From the city walls, stood Tir, his sword in hand, his face covered in mud, blood, and sweat.He looked toward the horizon, at the ships beginning to disgorge their guts: rows of armored soldiers, war machines pulled by metallic beasts, and imperial banners piercing the air like knives.He whispered to himself, the wind whipping his torn cloak:
Tir:"Time is up... no room for resistance."
The sizzling air and the whistling of shells filled the atmosphere. The city gates groaned, and the towers collapsed one by one.Amidst it all, Azamir and Nuh were running with a group of civilians toward the back passage leading to the inner plains.Tir shouted from atop the wall:"Hurry! The path will fall!"
But in a fleeting moment, a huge stone slab fell from one of the ruined towers.Nuh screamed:"Azamir!!!"
Dust separated from the ground, and time stopped for a moment.Tir rushed down the wall, jumped over the broken stairs, and dashed toward the rubble. He clawed through the burning stones until he pulled Nuh from between his friend's trembling arms trapped beneath.Tir looked into Azamir's eyes. Blood filled his mouth, but his eyes still stared at the open sky.
Azamir (in broken whisper):"Don't let... Naran... fall..."
Then he was silenced.
Nuh shouted, breaking the silence:"Nooooo!!!"
Tir hugged him tightly, pulling his head to his chest and said:"We must leave, for him... and for the others."
In the eastern region of the island, on the borders of Naran, where mountain passages lead to the forests and inner plains, Larem was leading a weary group of Draughtborn Slayers, guarding fleeing civilians.The air was burning, and the ground shook with every cannon shot.
Larem (tired voice):"Don't stop! Whoever falls, we won't be able to go back for!"
But some were unlucky...At the narrow bank of the small river, two Draughtborn Slayers fighters fell into an ambush, drowned by two arrows from the imperial battalions, and their bodies were dragged by the current.Larem didn't look back... he only clenched his fist."Your graves will be dug... but this is no time for mourning."
They finally reached the outskirts of Naran, the fortified city with its walls and cannons.There, in the cold, smoke, and broken breaths, Tir sat on a cracked rock, tears welling in his eyes, holding Nuh's hand, who had been silent since Azamir's fall.
Tir (soft voice):"We saved most of them... but what did we lose?"
Larem approached, his sword in hand, his face etched with regret and sorrow.
Larem:"This was no battle... it was a test of survival. And this is only... their beginning."
In the distant sky, tongues of smoke rose from the harbor, while Naran was stabbed in its heart for the first time.When the sounds of swords died down, and only the ashes of the burned cities remained, Drienasas had fallen.
Slowly, Jhon opened his eyes amid the rubble of a destroyed tower, his body exhausted, and the water armor that formed around him in the last battle began to evaporate… he had failed.He had been assigned special tasks: neutralizing the resistance leadership and securing the harbor gate, but Tir's escape, Azar and Qays's survival, and especially Larem's withdrawal with the others toward Naran… all that marked his mission with disgrace.
In the burned square, advanced Duke Cencia, a tall man wearing a luxurious robe shining over an ancient blue armor — a symbol of noble heritage.Beside him stood two other Arkaniss, presumably of his family's water nuclei lineage, and behind them two others with earth nuclei, whose sturdiness and immunity to fire were evident.
The duke glanced at Jhon with a condescending look and said coldly:"Is this the one who claimed to lead the vanguard? You're not even fit to guard a crumbling gate."
Jhon tried to rise, but collapsed to his knees, his breath broken, eyes burning with humiliation.The duke slowly approached, bent to see his face up close:"A nucleus that belongs to no lineage… only failure grows from it. We, the Custodis, carry the blood of the first tree. And you? A mere parasite... a coincidence grown from the ashes of nobility."
A heavy silence descended on the square.Jhon wanted to respond, to scream, to prove otherwise… but no words came out, and the nucleus didn't answer him.
On the horizon, imperial banners rose above the main palace.Drienasas was no longer an independent city but became the first official point of occupation.The remaining Draughtborn Slayers fell, and many civilians barely escaped evacuation through the back passages to Naran.
There, in Naran, Tir, Azar, Qays, and Larem gathered, their faces shadowed with defeat… but within them a different kind of fire was forming.
Larem stood atop the walls of the new city, watching the sky:"We fell in Drienasas… but we are not defeated yet."
Dead silence, amidst the creeping shadows of sunset over Naran's walls, Tir sat on the steps of the inner square, his clothes torn, body weighed down with wounds, chest rising and falling in broken breaths. His eyes stared into emptiness, as if time had stopped within them.Then he whispered, in a broken voice barely audible:
Tir:"I couldn't... I couldn't save him..."
Azar looked at him from behind, said nothing, only stood pressing his hand on his open wound, a silent sadness in his eyes.He lowered his head, his voice trembling with anger:"That cursed tower... collapsed over him like nothing. I didn't even hear his scream. Just... vanished."
Qays approached and silently placed his hand on Tir's shoulder, while Larem stood at the edge, watching the imperial ships' lights increase on the horizon, reflecting on the sea like an unrelenting flame of rage.
Larem (low voice with tears streaming down his cheeks):"We fell... and lost much... but Azamir's death will not be in vain."
Far away in the burnt square, Jhon sat alone, looking at his trembling palm… and amid the ruins of dignity, a new seed began to grow… not for the empire, but against it.
As night fell, the sound of hammering echoed in the temporary workshops behind Naran's walls.The survivors silently joined the ranks of soldiers, children trained, men sharpening weapons, women preparing healing pouches and city maps.
The silent city began to come alive again — not a life of peace, but a life of resistance.