By mid-morning the first clashes began along the lower slopes. Small groups testing our strength. We repelled them easily, but each attack cost us arrows and energy.
I moved among the fighters between waves, offering quiet words and steady hands on shoulders. Their eyes followed me with something close to reverence now. Not for glory. For survival. For the promise that their queen would spend her own blood before she let the enemy take our future.
The kings fought like extensions of my will. Darius held the center with unyielding discipline. Kane struck from the shadows wherever the line thinned. Rylan became a storm on the flank, drawing enemy focus and shattering it.
By late afternoon the attacks slowed. Their main force had arrived but seemed hesitant to commit fully against our elevated position. I stood on the crest watching their banners shift below and felt the first real thread of hope since the bridge.
We had slowed them. Hurt them. Forced them to climb to reach us.
