The lull didn't last.
A sudden, heavy pounding shook the barricaded doors—three sharp blows, each one making the wood groan. Conversations died instantly. Every head turned toward the entrance.
"That's not one of ours," Lareth said under his breath, already rising to his feet. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, eyes narrowing toward the shuddering wood.
The pounding came again, faster this time, accompanied by a low, rumbling snarl that made the wounded whimper and the healers freeze mid-motion. Then—silence.
Everyone held their breath.
And then… the wall to their left gave a shudder. Plaster rained down as something scraped along the stone from outside—slowly, deliberately—like claws testing for a weak spot.
Renna gripped Lareth's arm. "It's not going for the door," she whispered.
A sound, like fabric tearing, split the air—and a sliver of blackness seeped through a crack high on the wall, stretching and twisting into a shape that was wrong in every possible way.
Before anyone could react, Aurean was on his feet, Verethian flashing into his hand. The cold it exuded this time was sharper, biting, and the air seemed to thrum around the blade.
"Keep everyone back!" Aurean called, stepping toward the intruding shadow. The thing hissed, a sound like wind through broken glass, and lunged.
The clash was blinding—steel meeting darkness in a spray of silver light. The shadow shrieked, recoiling, but Aurean pressed forward, striking in a series of precise, merciless arcs until the creature collapsed into nothing but a smear of frost on the stone.
Before the last tendrils faded, Lareth was barking orders. "Get planks! Seal that crack before something else tries it!" Knights scrambled, dragging wood and nails as the groans of the fort's old walls echoed ominously.
When the gap was finally covered, Aurean stepped back to the table, pale and visibly trembling.
The siblings and their partners closed in around him again, Kael throwing a blanket over his shoulders. "That's twice now," Maleus muttered grimly. "And if they're testing the walls…"
"…then it's only a matter of time before they find a way in," Aurean finished, his voice quiet but certain.
The air was still thick with unease when a sharp knock came—not at the great doors, but from the narrow side entrance that only a handful of people even knew existed. Every knight in the room froze.
"It's barred from the outside," Lareth murmured. "No one should be—"
A single, deliberate pattern of knocks followed. Three, a pause, then two more.
Renna's eyes widened. "That's one of Rythe's signals."
Without waiting for approval, she and Cale moved to unbar the door, ignoring the startled protests. The panel opened just wide enough for a hooded figure to slip inside. He was a scout—one of Rythe's own—his armor dented, cloak stiff with dried blood.
He didn't speak at first. Instead, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a small scrap of oilskin, folded tight and sealed with a simple mark.
Lareth took it and quickly unfolded it on the table. The ink was jagged, the writing rushed, but the hand was unmistakably Rythe's:
Sixth day. Still holding. Creatures are adapting—changing. I'm drawing most of them away. Stay inside. Trust no one at the door unless you know the signal. Wait for my return.
A heavy silence followed as the weight of the words sank in.
"Where is he now?" the king asked, his voice low.
"Outer courtyard, Your Majesty," the scout rasped. "Alone. They follow him like he's the only thing they want. And somehow… he's still standing."
The brazier crackled in the corner, filling the void left by the scout's words. Slowly, Lareth refolded the note, setting it in the middle of the table like an unspoken command neither of them wanted to disobey.
No one touched their food. No one spoke. The groans of the wounded outside the chamber felt louder than ever.
Another seven days had crawled by since the scout's message, each one stretching longer than the last. The noise outside had become a constant, a nightmare without pause—screeches, pounding, the low, alien groans of things that did not belong to this world.
The siblings, their spouses, and Aurean sat together at their familiar table, though the comfort it once offered had long since faded. Their postures were rigid, hands clenched, eyes darting toward the barricaded doors with every echo from outside.
The injured soldiers who had been brought in were no longer on the edge of death, thanks to the mixture of salve and potion Aurean had carried with him from Virelia. Whatever its ingredients, it was unlike anything the Ardani healers had ever used. The ointment sealed torn flesh with astonishing speed, and the potion fought off the fever and corruption that the creatures' wounds seemed to bring.
Even so, the men and women who had recovered enough to move still bore the marks—thin, jagged scars that darkened when the noise outside swelled, as though the memory of the attack lingered in their skin.
The air in the great hall was restless, thick with the scent of herbs, blood, and the faint metallic tang of fear. Someone was speaking softly to a wounded knight in the far corner, but their words were lost under the growing chorus outside—scratches, heavy dragging footsteps, and voices that were almost human but twisted, wrong.
Rhalia's hands curled into fists. "It's getting closer."
No one disagreed.
The sound outside shifted.
It wasn't the scattered pounding or the fleeting shadows slipping past the gaps in the barricade. This was… organized. A slow, deliberate rhythm—thud, thud, scrape—repeating in perfect unison, like the march of soldiers who had forgotten how to be human.
The chatter in the hall died. Even the wounded seemed to hold their breath.
Aurean's hand slid to Verethian's hilt without him realizing it, the black-steel blade faintly humming against his palm as if it too sensed the danger.
"They're not wandering anymore," Thalan said under his breath, his eyes fixed on the doors. "They're… gathering."
Queen Elendra's face paled, but her voice was steady. "Everyone stay away from the barricade. Do not answer anything you hear."
The rhythm outside grew louder—thud, thud, scrape—interspersed with a low, guttural chanting that made the hairs on their arms rise. Words that didn't belong in mortal tongues slipped through the wood and stone, carrying a chill that crawled into their bones.
"Gods," Mira whispered, clutching Cale's arm. "It sounds like they're calling to something."
From across the hall, one of the younger knights—barely recovered from his wounds—spoke, his voice trembling. "That's… the same sound we heard before the gates fell."
A long silence followed, broken only by the unending, unnatural chorus outside.
Aurean didn't look away from the door. "Whatever it is… they want us to open it."