The roar of the Shadowborn as they surged through the ruined gate was not the sound of throats—it was the sound of the darkness itself, rolling over stone and iron, gnawing at the air.
The bastion's walls shuddered under the weight of them. Defenders scrambled to the higher tiers, loosing arrows and bolts, throwing flasks of burning pitch. For every Shadowborn that fell, two more seemed to step over them without pause.
Jayden's silver flame flared on instinct, a wall of blinding light between the nearest warriors and the line of wounded behind him. But it was already too much—too many bodies, too many blades. His ribs ached from the strain, his knees locking against the pull in his blood.
One breath, the shadow whispered again, curling through the base of his skull like smoke. One breath, and I will hold the gate. No more retreat. No more loss. Just open the door.
Aerin slammed another warrior into the parapet, her axe buried to the haft. "Jayden! The stairs—cut them off!"
He turned—too slow. Three Shadowborn were already halfway up the north stair, their frost-coated blades biting into the moonsteel railing for balance.
Jayden thrust his palm forward, silver fire erupting in a concentrated spear. Two fell screaming over the side; the third leapt through the flame, taking the hit, and landed on the wall behind him.
Its sword came down—
Clang.
The strike met another blade, one Jayden didn't recognize—short, curved, humming like it was alive. The wielder was a soldier in the bastion's colors, helm hiding their face. They shoved the Shadowborn back with impossible strength, their sword pulsing once before slicing clean through the enemy's chestplate.
Jayden blinked, the moment breaking the shadow's pressure in his head for a heartbeat.
Then the masked figure was there.
Not at the gate anymore—on the wall, ten paces away, their cloak dragging darkness with every movement. Soldiers between them and Jayden faltered mid-swing, collapsing to their knees as if the weight of the air had tripled.
"Your flame will gutter," the figure said, the runes on their mask shifting like living things. "And when it does, your people will die. Or you can take what is yours, and end this in one stroke."
Below, the Shadowborn wave slammed against the base of the bastion. Black ice crawled up the walls, spreading toward the murder holes. Somewhere on the far side, a section of the city wall gave way with a thunderous crash, sending a plume of dust into the night sky.
Aerin stumbled into view, her arm bleeding, eyes darting between Jayden and the masked figure. "Don't," she rasped. "You don't know what they'll take."
Jayden's breath was ragged. "If I don't, we all fall."
No, the shadow said, sharper now, urgent. If you don't, they fall. Not you. You were never meant to be one of them.
The masked figure took one step closer. "The Second Heart beats for me. For us. Let me wake it."
And then—screams from inside the bastion.
Jayden's head whipped around. A second breach—Shadowborn coming up through the under-tunnels, cutting into the defenders from within.
The captain bellowed orders, but half the garrison was already turning to fight in the wrong direction. The bastion's lines buckled.
"You have seconds," the masked figure said, lifting a hand. "One breath."
The shadow inside him leaned forward, waiting.
Jayden's silver flame guttered, his vision narrowing until there was only the masked figure, the black tide, and the crushing truth: without something more, this was the end.
He opened his mouth—