief… how much longer?"
I forced my voice steady. "Long enough for us to strike back."
The words felt thin—but fear would kill us faster than thirst if I let it show.
By mid-afternoon, things worsened.
Scouts returned breathless. More torches. More patrols. Reinforcements moving into the northwest. Worse still, Vantor's elite Warguard had begun probing our perimeter—throwing stones, testing reactions, mapping how fast we responded.
"They're learning us," Orin said. "Finding our weak points."
"They already know we're weak," Lira whispered.
"No," I said. "They know we're organized. That scares them more."
Vlad nodded. "Adaptable prey unsettles predators."
Orin snorted. "Let him choke on that."
But even she looked uneasy.
As the sun dipped lower, tension thickened. Every villager carried something sharp. Spears rattled in shaking hands. The air smelled of smoke and fear.
Whispers spread:
"What if they attack tonight?"
"What if they burn us?"
"What if we run out of water?"
"What if we surrender?"
That last one made my chest tighten.
Lira noticed and placed a hand on my shoulder. "They're scared. But they trust you."
"I don't feel worth following."
"You are," she said softly.
Her hand lingered.
For a second too long, neither of us looked away.
Then she pulled back, flustered. "W-we should prepare. Just in case."
Orin raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Night fell hard.
The forest erupted into flame.
Not scattered torches—
A wall of fire.
Hundreds of them, arranged in deliberate curves, encircling Ridgebrook in a burning crescent.
"They're done waiting," Orin whispered.
The drums returned.
Slow.
Heavy.
Relentless.
Children cried. Animals stamped nervously. The ground itself seemed to vibrate.
Vlad climbed onto the barricade beside me. "He will attack when morale is lowest."
"When's that?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Any moment between now and dawn."
"Fantastic."
A villager stumbled up the ladder, pale. "Chief! They're stacking wood near the east! I think they're preparing fire!"
Orin swore. "We'll need water ready. Gods help us…"
"With what water?" Lira whispered.
"We'll use what we have," I said.
Vlad tilted his head. "Fire destroys bodies. Fear destroys resolve."
"And will it?" I asked.
He smiled faintly. "That depends on you."
A horn sounded from the forest—sharp, commanding.
Weapons rattled.
Someone screamed.
And the Ledger pulsed again:
[ENEMY ATTACK IMMINENT]
[DAYS UNTIL NEXT SUMMON: 11]
Lira grabbed my arm. "Liam—what is it?"
I swallowed. "Nothing. Just…"
I forced a breath.
"…a very bad feeling."
Torches flared brighter.
Shadows moved.
The ring around Ridgebrook tightened.
And the night closed in like a predator preparing to strike.