Chapter 11: March of the Desperate

The Mirrorguard army trudged across the final stretch of the Burnt Sea, the shifting sands devouring each heavy footfall. An oppressive silence gripped the column, broken only by the hiss of sand scraping armor and the low, rhythmic clank of weapons jostling on weary backs. Faces were drawn and pale, gaunt shadows lingering beneath eyes, every soldier trapped in a fog of exhaustion and mounting dread. The very air seemed thick with tension, the kind that curled around throats and made breathing a struggle.

Lyanna drifted among them, heart pounding a relentless rhythm that pulsed in her ears. She wore her fatigue like a shroud, each step heavier than the last. Her armor, once a source of strength and protection, felt suffocating, its weight like chains pulling her deep into the ash.

Ahead, horns blared as, a scout came running, kicking up puffs of ash with every stride. “The first wave,” he shouted, voice breaking. “They’re coming. Fast ones. A dozen, maybe more.”

A ripple of unease swept through the ranks. Lyanna swallowed hard, a chill creeping down her spine. They all knew what that meant. Ash-hounds—skeletal creatures with ember-like eyes set deep in bony skulls—would race over the dunes, tearing through their lines before the real monsters even arrived. Then there were the wraiths, shadowy forms that melted into the darkness only to reappear somewhere else entirely. Both were just the vanguard, a taste of something far worse trailing close behind.

“Spread out!” roared a captain, his command slicing through the panic. He unsheathed his sword, the blade catching a pale glint of dying light. “Form a perimeter! We buy time here! Hold the line!”

The Skybreaker platform was a whirlwind of desperate construction. Eda and the camp aides moved with frantic purpose, essence crystals piled before them like hoarded treasure. Eda struck one with a hammer, the crystal shattering into a spray of jagged shards, each fragment releasing a burst of raw magic that crackled through the air. The camp aides grabbed the shards and distributed them among the mages, trying to match each piece's affinity as best they could.

“Take it,” Eda said, thrusting a shard into a young fire mage’ hands. “And don’t waste it. We can’t afford waste.”

The fire mage took the shard, wide-eyed, and stumbled toward his comrades, clutching the volatile piece as if it might save or doom them. Eda continued issuing commands, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Check your affinities! Misalignment will kill us faster than the monsters will!”

Lyanna pressed her lips into a thin line. She understood the urgency, but she also saw that small mistakes were slipping through. There was no time for careful, precise matches, not with the approaching threat.

“Lady Lyanna.” Sir Roafthar, an elderly camp aide with freshly scuffed armor, approached her. “You should rest now, my lady,” he said, his voice rough but insistent. “The army will handle the first wave. Please, gather your strength.”

She almost snapped at him, her fingers twitching for the hilts of Ember and Scarlet. How can I rest while they fight? Her mind seethed, her pride battling exhaustion. But she knew he was right; she was a liability in this state. She needed to recover, or she would fall—and take others down with her. Her frustration tasted bitter, like ash.

“Fine,” she forced out, each syllable an effort. She stumbled to a wall of solidified ash near the half-constructed Skybreaker frame, her body sinking into a crouch. The cold, unyielding surface pressed into her back as she slid down, defeated.

Lyanna pressed the cold hilt of Ember into her forehead. The twin blades felt lifeless in her grip, their once comforting presence a haunting reminder of how desperately she needed to recover. She closed her eyes and began to meditate, forcing her mind inward to the hollow emptiness of her essence pool.

She tried to pull essence from the void, but every breath was tainted by exhaustion. Emotions she had spent years controlling seeped into her trance, ghostly echoes she couldn’t banish.

Karina’s hand, the brutal snap of her voice, “You’re nothing but a reckless child.” The accusation stung, still raw, and her jaw tightened against the pain. Why did it still have power over her?

But her mind gave her no reprieve, replaying the thundering noise of the Skybreaker cannon firing, over and over gain. Each blast leaving ripples in her mind

When, she finally banished it, it was replaced with Karina and Pyrope, lying dead in dozen different ways. But Lyanna held onto Eda’s words, trying sail the turbulent sea of her thoughts. Karina and Pyrope are stronger than any opponent they could face. They’ll return.

Then, mercifully, a distant roar swelled, breaking the cycle of grief and worry. The noise shattered her focus, but also offered escape. She blinked, her meditation faltering, and her pulse thudded thrumming with a bitter sense of failure. The battle was already beginning, and she hadn’t recovered enough.

A young woman stood nearby, brown hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, ash streaked across her uniform. She couldn’t have been much older than Lyanna. “Please, Lady Lyanna,” she said, her voice strained yet firm, “rest while you can. The first wave is ours to handle. You’ll be needed soon enough.”

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Lyanna studied her, noting the plain uniform and the lines of exhaustion etched into her features. This was someone who had seen too much, fought too hard. “What’s your name?” Lyanna asked.

“Elara,” she replied. “Apprentice Camp Aide.” She hesitated, a flicker of sympathy or pity crossing her face. “Please, meditate. We’ve got this… for now.”

Lyanna clenched her jaw. The urge to argue, to throw herself into the fray, was a pulsing need. But she knew better. She was spent, running on willpower alone, and her soldiers needed her at her best. Or at least better than this.

“Fine,” she said finally, nodding. But couldn´t return to meditation just yet.

Not without knowing that their defenses were being erected, that they had a fighting chance against the impending battle. The thought of regaining her strength only to face an impossible fight was a bleak one, and she needed reassurance that they were doing everything they could to prepare.

Around her, the fortress took shape. Earth mages, faces set in grim concentration, lifted dunes with gestures that trembled from strain, forming ramparts and barricades from the sands. Every movement was slow, deliberate, and costly, but the walls grew thicker, more imposing, with every sacrifice of strength. Metal mages toiled alongside them, reforging the Skybreaker’s shattered remnants into lethal weapons—jagged spikes, makeshift ballistae, and catapults. The acrid tang of molten metal mingled with the stink of ash and sweat.

The Grandmasters worked together, their combined power summoning storm clouds that swirled in an unnatural fury. Rain fell in blackened sheets, carving a moat around the platform, the water turning the ash dunes into treacherous, clinging mud.

It was progress. Maybe not enough, but it was something. Enough to let her meditate in peace, knowing that all that could be done was being done.

Lyanna leaned her head back against the wall, forcing herself to close her eyes. Focus on essence. Focus on breath. Breathe in, breathe out.

Minutes bled into each other, but her sense of time was elusive. Slowly, she felt the barest whispers of energy returning, essence trickling into the emptiness of her pool.

Her awareness dulled, her mind swaying between wakefulness and the darkness of fatigue. As world faded, and she drifted on the edge of sleep, consciousness slipping and blurring. But even there, the battle haunted her. She felt the tremors of magic, heard the clash of swords, smelled the acrid stench of ash and fire.

Lyanna awoke with a start, the sounds of the clash now much closer. The walls trembled with the impact of monstrous claws, and she pushed herself to her feet, limbs aching, mind still foggy.

Despite herself, Lyanna’s instincts screamed to rush to the walls, to wield her blades and cut down their foes herself. But she stayed put, biting back the urgency. She had to trust her soldiers, trust the preparations, even if it felt like leaving her heart to be torn apart alongside them.

Instead, she turned her attention to the fortress’s progress. The defenses were forming well, rising and bracing under the watchful hands of exhausted mages.

Earth and ash mages worked tirelessly, their hands sweeping over the sands and stone. They summoned towering walls of hardened ash, walls that rose higher with each breath, though their progress was slow—each movement requiring all their energy. The ground trembled beneath their feet as they reshaped the dunes into a defensive structure, trenches and ramparts springing up around the Skybreaker platform like jagged teeth.

Nearby, metal and wood mages stripped away the wreckage of the platform, reforging it into crude yet sturdy siege weapons. They worked together with grim efficiency, turning twisted metal into spikes and traps, fashioning ballistae and catapults from the bones of their ruined home. The air was thick with the scent of molten metal, and the clang of hammers striking iron was a constant rhythm, punctuated by the occasional curse as a piece of the platform creaked under the strain.

Fire mages flanked the rear, summoning roaring fires in braziers, their hands glowing with the intense heat of molten ash.

She closed her eyes once more, diving into the hollow center of herself, embracing the agony of meditation. Her mind drifted on currents of ash and shattered memories, fighting the drag of exhaustion. With each shallow breath, she gathered threads of essence, pulling them from the void and into her pool.

This will never be enough, her inner voice whispered. But she ignored it, clutching to the resolve still flickering within. No matter how small the flame, she would keep it alive. We will fight. We will not fall.

Time unraveled around her, marked only by the rise and fall of distant screams, the unending drumbeat of battle.

Lyanna awoke with a start, the sounds of the clash now much closer. The walls trembled with the impact of monstrous claws, and she pushed herself to her feet, limbs aching, mind still foggy.

Elara was there again, face grim. “It’s almost done,” she said, gesturing to the transformed platform. “The defenses… they’re holding, for now. Young Lord Alric has joined us on the left flank.”

Lyanna nodded absently, dismissing the young aide, and looked out. The Skybreaker was gone, consumed in the creation of a fortress that felt barely sufficient against the approaching tide. Towers of hardened ash loomed over the moat, and siege weapons stood ready.

Nearby, priests chanted desperately, sacrificing essence crystals in frantic pleas for divine intervention. Bolts of divine lightning cracked the sky, striking down the strongest creatures, their questing tips could find. The air thrummed with magic and desperation, a suffocating, pulsing energy.

Lyanna climbed the steps to the wall, feeling every bruise and ache, and when she reached the top, the sight stole her breath.

A sea of nightmares stretched before them. Ash Stalkers, skeletal forms with limbs of smoldering ash, prowled the dunes. Dune Krakens, multi-limbed and burrowing, sent ripples through the ground as they approached. Gloomwings, shadowy bat-like creatures, circled overhead, their eyes glowing with hunger. Carrion Drakes slithered forward, their breath a noxious fume of decay. And Bloodweavers spun crimson webs between the dunes, their fangs glistening with life-draining venom.

The ground quaked beneath their roars, and the air stank of death.

Lyanna drew Ember and Scarlet, the twin blades cold and heavy in her hands. She stood on that wall, soldiers flanking her, their faces pale but determined. They were a tiny island of defiance in an ocean of darkness.

“Soldiers of Mirrorguard!” she shouted, her voice carrying over the cacophony. “Stand your ground! Fight for your kingdom! Fight for your lives!”

The roars of her soldiers rose against the monstrous symphony, a frail, defiant hope. Lyanna’s heart thudded as the monsters surged forward, and she braced herself for the storm that would decide their fate.