Chapter Fifteen:

“Time and Patience”

The barrier's golden radiance had faded to sickly wisps across Pearl Bay. Three thousand ships waited in attack formation, their forms black against the dawn sky. The bombardment never ceased - ballistae launching spheres of corrupted magic, siege engines hurling twisted energy, each impact fracturing the ancient protection.

Elder Tsukimi watched from her stilted home high in the cliffs of Moonshell Port, her tail curled tight with tension. Around her, the youngest kittens of the village huddled together in what had become their shelter these past three days. Their small ears flattened with each thundering impact, their eyes wide as they watched their world's protection crumble.

"When will it break, Elder?" A small voice asked. Little Kaida, barely six summers old, pressed closer to the window. Her velvet-soft fur still carried baby stripes, too young to have learned proper fear.

"That's enough watching," Tsukimi said, drawing the paper screen closed. But she couldn't hide the purple light that bled through, casting strange shadows across the children's faces. Outside, more impacts shook the air. The barrier's response grew fainter with each assault.

Three centuries of protection. Three centuries of peace since Players fought alongside the ancient races - kitsune, Nekomijin, and Yama-Okami alike - to seal away the darkness. Now their combined legacy crumbled before her eyes, and the horror they'd contained pressed against the barrier's weakening walls.

The villagers had barely finished evacuating the lower docks when the fourth wave of ships arrived that morning. Now the armada stretched beyond sight in all directions, a forest of black masts and sails that turned the sea into shadow. Three thousand vessels, each bristling with weapons of war and corrupted magic.

Warriors moved through Moonshell Port's upper levels, their fur darkened with ash from three days of constant preparation. They carried weapons blessed by the village priests, though none truly believed steel alone would stop what waited beyond the barrier. Parents clutched children close as another volley struck, the impacts sending tremors through the wooden walkways that connected their homes.

In her stilted house, Elder Tsukimi pressed her paw against the wall, feeling the vibrations of each assault. She'd spent her life learning the old stories, the histories of how Players and the ancient races had united against the darkness. But now, watching that protection fail, she understood why the elders had always ended those tales with warnings rather than triumph.

The highest spires of Moonshell Port rose from the cliffs like fingers reaching for safer skies. Bridges swayed between them, heavy with evacuees from the lower districts. The village's fleet lay anchored in protected coves - swift fishing vessels and sleek trading ships now packed with supplies for an escape none wanted to consider.

A young warrior burst through the paper doors, his fur bristling with urgency. "Elder! The southeast section - the cracks are spreading faster."

Tsukimi's tail stiffened. She moved to the window, ignoring her own command to the children as she slid the screen aside. The barrier's light guttered where it met the cliffs, purple energy bleeding through widening fractures. Beyond it, through gaps that grew with each passing hour, she caught glimpses of the flagship that dwarfed all others.

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The massive vessel cut through the waves, its hull stained the color of a wound that never healed. Three centuries of warfare had left scars, each mark a testament to endless obsession. Weapons bristled from its sides - ballistae powered by corrupted souls, siege engines that launched concentrated darkness.

The barrier cracked again, the sound echoing across the bay. On every ship, crews worked with mechanical precision, reloading their weapons for another volley. They moved without joy or fear or hesitation - no longer truly human, their souls bound to their master's will through centuries of dark magic.

Aboard the flagship, in quarters draped with shadows that moved with horrible purpose, Lord Vassoth watched the barrier fracture. His private chambers defied natural law - darkness flowed up walls and across ceilings, forming shapes that hurt mortal minds to witness. Maps covered his war table, each marked with targets that would fall once the barrier failed.

Three hundred years of siege. Three hundred years of testing the ancient protection's weaknesses. Time meant nothing to one who had traded his humanity for power. Each failure had taught him more, each year of study revealing new ways to press against the barrier's limits. Now, finally, his patience bore fruit.

A knock at his chamber door.

"Enter."

His first mate stepped through the doorway, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. Smart man. Those who looked directly at the shapes the darkness made on the walls rarely kept their sanity. "My lord. The barrier - it fails faster than expected. Our mages estimate days now, not weeks."

Vassoth turned from the war table, his movements carrying the slow inevitability of glaciers. The metal of his armor groaned with each step. "Finally." His voice scraped against the air itself. "After all this time."

"There's more, my lord." The first mate held out a scroll sealed with black wax. A carrion bird had delivered it moments ago, its feathers falling away to reveal bone as it completed its task. "Word from the Mirewood region."

Vassoth broke the seal. As he read, the white fire of his eyes flared brighter. The darkness in the room pressed closer, drawn by his sudden interest. "So. The Sleeping Lord stirs."

"He's still weak, my lord. But yes... he wakes."

A sound emerged from Vassoth's helm - not quite a laugh, but something that had forgotten how to be one. "Perfect. The barrier falls just as Sterling returns." He turned back to his war table, to the maps marked with centuries of planning. "Alert the fleet. When the barrier breaks, we take everything."

The first mate bowed and retreated, careful not to run despite every instinct screaming at him to flee. As the door closed, Vassoth's gaze swept across his war table to the rolled charts that detailed each coastal village. He'd waited so long for this moment. Planned for every contingency. Watched generations of Nekomijin live and die behind their protective walls of light.

His fingers, more metal than flesh, traced the route to Moonshell Port. Such a pretty name for what would soon become ash and memory. Three hundred years ago, he'd chosen this path. Stood with Sterling when Roland fell. Watched his own humanity burn away until only purpose remained.

Now, as the barrier crumbled and his ancient master stirred, that purpose would finally be fulfilled. His fleet would spark the fires that would burn this realm clean.

The barrier cracked again, the sound carrying even through his chamber walls. Vassoth moved to his window, watching purple energy bleed through the growing fractures. Soon. So very soon.

Behind him, darkness continued its endless dance across the walls, sharing his anticipation for the slaughter to come.

Through his window, Moonshell Port rose defiant against the dawn. Such pride these people maintained, even now. Their bridges swayed with evacuees, their warriors prepared weapons that could not save them, their children pressed faces against windows to watch their world end.

A fitting first conquest.

Vassoth returned to his war table, spreading the message from Mirewood flat beneath his armored hands. Sterling's awakening changed everything - and nothing. The Sleeping Lord would need time to regain his power, time the barrier's fall would provide. While the ancient Player recovered his strength, his loyal servant would begin the work of burning away all resistance.

He had waited centuries for this moment. He could wait a few more days.

On his table, the black wax seal caught the light of his burning eyes. The message's final words stood stark against aged paper: "The hunger wakes with him."

Above Moonshell Port, the barrier's light guttered again. In her stilted house, Elder Tsukimi gathered the children closer, knowing that ancient protection measured its remaining life in days, not weeks. And aboard three thousand ships, crews worked with mechanical precision, feeding weapons that would never tire until their master's will was done.

The darkness in Vassoth's chamber curled with anticipation. The time of waiting was almost over. The time of burning would soon begin.