The war hall remained open while, far below the castle, the Golden Wall still tried to sustain the population of the March.
The midday sunlight entered through the tall stone windows.
Cutting the hall into long bands across scattered maps, ink containers, broken seals, and pieces of reports still damp.
Footsteps crossed the hall without pause.
Messengers.
Knights.
All entering and leaving too fast.
The metallic sound of armor echoed between the columns while low voices gathered around the central table.
No one spoke loudly.
Not in front of her.
Phoebe remained motionless near the war table.
The ceremonial blindfold completely covered her eyes.
Ancient golden threads crossed the fabric like inscriptions sewn by hand.
Her blonde hair fell partially tied down her back.
Her posture upright.
Far too calm for the state of the hall.
Her fingers rested slowly against the wood of the table.
Feeling.
The vibrations.
The footsteps.
The hesitations.
The silence before answers.
She could not see the chaos.
But the entire hall seemed to breathe differently around her.
A soldier appeared among the knights shortly after.
Armor covered in dust.
Part of the shoulder marked by dried blood.
He stopped before the table and lowered his head immediately.
"Lady Tirésias."
The voice came out tired.
Controlled by force.
"The Second Line of the Silver Wall has fallen."
The hall seemed to hold its breath.
The man continued:
"The Central Army has already breached part of the inner passages between the Silver and the Gold."
One of the councilors slowly tightened his fingers around the edge of the table.
Another looked away toward the map.
Phoebe did not move.
"And the Marquis?"
The question came out low.
Firm.
The soldier lifted his face slightly.
"He still holds the main defensive line in the accesses between the Silver and the Gold."
"But the internal barricades have started to fall."
Another knight crossed the hall almost at the same instant.
Heavy breathing.
Ashes spread across the dark cloak.
He stopped near the table trying to recover his breath.
"The archers still maintain cover over the Silver accesses."
"But the arrow reserves are running out..."
He hesitated.
"And part of the enemy army remains concentrated beyond the destroyed Bronze districts."
Some of the knights immediately lowered their eyes.
The man continued:
"If the enemy advances all at once..."
The silence finished the sentence for him.
Phoebe's fingers slowly slid across the map.
Stopping over the internal depots.
"Open the arsenals in the southern sector."
"Gather every remaining reserve from the internal platforms."
The knight immediately raised his face.
"Even the Gold reserves, Lady Tirésias?"
"The knights will not survive without cover."
The answer came without hesitation.
The man immediately lowered his head.
"Yes, Lady Tirésias."
Another knight appeared shortly after.
Faster.
More nervous.
"Lady Tirésias..."
"the lower districts are overcrowded."
The hall became even quieter.
"There are riots near the central stairways."
"The civilians believe the outer line has already fallen."
Phoebe remained motionless.
Her voice came before the silence could even grow.
"Send the temple knights to the lower districts."
"I want the streets under control before the fear spreads completely."
The silence weighed between the councilors.
Phoebe continued:
"Open the granaries in the eastern sector."
"Priority goes to children, the wounded, and the elderly."
Her fingers slowly slid across the map.
"And ring the temple bells."
Several faces immediately lifted.
Even the knights seemed surprised.
Her voice remained steady.
"If the people hear nothing but screams and steel..."
"we will lose the wall before the enemy even reaches it."
One of the knights immediately lowered his head.
"Yes, Lady Tirésias."
Silence crossed the hall.
But now it was different.
Less despair.
More restraint.
More control.
One of the councilors took a deep breath before speaking:
"If the outer lines break..."
His voice failed for an instant.
"they will reach the last wall before nightfall."
No one answered immediately.
Because everyone there understood what that meant.
The man slowly turned his eyes toward Phoebe.
Hesitating before continuing:
"Lady Tirésias..."
"if something happens to you..."
His eyes discreetly lowered toward her belly.
"the March loses more than this war."
Some knights immediately looked away.
Others remained motionless.
Phoebe tilted her head slightly.
As if listening to something beyond the words.
"You are asking me to abandon the wall..."
The voice came out low.
But firm enough to cross the entire hall.
"while the people still hide behind it?"
No one answered.
Phoebe slowly slid her fingers across the open map on the table.
Stopping exactly over the accesses between the Silver and the Gold.
"The Lord still holds the outer accesses."
"The knights are still fighting."
"And the last wall still stands."
Her posture did not change for even an instant.
Unshakable.
"As long as they remain on that line..."
Her fingers rested motionless over the map.
"I will remain."
The silence seemed even heavier after that.
"If the last wall falls..."
Her voice came out almost serene.
"it will fall with me inside it."
No man in the hall answered.
Because there was nothing left to say.
Phoebe remained motionless for a few more seconds.
She tilted her head slightly once more.
"Where is Kaelir?"
One of the messengers answered immediately:
"He maintains position in the lower cells, Lady Tirésias."
Phoebe remained silent for a brief instant.
Her fingers slowly slid across the wood of the table.
"Send a message."
"Tell him to prepare the Crossing."
The man immediately lowered his head.
"Yes, Lady Tirésias."
His footsteps quickly disappeared through the hall.
Outside—
Smoke rose from the destroyed Silver Wall.
Thick.
Darkening part of the sky above the territory.
The Bronze Wall had already disappeared behind the smoke hours earlier.
Now the war advanced through the Silver's internal accesses.
Bodies covered the destroyed streets between broken barricades and remains of burning wood.
Soldiers of the Central Kingdom.
Soldiers of the March.
Mixed together across the ground darkened by blood.
Near the destroyed gates of the wall—
a figure remained motionless watching the last defensive line in the distance.
The dark overcoat swayed slowly beneath the smoke-heavy wind.
Long black hair tied back.
The eyepatch hid part of the expression.
But the single visible eye remained cold.
Calculating.
A knight crossed the wreckage shortly after.
Stopping beside him.
"Lord Bharvan."
The man did not take his eyes off the Golden Wall.
The knight continued:
"We received confirmation."
"Part of the detached division disappeared during the advance."
Ashes crossed the air between them.
"As did the woman in black armor and a red cloak."
A small smile appeared at the corner of Bharvan's mouth.
"As His Majesty suspected."
The voice came out low.
Almost disappointed.
"He truly chose to disappear beside her."
The smile disappeared shortly after.
His eyes returned to the field below.
Arrows crossed through the smoke in sequence.
Fast.
Precise.
Always dropping men before the advance could stabilize the lines.
Far away—
over the elevated remains of an old platform—
a figure in light armor calmly drew another arrow.
Without wasting movement.
Below—
another figure advanced among soldiers of the Central Kingdom.
The sword cut through armor without hesitation.
Direct.
Violent.
The knight beside Bharvan watched the same point before speaking:
"The internal corridors are stalling the advance, Lord Bharvan."
The knight pointed toward the accesses between the destroyed streets.
"Improvised barricades."
"Narrow streets."
"Our cavalry loses formation the moment it enters the inner sectors."
Another arrow crossed the field below.
A soldier collapsed between the shields.
The knight continued:
"They retreat little."
"And they always reorganize the line before we can break through the main accesses."
Bharvan's eyes remained fixed on the field.
On the figure advancing between smoke and steel.
Sword cutting through men without slowing down.
"Heron."
The voice came out low.
Almost thoughtful.
"He was always bad at retreating."
The knight hesitated before continuing:
"The two figures are sustaining the entire front line."
"The knights hold the central accesses."
"And the archers prevent open advances through the flanks."
Another sequence of arrows fell over the infantry below.
The shields began closing again.
Bharvan asked:
"How long can they maintain this pace?"
"They have been holding the advance since the previous night, sir."
The answer came immediately.
Bharvan watched another line break.
"So Heron is turning every street into a wall."
The silence lasted only an instant.
"How many men do we still have available?"
"A little over three thousand, sir."
The answer felt far too small before the field.
Bharvan slowly raised his gloved hand.
"End this."
The knight immediately lowered his head.
"Yes, Lord Bharvan."
The sound began shortly after.
Heavy.
Metallic.
Hundreds of footsteps crossing the destroyed accesses of the Silver at the same time.
Shields advanced first.
Heavy infantry pushed through the inner streets while new lines began crossing the destroyed Bronze districts.
Over an elevated section of the defenses—
Karna released another arrow.
The projectile pierced the throat of a soldier running through the wreckage.
But his eyes were already elsewhere.
Watching the new advance coming through the inner roads.
More men.
Faster.
Heavier.
And, for the first time since dawn—
the enemy troops crossed the internal accesses en masse.
Advancing toward the Golden Wall like a dark tide.
The March's lines began to give way between smoke, steel, and broken stone.
Soldiers slowly retreated while the Central Kingdom's shields pressed deeper and deeper through the narrow streets.
Another arrow rested between Karna's fingers.
Then he noticed.
Further below—
a young archer hesitated.
His hands trembled while trying to draw another arrow.
Eyes fixed on the advance coming toward him.
Too many men.
Too many shields.
The boy stepped back once.
Then another.
Breathing failing.
A soldier broke through the narrow line between the wreckage.
The sword came down directly toward the young archer.
Fast.
Violent.
The dry snap of the string echoed first.
The arrow pierced the man's neck before the blade could reach its target.
The body collapsed between the broken stones.
And when the boy raised his eyes—
Karna was already there.
Another soldier emerged from the side.
Karna spun the bow in his hands and smashed it into the man's face with enough violence to bring him down.
One more advanced.
The blade came toward his chest—
Karna narrowly dodged.
Short.
Precise.
His hand pulled an arrow from the quiver.
The strike pierced through the gaps in the armor.
The body collapsed immediately.
Footsteps echoed shortly after.
Soldiers of the March advanced through the narrow street, pushing the enemy line back once again.
Shields collided.
Swords crossed through smoke and blood among the wreckage.
Karna remained motionless in the center of the street for a brief instant.
Breathing far too calm for the chaos around him.
He already understood.
The assault would break the outer line.
"Pull the wounded back inside the Wall!"
The voice spread among the men while part of the line began reorganizing the retreat.
"Archers, maintain cover and fall back by sectors!"
"Do not break formation in the central streets!"
Karna watched the advance while another impact echoed far too close.
"When they cross the central marker..."
His voice remained firm.
"execute the final preparation."
No man questioned the order.
Because every remaining archer already knew what that meant.
Karna turned his eyes toward the young archer.
A gust of wind crossed the smoke between the wreckage.
Revealing the boy's face for an instant.
Pale skin.
Black hair fallen over his sweaty forehead.
And brown eyes with faint copper tones fixed directly on Karna.
His hands still trembled around the bow.
Karna walked toward him without hurry.
Stopping in front of the boy.
"Can you still stand?"
The young man hesitated before nodding quickly.
Even trembling.
Karna held his gaze for an instant.
Then knelt.
His hand rested firmly on the boy's shoulder.
Steady.
"What is your name?"
The young man's voice failed before it came out.
"M-Marcos."
Chaos continued around them.
Metal.
Smoke.
Screams.
Men dying between destroyed streets.
But Karna's voice remained calm.
"Listen carefully, Marcos."
His fingers lightly tightened on the boy's shoulder.
"Fear does not mean you are weak."
His eyes briefly returned toward the line advancing through the smoke.
Closer and closer.
"It only means you are still alive."
The silence between them lasted only a few seconds.
Karna stood back up.
Taking the bow once again.
"Breathe."
The voice came out firm.
"Then rise."
Marcos watched him in silence while wounded soldiers slowly retreated under the archers' cover.
Karna started walking toward the enemy advance.
"You. Gather fifteen men."
A nearby knight immediately raised his face.
"Yes!"
Karna drew another arrow while continuing forward.
"We are bringing the Marquis back before they close the accesses between him and the army."
The man immediately felt the weight of that.
While, further ahead—
the siege slowly began closing around Heron.