The dawn came to the Douglas Duchy.
Or at least, that was what the hands of the clock indicated.
The sky began to brighten behind the mountain peaks, but no one came out to greet the day.
Inside the fortress, the soldiers were already at their battle stations. In the inner courtyards, the forges had been roaring since before dawn; the thunder of hammers striking metal echoed without pause as steel blades and spearheads passed from hand to hand.
Thousands of arrows were piled along the battlements. Supply wagons were loaded with grain and salted meat, while the theurgists and rune engineers inspected the stability of the mana reserves.
No one spoke of victory. Every conversation revolved around a single premise: how long they would be able to hold out.
Lusian crossed the command room with a stack of reports under his arm.
"How many troops do we have?"
"Fourteen thousand three hundred," Albert replied immediately.
"And our food reserves?"
"Five months under strict rationing. Three if we maintain the current allowance."
Lusian nodded impassively.
"Don't reduce the rations yet."
Albert looked at him with concern.
"My lord..."
"When the siege tightens, there will be plenty of time to cut consumption."
Spread across the large central table was a detailed map of the territory: rivers, forests, the network of villages, and the border fortresses. Lusian knew every inch of that land. He knew exactly how devastating it would be if the Crusade's vanguard managed to breach the first defensive ring.
"How are the evacuations progressing?"
"Completed in the northern sector. The eastern settlements will reach the outer walls this afternoon."
"Excellent."
Albert remained silent for a moment before adding:
"My lord..."
Lusian lifted his eyes from the map.
"What is it?"
"The tide of civilians hasn't stopped. They're still coming."
"Refugees?"
"Yes."
Lusian returned his gaze to the parchment.
"Open the gates. Let them all in."
"We're running out of usable space in the inner districts."
"Then build more shelters and set up tent camps."
Albert let out a weary sigh.
"Already being done."
Lusian continued through the corridors without asking about numbers or origins. During the dark days of the Mana Storm, he had followed the same principle: open the gates, provide work, and feed those who had lost everything. Now, those same souls were crowding into his domain. Some trembled with fear; others simply had nowhere else left to go in the world.
But no one would be turned away.
Lusian crossed the threshold and stepped into the main courtyard.
The duchy's operational frenzy immediately engulfed him: the steady march of patrols, the neighing of draft horses, the squeal of wagon wheels, the ringing of anvils, the incantations of thaumaturges, and the mass of peasants and infantrymen carrying buckets of water toward the forges.
The entire Douglas Duchy had been transformed into one enormous war machine.
Adela stood at the center of the training grounds, mounted atop the colossal White Tiger as she supervised the maneuvers of the magical beast cavalry.
"Again!" Her voice cut through the din.
The riders wheeled around. The beasts released a low roar that made the ground tremble. Adela raised her arm, setting the exact rhythm.
"Now!"
The formation charged forward, compact and coordinated like a single mass of muscle and steel.
Lusian stopped at the edge of the grounds, watching her for a few moments. Adela noticed his presence, and their eyes met in the distance. She offered only the faintest smile. There was no trace of doubt or fear on her face, only absolute determination.
Lusian resumed walking.
He could not afford to contemplate tragic outcomes.
Not yet.
By late afternoon, the first emissaries of the faith reached the border.
They were not an army—not yet—but a scouting vanguard: thirty clerics dressed in immaculate robes, escorted by a detachment of the Kingdom's heavy infantry. They stopped before the weathered stone marker that had historically defined the jurisdiction of House Douglas.
The priest in command looked toward the peaks, where the final rays of sunlight still gilded the rock.
"Here begins the domain of the condemned," he proclaimed.
No soldier answered.
The cleric stepped across the boundary line...
and froze.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
The wind died without warning. The forest became utterly still, not a single leaf stirring. The songs of birds and buzzing of insects fell completely silent. Even the impact of their horses' hooves produced no echo along the road.
The priest looked up at the sky, perplexed.
The sun was still high above them, but a dense tide of darkness was rushing toward them from the horizon at an unnatural speed.
"What is that anomaly...?"
The shadow swallowed the mountain ridges first. Then it devoured the forests and spilled across the plains.
One of the escorts pulled desperately on his reins.
"Is nightfall happening that quickly?"
The priest slowly shook his head, feeling the cold tighten around his chest.
"No. This isn't night..."
The tide of darkness continued its relentless advance, and the instant it passed over the stone marker...
the light of day vanished completely.
At the heart of the Douglas forest, Kheris opened his eyes.
There was no altar.
No magic circle.
No sacrifices.
Only trees—enormous trunks that had grown for generations beneath the silent shadow of a god banished from the heavens.
Kheris remained motionless for several seconds.
He had waited a long time for this moment.
Far too long.
He extended his hand, and darkness began gathering around his fingers. It was not merely a play of shadows or the simple absence of light. It was something archaic, primordial, something that had existed before the gods had learned to claim light as their own.
The leaves trembled, and the air instantly turned frigid.
Kheris slowly closed his fingers.
"For far too long..." he murmured to himself, "...you have mistaken darkness for the absence of light."
He raised his gaze toward the heavens, toward the gods who had once been his equals, toward those who had exiled him and now sent entire armies against the man he himself had dragged into this world.
An almost imperceptible smile appeared on his lips.
"But darkness does not need permission to exist."
He opened his palm.
The mana of the abyssal depths answered as one.
A vast black tide expanded from the heart of the forest. It swept through the trees, devoured the mountain peaks, spilled across the plains, and continued its relentless advance.
There was no explosion.
No thunder.
No roar to herald the transformation of the world.
Simply...
night fell.
The stars were swallowed.
The moon vanished instantly.
The horizon lost its final trace of light, and the world seemed to hold its breath in a deathly silence.
Kheris gazed into the darkness.
This was not an ordinary night.
It was his night.
The web he had patiently woven around the Douglas domain for years.
The invisible trap that the hundred thousand crusaders were about to enter without realizing it.
He closed his eyes as the final layer of darkness sealed the canopy of trees.
"Let's see how long it takes them to understand... where they are stepping into."
And absolute darkness descended, definitive and complete, upon the Douglas Duchy.
Lusian stood firm atop the battlements when absolute night swallowed the duchy.
He looked up at the sky.
The moon stood alone, but the blanket of stars had been completely erased.
"Is this...?"
Commander Albert hurried to his side, breathing heavily.
"My lord..."
"I can see it. Don't worry."
Lusian fixed his gaze on the border.
Beyond the Douglas territory, in the outside world, the faint glow of twilight still remained.
Inside his domain...
nothing.
An abyssal darkness swallowed everything, as though an invisible, impenetrable border had been drawn directly across the skin of the earth.
He remained silent.
He knew the primordial god had promised to provide them with cover, but the scale of the manifestation exceeded every expectation.
This was more than mere defense.
It was a complete break from reality.
This territory had ceased to obey the rules of the outside world.
Lusian closed his eyes for a moment.
He did not feel the spell as something foreign.
His mana reacted instinctively.
It was barely a pulse, a tremor so faint within him that he almost failed to notice it.
And yet, the darkness swallowing the duchy responded immediately.
Lusian opened his eyes.
The shadows spreading through the depths of the forest, slipping beneath the foundations of homes, embracing the defensive walls, and winding through the streets no longer seemed like an impenetrable or unfamiliar mass.
His own magic recognized them.
It intertwined with them in a silent dialogue.
Lusian frowned in confusion.
He had cast no spell. He had not even attempted to channel or shape that primordial darkness.
And yet, he could feel it pulsing.
Every corner of Douglas territory seemed directly connected to his senses.
He could perceive the static weight of the stone walls, the jagged contours of the roads, the whisper of wind trapped within the forests, and even the vibrations caused by soldiers moving miles away.
It was as though the primordial god's darkness had opened hundreds of invisible eyes around him.
Lusian remained motionless atop the battlement.
"What the hell...?" he muttered to himself.
He closed his eyes.
The tide of sensations immediately faded.
He opened them.
The total perception returned in an instant.
He could not understand the nature of what was happening within his mana core.
But one thing was undeniable:
Kheris's night did not reject him.
It recognized him as part of its own substance.
And Lusian still had no idea why.
When he opened his eyes, he looked toward the formations of the Douglas guard.
To his surprise, not a single soldier appeared disoriented.
No one stumbled or asked blindly where they were supposed to go.
This was their homeland.
They knew every contour of the terrain, every recess in the stone, and every path through the hills.
The deep night did not belong to them, but neither was it unfamiliar.
Far away, in a small village beyond the borders of Douglas territory, a wooden door suddenly creaked open.
"Berenia!"
The elderly healer immediately raised her head above her collection of herbal jars.
A man burst into the hut, breathless, carrying the limp body of a little girl in his arms.
"Please, help her!"
"Put her on the table. Quickly."
The father obeyed with trembling hands.
Berenia immediately leaned over the child to examine her. Her chest rose and fell at a steady pace. Her pulse was strong and regular, and her skin remained cool, showing no trace of fever.
"What happened to her?" the woman asked, feeling the girl's temples.
"She was playing in the yard with her brothers." The man swallowed with difficulty, clenching his fists. "Out of nowhere, she collapsed and fell asleep."
Berenia frowned, puzzled.
"How long has she been like this?"
"Almost two hours."
The healer took an oil lantern and lit it, bringing the glow close to the girl's pale face.
"Come on, sweetheart. Wake up..."
There was no response.
Berenia moved the flame back and forth before the child's eyelids, but her pupils showed no reaction whatsoever to the light.
The old woman slowly placed the lantern on the weathered wooden table.
She pressed the girl's neck again to check her heartbeat.
It was still there.
Steady.
Rhythmic.
Strong.
Far too normal for the lifeless stillness of her body.
Berenia cast a wary glance toward the window.
Outside, the night enveloped the village in an unusually heavy silence.
"I don't understand..."
The father stepped forward, overwhelmed by anxiety.
"Does she have some kind of plague? Is it a forest fever?"
Berenia did not answer immediately.
She leaned over the girl's face once more.
"No," she murmured.
"Then what's wrong with her?"
The healer brought the golden flame closer again.
This time, as she looked carefully, she noticed it.
A tiny, impossible filament of shadow briefly slithered beneath the child's closed eyelashes.
Berenia froze.
She blinked instinctively, but the anomaly had already vanished without a trace.
"Nothing," she whispered, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
"What do you mean, nothing?"
"Let her rest. Just let her sleep."
Berenia spread a thick wool blanket over the child, covering her up to the shoulders.
Then she blew out the lantern flame, plunging the room into dim darkness.
For some instinctive reason she dared not put into words, the old woman avoided looking toward the window for the rest of the night.
The first night of the Eternal Night passed without anyone being able to measure it.
There was no dawn.
No midday.
No twilight.
Only dense, unchanging darkness.
On the second day, the Crusade's scouting vanguard reached the border marker.
Five hundred men: elite knights, thaumaturges, archers, and priests carrying sacred relics.
A force designed to test the resistance of the Douglas Duchy and establish a beachhead.
The captain solemnly raised his banner.
"For the Dawn!"
"For humanity!" they answered as one.
They crossed the boundary and entered the domain.
The abyssal night immediately engulfed them.
They lit torches.
One.
Ten.
One hundred flames ignited in succession.
Yet the flames could barely pierce two meters of opaque mist.
Beyond that pathetic circle of light...
absolute nothingness.
"Keep the formation tight," the captain ordered, drawing his sword.
They advanced for ten minutes.
Twenty.
Half an hour.
The silence of the forest was crushing.
"Where are the enemy patrols?" the captain muttered, lowering his guard slightly.
A cleric looked around in confusion.
"I can't sense any mana... I don't know."
"Keep moving."
One hundred meters farther ahead, the squire marching behind the captain suddenly stopped.
"Sir..."
"What is it?"
"Where did the rear guard go?"
The captain spun around.
The formation of five hundred men had disintegrated.
The rear ranks were simply gone.
"How many men are missing?"
No one could answer.
A deep, guttural roar echoed from the treetops.
The soldiers instinctively raised their shields.
"Form a square! Prepare yourselves!"
A colossal, agile silhouette lunged through the mist.
Far too fast for human eyes.
A warhorse crashed to the ground with a dull impact. Its rider disappeared with it before he could even scream.
"We're under attack! Fire at will!"
The torches began going out one after another, extinguished by blasts of freezing air.
"Hold the line!"
But discipline broke.
The vanguard collapsed into a swarm of soldiers running blindly, stumbling through the undergrowth.
A priest raised his reliquary toward the heavens, channeling his devotion.
"Divine Light, dispel the shadows!"
A radiant sphere materialized above his palm, illuminating the forest clearing for one brief, agonizing second.
Something brushed against the cleric's neck.
He spun around in terror.
There was nothing there.
But he heard a freezing whisper directly in his ear:
"Run."
The sphere of light went out instantly.
When the tide of shadows finally spat the survivors back out at the border marker, only thirty-seven men remained alive.
None of them could give a coherent explanation for what had happened.
Only primal terror remained.
One of the surviving knights, kneeling on the road outside the duchy, rocked his torso back and forth as he repeated the same phrase:
"They were watching us... they were watching us..."
The commanding captain seized him by the breastplate.
"Who?! Who was watching us?!"
The soldier raised his eyes.
His pupils were dilated, devoid of reason.
"Everyone."
The terrible news immediately spread to the episcopal seats, then to the noble chanceries, and finally to the camps where the Crusade's legions were gathering.
The Douglas territory was not a fortress waiting to be besieged by siege engines.
It was a living trap designed to devour them the moment they entered.
While the thaumaturges and inquisitors frantically debated how to counter the magical anomaly, Lusian watched the darkness from the castle battlements.
He did not know how long the divine anomaly would last.
He did not know the exact number of legions the gods would send against him.
And he did not know whether he himself would live to see the end of the conflict.
But one certainty remained unshakable:
Kheris had kept his word.
The outside world would have no choice but to enter his night.
And far away, in a rustic hut beyond the duchy, a little girl remained trapped in a painless trance.
No fever.
No wounds.
Her pulse beating calmly within the darkness that had only just begun to spread.