The wooden spans of the Alder river bridge roared with alchemical fire as black pitch cascaded from the Concord loyalist catapults on the northern cliffs.
Choking smoke drifted across the icy torrent below, blinding the border highway where seven refugee children clung desperately to the splintered railing.
Behind the retreating convoy, the dead border loomed like an immovable precipice, its ancient dimensional wards preparing to slam shut against the mortal realm.
On the southern riverbank, Eirwen stood with both feet planted deep into the frosty loam, her botanical mana radiating emerald warmth into the soil.
"Lady Eirwen, the crossing is collapsing!" the refugee elder shouted from the rear wagon, pointing a trembling hand toward the flaming timbers.
"You must fall back to the municipal redoubt before the dead border seals this valley forever!"
"I am not falling back, elder," the Alder envoy answered in a voice of crystalline stillness that cut through the roaring flames.
