Marlon and his son Merlin were granted only a fleeting moment of respite—just enough to catch their breath—before a desperate shout rang out from somewhere behind them. More enemies were scaling the walls. They were coming for them.
Marlon's jaw tightened. His eyes swept the battlefield below, then narrowed with grim suspicion. The Estalian soldiers had moved with uncanny precision—as if they had known exactly where the Northem troops would strike.
"There must be a traitor among us," he muttered, voice low and sharp. "They were waiting."
From behind a jagged boulder, Hector emerged, sweat glistening on his brow, the weariness in his gait betraying hours of relentless combat. He crouched beside Marlon, casting a glance toward Merlin—no longer the uncertain man who had once been dismissed as the 'useless son who got his title because of his father.' Hector had witnessed the exchange between father and son earlier… and now, he saw Merlin in a new light.
Merlin had become a soldier.
