CHAPTER 31: ASHES AND OATHS
Lord Mayor Magnus Thalgrin stood atop the crumbling battlements of Vellmont, his steel-grey beard slick with sweat, his deep-set eyes scanning the battlefield below with grim determination. The southern wall—Vellmont’s weakest point—was holding, but only just.
A symphony of battle cries, clashing steel, and arcane detonations filled the air. Mages lined the ramparts, their hands outstretched as brilliant waves of barrier magic shimmered against the relentless onslaught. Emberclad rebels bombarded the defenses with volleys of elemental projectiles—fireballs erupted against the golden shields, frost lances shattered on impact, and jagged bolts of lightning rippled through the cracks, sending lethal arcs through unfortunate soldiers standing too close.
Magnus turned to a nearby officer, his voice a battle-hardened growl. “Rotate the casters! If they falter, we’re finished!”
“Yes, Lord Mayor!” The officer saluted before dashing down the parapet steps, relaying the orders.
For now, the walls held. But the strain was becoming evident. The mages were faltering—some swayed on their feet, their lips pale, their eyes sunken. Their reserves were dwindling.
“Another round of stamina potions!” Magnus barked. “Keep them standing!”
Runners rushed to the mages, thrusting vials into trembling hands. The liquid within was a lifeline, but the supply was running low. Magnus knew it. The potions from the alchemists’ reserves had been rationed since the siege began. He watched as a young mage—barely past her naming ceremony—gulped one down with shaking fingers, only to collapse moments later.
“Shit.” He clenched his fists, watching as more mages began dropping, their bodies drained past the point of recovery. Without them, the barriers—
A deafening crack split the air.
Magnus snapped his gaze forward just in time to see the barriers flicker, then shatter like brittle glass. The magical dome protecting the southern wall imploded, golden shards of spent energy scattering into the night like dying stars.
A single moment of silence.
Then hell came roaring through.
An Iron Revenant—a hulking, undead ogre entombed in power armor—emerged from the smoke. Crimson sigils pulsed across its massive frame, and in its gauntleted fists, it wielded a plasma glaive the size of a siege engine. Its hollow, glowing eyes locked onto the now-exposed ramparts.
“FIRE! ALL BALLISTAE, FIRE!” Magnus bellowed.
Giant bolts shot from the watchtowers, streaking through the night like meteors. Some hit true, embedding deep into the Revenant’s armor, but the behemoth did not slow. It raised its glaive, the weapon humming with barely-contained energy.
Then, with a single, sweeping arc, it carved through the stone like it was parchment.
The wall exploded in a fiery shockwave, the force hurling men like ragdolls. The southern fortifications, which had withstood centuries of war, crumbled in an instant. Magnus was thrown back, landing hard against the unforgiving stone of the inner wall.
The screams of his men filled his ears. The air was thick with dust, blood, and the acrid stench of burning flesh. He forced himself to his feet, his shoulder screaming in protest, and beheld the carnage below.
The gap in the wall was massive. Emberclad rebels surged forward like a tidal wave, pouring into the breach. Vellmont was open.
Magnus staggered forward, grabbing a wounded soldier by the collar. “Sound the retreat! FALL BACK TO THE INNER COURTYARD!”
The man coughed blood, but nodded, blowing a shrill signal through a war horn. The remaining troops scrambled away from the crumbling wall, reforming ranks within the city. They could hold—perhaps—but not for long.
Magnus clenched his jaw. There was only one option left. He turned, stumbling toward the nearest comms officer who was barely regaining consciousness.
“Get me The Steadfast,” he commanded. “Now.”
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**Below **The Steadfast
Garett maneuvered Solarion-Lupus Revise with precision, cutting down enemy mechs in a brilliant dance of luminite fire and cold steel. The battlefield was littered with the remains of rebels, their forces dwindling under the relentless assault of Fenralis steel and spellfire.
His comms crackled. “Milord, incoming holo from The Steadfast!”
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Anya’s voice. He flicked a switch, bringing up the projection.
The flickering image of a bloodied Lord Mayor Magnus Thalgrin appeared, eyes wild with desperation. “Governor Fenralis! The southern walls have fallen! We need reinforcements now!”
Garett stiffened, mind racing through the possibilities. Before he could respond, a golden streak cut through the sky.
Soldraknirr.
A heavy silence fell over the battlefield as the dragon-mech descended upon The Steadfast. The massive machine loomed over the ship, its radiant form shining with celestial fury. And then—
Starfire.
The deck of The Steadfast erupted in an inferno of divine wrath, swallowing everything in its wake.
“LYRA!” Garett’s voice tore through the comms, his heart pounding.
“Shit...” Anya’s voice faltered. She never faltered. “What are your orders, milord?”
Garett’s grip on the controls tightened. There was only one answer.
Solarion-Lupus Revise roared as it ascended, its thrusters igniting as it shot straight toward the golden dragon.
“Take your men and assist the southern wall! We’ll catch up after I’ve dealt with this!”
“No! We have to help The Steadfast first!” Nissa’s voice cracked through the comms.
Jerik grimaced. “Orders, chief?”
Anya hesitated. Garett knew she was torn. She was loyal to House Fenralis—loyal to him. But sending them away meant leaving him alone against the dragon-mech.
Her voice came through, firm and resolved. “We proceed to the southern gate as ordered.”
Nissa, Jerik, Brenn, and Brody saluted. Their mechs veered off, leaving only Garett to face the dragon above.
He exhaled, leveling his mech’s weapons at the golden beast.
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**Aboard **The Steadfast
A brilliant golden light engulfed the hangar bay, its radiance swallowing the towering form of Leona’s Direhound-Command. The war machine shimmered, its physical form dissolving into pure energy before vanishing entirely. A heartbeat later, that same golden radiance erupted onto the deck of The Steadfast, where Leona, Lyra, and Nyx braced against the torrent of Starfire.
The mech stood like a titan reborn. Its blue armor, streaked with golden highlights, reflected the dragon’s hellish glow. The lion-shaped pauldron on its left shoulder gleamed defiantly under the flames—a silent herald of its pilot’s lineage. The massive shield, mounted on its left arm like an executioner’s axe, locked into place as it intercepted the full force of Soldraknirr’s breath. The mithrititanium plating and reinforced barrier absorbed the impact with ease, dispersing the infernal energy into harmless embers around them.
“Tsk. A summoning spell.” Lyrius muttered from his cockpit, watching the spectacle unfold. “I should have predicted that.”
Lyra and Nyx shot into action.
“QUICK! Get in the mech! We can buy you a few seconds at least!” Lyra yelled, her voice strained but determined. She thrust her hands forward, invoking a relentless barrage of god-tier spells, hurling infernos, torrents of frost, and spiraling arcs of arcane energy directly at the golden dragon. She was burning through her reserves recklessly, but there was no time to care.
Nyx leapt into motion, grabbing vials of Fenralis stamina potions from Leona’s pack. “Drink up, because I don’t think that thing’s running out of fire anytime soon!” She tossed a vial to Lyra while conjuring small barriers to deflect stray tendrils of Starfire and flying debris from the mech’s shields.
Leona, still trembling from the exhaustion of her summoning, gritted her teeth. She reached into her bag, fingers closing around the last stamina potion. With a deep breath, she downed it in one gulp, feeling the heat of raw energy course through her veins.
There was no ladder, no foothold. But she didn’t need one.
Summoning fortification magic to her legs, she bent her knees, then launched herself skyward. Her body arced through the smoke-filled air, landing gracefully onto the waiting cockpit of the Direhound-Command, nestled like a fortress upon its back.
Just as she locked in, a golden streak rocketed from below.
Solarion-Lupus Revise surged through the battlefield, closing the distance in an instant. Its plasma blade flashed as it struck upward—
Directly into Soldraknirr’s chin.
The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the heavens, and the golden dragon’s Starfire abruptly ceased.
Inside Soldraknirr’s cockpit, alarms blared as red warning lights flashed across Lyrius’ HUD. He gritted his teeth—there had been no time to evade. The strike had landed clean. He forced his mech to steady itself, thrusters flaring as he surveyed the aerial battlefield. His eyes locked onto the golden lion pauldron of Leona’s Direhound-Command, recognition dawning like a slow-burning ember.
His voice crackled through the comms, dripping with amusement. "Well, well. A Leonis in the Vale? I thought your kind had been wiped out. How nostalgic. Tell me, little lion—does it sting, knowing that no matter where you run, the past still finds you? That your house will always be known as traitors?"
Leona’s grip on her controls tightened, fury boiling beneath her skin. "You have no right to speak of my house, Draconis filth." Her voice was ice, but her blood burned. "You’re the ones who betrayed us—your so-called honor nothing but a lie to justify your greed!"
Lyrius chuckled, the sound smooth yet condescending. "Such passion. But tell me, does your new leash feel comfortable? House Fenralis—what an amusing choice for a patron. From traitors to lapdogs. Or did you think they took you in out of kindness?"
"Enough talk!" Leona snapped. Her mech raised its shield, bracing for another assault. "I’ll carve the Draconis name from history myself!"
Lyrius merely smirked before shifting his attention to the other combatant. "And then there’s you." His voice turned almost playful. "The second heir of Fenralis, the exile dressed up as a lord. I’ve heard the stories. No magic, no talent—just a placeholder ruling over a wasteland. And yet here you are, piloting a mech as if you were born to it." He leaned forward in his seat, eyes narrowing. "That shouldn’t be possible. Unless..."
A slow grin spread across his face. "Ah, I see now. A starforge. So that’s what you’ve been hiding in this backwater. I should have known. How else would a magicless wretch be able to fight like this?"
Garett frowned. His grip on the controls tightened. "I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about."
Lyrius let out a laugh, rich with mockery. "Oh, you poor thing. You don’t even know, do you? Well then, allow me to be the first to congratulate you—because your precious Vale won’t be yours for much longer."