Interlude I – The Watchers
The citadel's light could be seen from leagues away. A beacon stabbed into the clouds, bold, arrogant, alive.
Darius watched it from the edge of a ruined battlement. Snow collected on his shoulder plates, but he didn't feel the cold. His guild — Iron Oath — stood scattered behind him, restless, muttering. The glow on the horizon made them uneasy.
"Someone got lucky," one of his officers said. "You don't just spawn into a fortress that size."
Darius didn't answer at once. His jaw worked slowly, his hand resting on the hilt of his greatsword. He wasn't watching the light. He was watching the shadows it threw across the valley — long, reaching, like fingers crawling for territory.
"Not luck," he finally said. "Somebody rolled high. Or somebody hacked the system."
The officer spat into the snow. "Then we crush them before it matters."
Darius smirked faintly. His eyes narrowed. "No. We watch. Let the others rush in. See how this new power bleeds. Then we strike when the walls are lowest."
The guild shifted uneasily, but no one challenged him.
Above the horizon, the citadel burned like a wound in the sky.
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Interlude II – The Wanderer
A lone figure sat at the edge of a broken bridge, legs dangling over a hundred-meter drop.
He'd been called many names in Avatar Saga. Vagabond. Ronin. Mercenary. Betrayer. None of them fit quite right, but he'd stopped caring. The system called him Ashen. That was enough.
He saw the light too. A citadel flaring against the dark sky, daring everyone to come test its walls.
Ashen chewed on a strip of dried meat, eyes unreadable. Around him the wind howled, tugging at the ragged cloak that hid his armor.
"Another guild fortress," he muttered to no one. "Another fight I don't care about."
And yet, his hand lingered on the hilt of his curved blade.
A part of him stirred. Old instinct. Old hunger.
He didn't move. Didn't decide. Not yet.
But when the storm came, he knew he'd be there. Watching. Choosing which way the blade would fall.
-----
Interlude III – The System's Whisper
[SYSTEM LOG – INFINITE REALMS EVENT PROTOCOL // UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY DETECTED]
Realm Authority: Compromised.New Node: Citadel of the Fallen Star [Classification: Anomaly].
Adjusting Spawn Distribution…Adjusting Resource Flow…Adjusting Siege Mechanics…
// NOTICE: Monitoring recommended. Outcome uncertain.
The words existed in no chat log, no UI. Hidden deep, buried where players would never see.
The game itself shifted quietly, unseen, like an animal rolling in its sleep.
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The first attack came at dawn.
Seraphine had barely closed her eyes when the alarm flared — a bell echoing through stone halls, followed by Valeria's sharp voice rattling the corridors.
"Up! All of you, up! They're here!"
Seraphine staggered out of her chamber, hair wild, armor half-buckled. Noctis was already in the hall, blade across his shoulder, expression calm but tense.
"What's the count?" he asked Valeria.
"Two guild banners," Valeria snapped. "Looks like they came together. At least fifty players. Maybe more stragglers hiding in the snow."
Fifty. Against the three of them — and the half-formed defenses they'd thrown up in the last day.
Seraphine felt her stomach knot, but she shoved the fear down. "Where?"
"North wall."
The three of them ran. Boots thundered on the stone stairs, torches flickering as they passed. By the time they reached the battlements, the enemy was already in sight.
Seraphine's breath caught.
Armored figures moved across the snowfields in disciplined lines, banners snapping in the wind. Spells glimmered in the distance, fire and frost readied. Siege weapons — crude, but effective — were being hauled on sledges toward the walls.
Her citadel. Their citadel.
The first test had come.
"Archers!" Valeria's voice carried across the wall. "Focus the mages!"
Guild members had trickled into their banner yesterday — wanderers and low-level strays who wanted safety, a place to belong. Maybe twenty bodies in all. Barely trained. Barely armed. But they were all Seraphine had.
The first volley rose, arrows whistling into the pale sky.
The enemy lines answered with fire. Spells slammed into the battlements, explosions rattling the stone under Seraphine's feet. One of their archers screamed, thrown from the wall in a flash of flame.
"Hold!" Seraphine shouted, voice raw. She drew her blade, steel flashing pale in the morning light. "They break here or we do!"
The battle churned.
Arrows and spells crossed in a storm. Siege rams struck the walls, stone cracking with every blow. The enemy surged forward, climbing ladders, grappling up the battlements.
Seraphine met them head-on.
The first climber's head crested the wall. Her sword cut across his helm, sparks bursting. He fell without a sound. Another came, shield raised — she slammed her weight into him, booting him back over the edge.
But there were always more.
Noctis moved like shadow, cutting throats, blades flashing in arcs too fast to follow. He fought in silence, expression unreadable, but the wall beneath him ran slick with blood.
Valeria commanded like fire itself. Her shield broke charge after charge, her voice carrying orders that turned strays into soldiers. She barked, cursed, encouraged — holding the line by will alone.
And still the wall buckled.
A ram hit the gate. Wood groaned, splintered. Another hit. Another.
Seraphine's arms ached. Her breath came ragged. Every swing of her sword felt heavier, every step slower. Blood streaked her cheek. Her armor smoked from a spell she hadn't fully dodged.
And then the gate shattered.
The enemy poured in like a tide.
The citadel's courtyard became chaos.
Steel rang. Flames roared. Screams echoed against stone. Seraphine fought in the thick of it, her sword a blur, her lungs burning. She lost sight of Noctis. Lost sight of Valeria. It was only the enemy — endless, screaming, clawing for the heart of their home.
A blade caught her side. Pain lanced through her ribs. She stumbled, almost fell — then roared and cut the attacker down, blood spraying across the snow.
She couldn't fall. Not here. Not yet.
Somewhere above, a horn blew.
For a moment, Seraphine thought it was the enemy calling the kill.
But then she saw it — another banner on the horizon. Another guild had arrived. Not allies. Not reinforcements. Jackals drawn by blood.
The first attackers faltered, suddenly aware they weren't alone. Spells and arrows turned skyward as the new force approached, banners whipping in the wind.
And in that chaos, Seraphine felt the opening.
"Push!" she screamed, voice breaking. "Push them back! Now!"
Her ragged line surged forward. Noctis reappeared at her flank, blades dripping red. Valeria's shield smashed another enemy flat, her roar carrying above the din.
Together, for a breath, they turned the tide.
The courtyard cleared, bodies littering the snow, blood steaming in the cold.
The first guild broke. The second never entered, wary, watching from the distance.
And then silence fell, broken only by the crackle of burning wood.
They had survived. Barely.
The gate lay in splinters. The walls were scarred and blackened. Of the twenty strays who had sworn to their banner, half lay dead — their avatars gone, their respawn timers ticking down who knew where.
Seraphine leaned against her sword, chest heaving. Her side burned where the blade had struck.
Valeria stood beside her, armor dented, shield nearly broken. Her eyes were wild, but alive.
Noctis simply cleaned his blades, expression unreadable, though his breathing gave him away.
"We won," Valeria said, voice hoarse.
Seraphine looked around at the ruin of their courtyard, at the bodies cooling in the snow, at the banners already pulling back into the distance.
"Did we?" she whispered.
No one answered.
Above them, the citadel still burned, its beacon stabbing into the sky. A challenge. A promise.
The Realms had seen their strength.
Now the Realms would come for them.