- - - > oxx Z•L xxo < - - -

Zevas' grip tightened on the rough stone of the battlement. Eard. The word echoed in the sudden quiet between one explosion and the next, and for a moment the forest floor tilted. Trees swayed like reeds, leaves blurring at the edges of his vision.

"Captain, diversion!" Dofydd's shout cut through the distant rumble. "They want to split us up, perhaps a trap!"

"But if..." His words caught in his throat, a sour taste rising in his mouth. They could be marching on Eard this very moment. Sweat, cold and sudden, prickled across his skin. His fists clenched, fighting to keep his hands steady. Weakness is a luxury he can't afford.

“How many Imperial dogs did the lad see?” he barked.

"Six," Dofydd confirmed, but the furrow in his adviser’s brow told him it was six too many.

"Deynfif! Get your brothers, now!" The command ripped from his throat, rougher than he intended. The lad nodded and quickly took off.

Each step down the battlement dragged at his legs; his muscles strained against an invisible weight, threatening to sink him with every labored movement. Even the sky seemed to be gathering its fury, like it was about to split open.

Siebea stormed through the courtyard, her voice sharp and commanding as she barked orders to the lads. He usually found a grim sort of comfort in the owlet’s competence, but today, watching her organize their defense just twisted a knot in his gut.

His eyes softened as he looked at her. He remembered the feel of their kitchen table, rough-hewn but solid. The memory of Sterika, flour dusting her apron, flashed before him. “Those are burnt, you old bear!" Sterika's voice echoed in his memory, full of playful chiding. He caught a glimpse of young Siebea, quick as a weasel, snatching a sweetcake when she thought he wasn't looking. He pressed his hand on the wall, rough stone a poor substitute for the comforting wood of their table. Back then, the war had felt far away.

He'd built a life with them, a good life, after years of blood. A smile tugged at his lips, different from the grim satisfaction of a battle won. This was something more... simpler, yet far more precious. The happiness he had finally found.

Boom! Another distant explosion. Another life lost. Didn't matter which banner they fought for—war just bred misery. But Pythair, he had something good, something worth fighting for.

The fort walls suddenly felt too high, the lads under his command a burden instead of a brotherhood. Could he abandon them? But Pythair and his family, holed up in that rickety house… He pictured it splintering under attack, no sturdy walls like these to offer protection. Eard falling. The words echoed like a siege weapon hitting home, a chilling familiarity to them. Too many times he'd seen sturdy defenses crumble, had tasted the bitterness of arriving too late…

His hand itched for a fight, for his axe. But it strayed instead to the worn leather at his belt, fingers finding comfort in the smooth stone within. Pythair's gift. His oath.

Dofydd's face was grim, a stark contrast to Siebea's. The owlet's jaw was set, her eyes bright with a fierce determination that never failed to reassure him.

"Dofydd," he clapped a hand on his adviser’s shoulder, the weight of the decision heavy. "I'm going to Eard,” he declared. "Five men. Best defenders we’ve got."

His hand tightened on the sea stone. Not just Pythair... He'd clawed his way out of the mud, earned every bit of peace he had now. Nobody took that from someone on his watch.

"Captain, you can't be serious!" Dofydd's face was almost comical, eyebrows near his hairline. "That's-"

"And let Eard burn while we sit pretty?" he cut his adviser off, voice raw. "Acermanus, that monster who even killed the most powerful king in Miergart… I won't risk some green recruit on this."

"Dofydd, I trust you."

Dofydd’s jaw tightened as he nodded curtly, turning away towards the soldiers.

Was this about Pythair, or him wanting to face down another legend like the stories? His hand instinctively went to his axe. If he left, what would his men think? But wouldn’t they understand too, about friends having your back?

This was insane. Downright foolish. But…Pythair would do it for him.

“Reasoning, Presence, and Passion… KHAHAHA-KHAHAHA! Forget about those!” he boomed. "But that's what friends are for, eh? Ain’t always gonna make sense."

Siebea approached, and he could feel her gaze scanning him even before she spoke – a silent question he wasn't sure he could answer.

"Orders, Captain," the owlet barked, her voice sharp. "I'm with you."

"The Imperials are at the gates," he managed, forcing the words out. It was the responsible thing to say, the strategically sound thing… but damn his strategic hide if it didn't feel like abandoning her. "This fort... Siebea, everything hinges on you holding this line. You're the best we've got."

She opened her mouth to argue, he could tell by the set of her jaw, but then her lips pressed into a thin line.

"No arguments," he barked. He gave her shoulder a squeeze - a poor substitute for the reassurances he couldn't give, the dangers he wouldn't voice.

She just nodded, a tight little movement that spoke volumes. "Aye, Captain."

"Owlet, listen…" His voice cracked - damn it. Clearing his throat, he continued, rougher this time. "You hold them off, you hear me? Fruman's reinforcements will get here, but those walls have gotta stand 'til they do." His hand lingered on her shoulder for a beat too long. "Just... see to it, alright?"

Each step towards the stables felt like a betrayal. He found himself in their shadow before he realized he'd stopped moving. Damn. Hand went to his axe, grip tight enough to crack stone, or at least that's what he told himself.

Argh! His back ached. Must be getting old. Or maybe it was the weight of every pair of eyes he'd just left back there. No. Not the time for that. Gotta focus. Chin up. Back straight. Time to be Captain. His friend needed him.

One last look back at the fort, the walls he was sworn to protect. His hand went to the sea stone in his pouch. Why did that damn pebble suddenly feel so heavy? Solus’ Light broke through the clouds for just a moment, hitting the trees to the south. The way to Eard.

Enough thinking. This wasn't about tactics or duty, not really. It was about Pythair. About peace and happiness.

- - - > oxx •S• xxo < - - -

The Captain’s grip on Siebea’s shoulder lingered, forcing her gaze down to where his hand was. She couldn't meet his eyes. Not now. Each stride towards the stables stole him further away, until only the stable door's shrinking rectangle framed his retreating back.

Silence stretched, filled only by the rhythmic clang of armor elsewhere in the fort. He's trusting her, but what if she’s not enough? It was a flame against the icy fear threatening to consume her. Fear for him, out there... Fear that here, she wouldn't live up to the weight of his expectation.

Deynfif, his brothers behind him, approached the stables. The Imperial girl trailed behind, the girl’s presence a nagging loose thread in her otherwise orderly mind.

Muscles taut, she cut across the courtyard towards Deynfif. "Recruit," her voice clipped - an order more than a plea. "See that no harm comes to..." A flicker of something too familial warred with her tone, "...to the Captain.”

Deynfif snapped to attention, jaw set. "Aye, Lieutenant." He met her gaze for a breath, something like iron replacing the usual boyish deference in his stance.

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Five soldiers, the Eardian brothers, and that Imperial girl – all followed the Captain’s lead. Yeferans thundered away, kicking up dust. The treeline swallowed them whole. Each hoofbeat an echo in the silence now left behind. A void opened where they'd stood, and she found it hard to breathe.

The Captain’s order... This was her duty now. But a foolish impulse urged her to call him back, to offer some excuse, any reason to keep him within the fort's safety. No. Panicked thoughts were useless distractions. The Imperials were closing in.

“Lieutenant!” The sharp call cut through her thoughts, and her hand reflexively shot out, gripping the Expulsion Bow thrust at her by the lightningsmith.

Could she afford sentimentality now? No. The bow was a lifeline, her grip tightening as she faced the east. Every swing of her arm, every shot, would be a testament to the Captain's trust.

Climbing up the battlements, the rough stone scraped against her palms as she ascended. Muttering voices pricked at the edges of her hearing as she scanned the treeline.

The muttering solidified into words. "Bloody brilliant. The Captain runs off, and we're left here to die."

She turned, her eyes narrowing at the recruit. "Feargspar, isn't it?"

The young man stiffened. "Aye, Lieutenant. What of it?"

"If you have concerns about our situation, I suggest you voice them properly," she stated, keeping her voice level despite the tension coiling in her gut.

Feargspar scoffed. “Concerns? We're outnumbered, our Captain's abandoned us, and—” His words caught in his throat as his jaw clenched.

“And?” she pressed, her tone brooking no further hesitation.

"And you're..." The recruit's gesture turned into a pathetic shrug. "You're just... you."

"Just me?" The corner of her mouth tightened. Amusement? No. This fool was about to learn firsthand. "Define 'you', recruit. I seem to have missed your point."

The defiance drained from Feargspar's face, leaving his eyes wide and searching. He stammered, "I... I didn't mean..."

She closed the distance between them, each step deliberate. Let this boy doubt her - she'd prove him wrong soon enough. "The Captain," her voice was ice, "tasked me with this fort's survival. And right now, you're a liability."

The recruit’s gaze dropped for a moment before snapping back to hers. "What... what would you have me do, Lieutenant?”

She let out a short, sharp exhale. "Rally the ranged lightning wielders on here," she ordered. "We'll need every soldier we have, the Imperials are getting closer."

"Aye, Lieutenant," he replied, squaring his shoulders. He turned to go, then hesitated. "Lieutenant? We... we won't let you down."

As Feargspar hurried off, her gaze returned to the forest. "That you better not," she murmured. "For all our sakes."

The trees at the forest edge wavered. Not wind this time. Siege weapons, unmistakable in their bulk, were being hauled into position.

The ground shuddered as the first ice projectile slammed into the wall. The air crackled; she tasted grit and the sharp tang of metal energy on her tongue. Ice and metal… The information from the Imperial girl was accurate, but seeing those energies paired in battle… what were they planning?

"Lightning ballistas, on me! Melt those cannons!" Her command echoed across the battlements. The first stinging scent of ozone ripped through the air—the ballistas were ready.

The energy string of her Expulsion Lightning Bow thrummed against her glove as she drew it back. Lightning crackled and spat, a pinpoint of white-hot light pulsed, growing into a blinding spear against the smoke-choked sky.

"Steady!" The force of the charging energy pressed against her, a tangible pressure that made her jaw throb, as she emitted more energy into the lightning bolt. A little more…

"Now! Release!" She let the energy fly. Her bolts smashed into the enemy cannons. A wave of heat and the sickening stench of charred flesh slammed into her. Each enemy cannon disabled brought them one step closer to survival.

Their lightning ripped through the energies of ice and metal. Blinding steam erupted, engulfing the enemy lines. The battlefield was swallowed by a hiss of escaping heat, and then, an unsettling quiet.

The unnatural silence after the fiery explosion pricked at her logic. What new tactic could they be employing? She didn’t have long to wait. No time for strategic formations – she charged her bow and sent a bolt of lightning into the haze. Instead of the satisfying crackle of a successful hit, she felt only a faint tingling in her fingertips – the energy just dissipated.

The haze shimmered, and then a glint pierced through – thick, metal pillars hurtled toward the wall, each one ending in a wicked point.

“Shield up!” Dofydd shouted.

The barrier flared, twisting the air around it into a blurry, orange curtain. Heat, intense and immediate, pressed against her. The metal pillars shrieked as they met the fire shield – molten drops exploding against the barrier like angry gloubugs.

Her lips curled into a fleeting smirk as the metal energies melted - a dangerous indulgence in the heat of battle. Stop! Arrogance could be fatal. Just a temporary advantage, she reminded herself.

The wall bucked beneath her, each blow a jarring jolt that traveled up her legs, rattling her bones. The incessant bombardment of those pillars sent sparks scattering against the warping heat. Were they fools? Did they think persistence alone could break the shield?

Sweat stung her eye. She swiped it away, gaze darting across the battlefield. Their formations were too precise, their timing too perfect. This wasn't mindless assault. Even amidst the fire-scorched air, an unnatural coldness settled over her. Hand tightened on her bow. Focus.

A boom, sharper than any before, rattled her off-balance. The crash echoed in her skull. What had they used?

She scrambled towards the outer side of the wall, boots skidding on rubble. A reddish-brown metal bar protruded like a broken bone, jutting through the thick stone. Acrid smoke, more bitter than mere heated metal, stung her nostrils. How was it able to penetrate the barrier?

Boom! Another one hit, almost sending her tumbling over the edge. The impact slammed into her, jarring her teeth together. This time, the bar struck higher. She brushed a hand against the wall, fingers tracing a fissure that hadn’t been there moments before. It was barely noticeable, but enough. The relentless barrage was taking its toll.

Dofydd came running. “Lieutenant! They're controlling natural metal energy. Iron!”

The adviser’s words struck a chord, snapping together the puzzle pieces in her mind. Natural energy - produced by nature, limited compared to emitted energy. The desperate Imperials had outmaneuvered their defenses, using the raw power of nature. The air around her crackled, a jolt of energy echoing the fury that tightened her grip on her bow. The Imperial girl, whether through omission or ignorance, had withheld vital information.

"Clever clogs," she spat, her gaze darting between the advancing Imperial lines and the steadily crumbling wall. Each explosion against the wall further weakened their defenses, but it was the implications of natural energy that truly tightened the knot in her stomach.

“Brace yourselves! Another wave is coming,” a soldier shouted.

She rooted her feet on the battlement, bracing for impact. The stone beneath her feet trembled with every hit. The bars of iron pounded the walls. With each metallic thunderclap, the ancient stonework shuddered, showering her with a rain of grit and pebbles that stung her exposed skin. The heat from the inferior grade barrier, already failing, provided little comfort.

Each crash brought the Imperials closer, their advance relentless.

"Lieutenant!" a breathless soldier gasped, "They’re climbing the iron bars!”

Her gaze didn't waver from the fray. “Our reinforcements will arrive soon. We have to hold them until then.” She hoped the certainty in her voice masked the doubt creeping into her own mind. They had to hold, there was no other option.

She weaved through the battlements, a whirl of violet energy. Her daggers struck, drawing cries of pain despite the thick armor of the Imperials. Each one down was a victory, but not enough. More kept coming, a tide of metal and ice.

The battle's heat vanished under a sudden, biting cold. Her breath caught in her throat as it crystallized before her eyes. Frost crept across the stone, swift and silent as a predator.

A blast of cold tore through the ranks. Mercenaries, their cries turning to shocked gasps, tumbled from the wall as rime of frost clung to their bodies. At the heart of the frozen devastation walked him.

A man clad in glittering light-blue armor charged forth, ice rimming his spear and shield. Each step left a frozen footprint, a testament to his chilling power.

"Vorst Warden," his name a word of power, escaping her lips like a curse. Every step he took, every swing of that ice-rimmed spear, was sharp, controlled. Just like the attacks ripping their lines apart.

Without hesitation, she lunged, aiming for the sliver of flesh above his armored boot. It was a calculated risk, her only opening.

But the spear moved with impossible speed, a blur of ice-wreathed elemenium that knocked her dagger aside. Sparks flew, momentarily blinding her. The force of the blow sent her sprawling, leaving her disoriented, vulnerable.

The world fractured, images splintering at the edges. A coppery wetness flooded her mouth, cold air biting at it like tiny teeth. Her body spasmed. Vision cleared – barely in time. She threw herself back, the edge of Vadorecht's shield whistling past where her head had been. A hair's breadth from disaster.

"Siebea." Her name scraped from his throat, sharp and cold as he stalked closer, spearpoint aimed at her chest.

"Ha! No Zevas?" A smile cracked Vadorecht's face, but it held no warmth, only the promise of something cruel.

"Ridden off on a fool's errand to Eard, it seems." The words punched the air from her lungs.

"All thanks to your cunning spies."