The sea wind lashed the wall with a cruelty that did not forgive. The waves struck the stone with a constant, monotonous rhythm, as if the ocean itself were trying to tear down what men had built. Above, at the top of the fortress, three figures huddled against the cold, wrapped in thick cloaks that barely served against the salty dampness.
"Damn it, it's colder than a witch's tit." One of them rubbed his hands vigorously, blowing between his numb fingers.
"And the food tastes like shit. I swear the cook is trying to kill us slowly."
"But the pay is good." The second guard chuckled, adjusting his helmet. "Better than staying in the inner farms eating roots and starving, right?"
"That's true."
The third remained silent, leaning against the parapet. He held something small in his hands, which he observed with an expression that didn't fit the hostile environment of the wall. His fingers caressed the object with a strange sweetness.
"Hey." The first one leaned towards him, curious. "What are you looking at with such tenderness? It's not one of those bar women, is it? I saw how you liked the one with the big tits. What was her name?"
The man looked up sharply, frowning.
"No, bastard. It's my daughter." He turned the small image to show it: the rough drawing of a child's face, barely perceptible under the dim torchlight. "She just turned three."
There was an awkward silence.
"Shit, sorry, I—"
"It's fine." The man carefully put the picture back inside his chest, protecting it from the wind. "I told my wife we'd be safe here, you know? That there were no raids or nobles playing war. Just high walls and easy pay." His voice became lower, almost a whisper. "She deserved better than living in the mud of the inland farms."
"It's alright, man." The second one patted him on the shoulder. "What could go wrong? This place is impenetrable."
"Yeah, sure."
The first one walked away towards the edge of the wall, looking out at the sea. The darkness was total, barely interrupted by the faint reflection of the moon on the waves. He stood there, breathing the salty air, letting the cold bite his face.
And then he saw it.
"What the hell is that?" His voice rose above the roar of the wind.
"What thing?"
"There." He pointed towards the horizon. "It looks... it looks like a dove."
The other two approached, squinting into the darkness. For a few seconds, there was nothing but the sea and the wind. But then, slowly, shapes began to materialize. Small at first, like specks in the distance.
They were not doves.
"No..." The one who had been looking at the image of his daughter leaned forward, clutching the parapet. "No, that's not... those are ships."
"What?"
"Ships! It's an attack!"
The scream tore through the night.
"Get up, you bastards! Sound the alarms! Come on, damn it, move!"
Chaos erupted instantly. One of them ran towards the nearest bell, grabbing the rope with both hands and pulling with all his might. The metallic sound echoed throughout the fortress, bouncing off the stones, penetrating every dark corner where men slept.
Doors burst open. Footsteps echoed through the stone corridors. Shouts of confusion and alarm rose from the lower barracks.
In the captain's quarters, the sound of the bell ripped him from sleep like a whip. He sat up immediately, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword beside his bed.
"What the hell is going on?"
The door slammed open. A panting soldier appeared in the doorway, his face pale even in the dim light of the torch.
"Captain! Enemy ships are sighted."
"What enemies? Who the hell are they?"
"We... we can't make out the flags. They're still far."
The captain didn't wait any longer. He hastily put on his boots, grabbed his sword, and dashed towards the wall. He climbed the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached the top, he found the guards huddled against the parapet, looking out at the sea with expressions of barely contained terror.
"Get out of the way!" He pushed one of them aside unceremoniously, grabbing his spyglass with trembling hands.
He brought the instrument to his eye. For a moment, he only saw the darkness of the sea, the black waves moving violently. But then he adjusted the focus and saw them.
Five massive silhouettes, advancing in formation. Warships. Enormous. The sails barely visible under the moonlight, but unmistakable.
And then, as the wind moved one of the sails, he saw the banner.
He froze.
"Captain..." The voice behind him sounded desperate. "Who are they?"
The spyglass almost fell from his hands.
"They're... they're the damn Drayvar."
A deadly silence fell over the wall.
"What the hell are they doing here?" someone whispered.
The captain lowered the spyglass, his mind working at full speed. The Drayvar. Here. It made no sense. This was a minor coastal fortress, with no real strategic value. Why would one of the Great Houses of the Empire come all the way here?
But he didn't have time to think about that.
"Now, everyone to your posts!" he shouted, his voice regaining some of its usual authority. "Reload! Wait for my order!"
The men scattered like ants, running towards the crossbows and catapults distributed along the wall. The sound of ropes being tightened, of projectiles being loaded, filled the air.
The captain raised the spyglass again, watching the ships approach slowly. Too slowly.
"Come closer..." he muttered to himself. "We'll smash them. Just a little more. Just the tip."
A minute passed. Then another.
The ships kept advancing, but something was wrong. They weren't accelerating. They weren't deploying more sails. They were simply... gliding forward, maintaining a constant distance.
"Why aren't they advancing, these sons of bitches?" The captain gritted his teeth, frustration growing in his chest.
"I don't know, captain." One of the guards beside him sounded just as confused. "I think... I think they're trying to ready their cannons. Or maybe they'll disembark soldiers."
"Their cannons won't reach from there." The captain shook his head. The distance was too great. No known cannon had that range. "Umm... prepare long-range weapons. We'll blow up those bastards coming to attack with these. Are you ready?"
"Yes, captain!"
But the instant he turned his head back towards the sea, he heard the scream.
"They're shooting at us!"
There was no time to react.
The projectiles shot out of the ships like shooting stars, white, bright streaks that crossed the darkness with unnatural speed. It wasn't normal fire. It wasn't common gunpowder. It was something else, something that emitted a pure, white light, almost blinding.
And when they struck the fortress, the world turned into light and noise.
The explosion was white. Not red, not yellow. White. As if the sun itself had fallen from the sky and exploded against the stone. The shockwave swept away everything in its path. Towers that had withstood decades of storms disintegrated in an instant. Carefully maintained crossbows turned into splinters. Entire sections of the wall simply vanished, vaporized by the impact.
Men were thrown like rag dolls.
The captain felt the impact like a giant fist punching him in the chest. The air left his lungs. The world became a whirlwind of sky and stone. He flew through the air, out of control, the sound of the explosion echoing in his ears like an endless roar.
And then he fell.
The impact was received by something soft. Hay. He had fallen onto the hay in the stables, among the terrified, neighing horses. For a moment, he couldn't move. He couldn't think. He just lay there, the roar echoing in his head, every bone in his body screaming in pain.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The sky was stained with a strange glow, as if dawn had arrived prematurely. But it wasn't the sun. It was fire. White flames still burned on what remained of the wall, consuming wood and stone with equal voracity.
He forced himself to sit up, every muscle protesting. He looked up, to where he had been just seconds ago.
The defenses had fallen.
Towers destroyed. Armaments shattered. The wall with holes the size of houses. And the main entrance... the main entrance was completely exposed, the doors hanging from their broken hinges.
"No..." The whisper left his lips without him being able to control it.
But he had no time for shock. From the sea, he heard the unmistakable sound of oars hitting the water. The ships had reached the coast.
He forced himself to his feet, staggering, and ran towards the main courtyard. Men were emerging from the barracks, confused, terrified, many bleeding from the explosions.
"Quickly!" he shouted with all the strength he had left. "Block the entrance! Assist the men! Defend!"
But even as he gave the orders, he knew it was useless.
From the destroyed entrance, the first figures began to appear. They were not common men. They were something more. Armor from head to toe, so thick they looked more like metal statues than soldiers. Immense shields, the size of doors, completely covering their bodies. And they advanced in formation, a perfect square that moved like a single organism.
The arrows the defenders managed to fire bounced off the armor without causing any damage. Stones thrown from the remaining towers simply crashed against the shields, without breaking the formation.
And behind the first square, came another. And another. And another.
The captain watched from his position, his heart sinking in his chest. There was no way to defend this. It was already lost. The battle was over before it began.
But he didn't have to die here.
Not with these scum.
"Form up!" he shouted to his men. "We'll stop the enemy! Everyone, stop them!"
He watched them run towards the entrance, swords held high, shouting with a courage born of desperation. They crashed against the Drayvar formation like waves against a cliff. And like waves, they were shattered.
The captain didn't stay to see the rest.
He turned and ran in the opposite direction, towards the stairs that descended to the underground tunnels. There was an escape tunnel, built specifically for situations like this. He could reach it. He could survive.
His boots echoed against the stone as he descended, leaving behind the screams of agony, the sound of metal against metal, the smell of blood and fire. He took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding, sweat running down his face despite the cold.
The tunnel was ahead. He just had to get there. He just had to—
He stopped dead.
The tunnel was collapsed.
Stones and rubble completely blocked the exit, no doubt from the bombardment damage. There was no way to pass. Not even to try.
"Damn it." He hit the wall with his fist, frustration and panic mixing in his chest. "There must be another exit. There has to be..."
He looked around desperately, and then he saw it. In the upper corner, near the ceiling, there was a hole. Small, barely big enough for a man to pass through. But it was an exit.
The problem was it was too high. He couldn't reach it alone.
"Captain!"
The voice made him turn sharply. A young figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs, panting, his face pale with terror. It was one of the new ones, someone who had arrived barely a week ago looking for work, promising that he just needed to earn some money to return to his wife and children.
Perfect.
"Kid! Help me up." He pointed to the hole. "Once I'm up, I'll help you up too. Hurry, they're coming."
"Yes, captain. Climb fast, fast, they're coming."
The young man placed himself against the wall, clasping his hands to form an improvised step. The captain wasted no time. He put his foot in the young man's hands and pushed himself up, grasping the edge of the hole with his fingers.
"Yes, just a little more." The young man pushed from below, exerting force with his whole body. "Almost there, captain."
The captain pushed up with a final effort, pulling himself upwards. His fingers found a crack in the rock. He held on to it and hoisted himself completely, his legs dangling for a moment before he managed to squeeze into the hole.
He was up.
Safe.
He looked down. The young man watched him from the floor, arms outstretched, waiting.
"Captain, help me now. Please, quickly."
The captain heard footsteps. Heavy boots echoing down the stairs. The Drayvar soldiers were descending.
He looked at the young man one last time.
"Forgive me."
And he turned, running into the darkness of the tunnel.
"Captain! No! Don't leave me!"
The young man's voice echoed behind him, desperate, broken.
"I have a family! My family is waiting for me! Noooo!"
But the captain no longer listened. He just ran, leaving behind the screams, leaving behind the guilt, focusing only on surviving.
Below, the young man punched the wall with his fist, tears streaming down his face.
"Nooo..."
And then he saw them.
Three figures emerged from the stairs, their armor still stained with fresh blood. They moved with the calm of predators who had hunted enough for the day. When they saw the young man cornered against the wall, they stopped.
One of them took off his helmet, revealing a young, almost handsome face, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Look what we have here." He approached slowly, with measured steps. "A puppy. And he's scared."
The young man backed against the wall, his body trembling.
"Relax." The soldier raised his hands in a mocking gesture of peace. "We heard him. You have a family. We can't kill you, right, comrades?"
"Yes." Another soldier laughed. "We can't."
"That would be bad."
The third joined the mockery. "You couldn't live with the guilt."
The young man tensed, unsure if what they were saying was true or just cruel mockery. His hand instinctively sought the dagger on his belt, but he knew it would be useless.
The first soldier got closer, until he was right in front of him. He put a hand on his shoulder, with an almost paternal gesture.
"Calm down." The smile widened. "I'll console your wife when you're dead."
The young man understood then. He understood everything.
The fist crashed into his abdomen before he could react. The air left his lungs in an agonizing gasp. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain, his hands clutching his stomach.
"Please... no... please, I beg you..." The words came out between gasps. "Forgive... I'll do whatever you want..."
The soldier knelt beside him, tilting his head with false curiosity.
"I already have what I want." His voice was soft, almost tender. "A bitch. And even a new daughter. Hehe."
The young man's eyes widened in horror. The image of his three-year-old daughter filled his mind. His wife. His home.
The soldier pulled out his sword.
"No"
The blade plunged into his throat with a wet, horrible sound. The young man arched, his hands instinctively grabbing the steel, cutting his fingers in a desperate attempt to pull it out. But there was no strength in his hands. Only pain.
He tried to breathe, but blood filled his throat. He tried to scream, but only a dreadful gurgle came out.
'I shouldn't have come here.'
The thought was the last thing that crossed his mind as darkness consumed him.
'I shouldn't have come to this damned fortress.'
And then, everything went black.