Location: The Spire – The Ascending StairThe spiral stair stretched upward, vanishing into shadows that breathed with menace. Each step creaked with age, yet every sound seemed amplified, as if the fortress itself was listening.Eden’s hand tightened on her sword. The taste of blood and dust still coated her tongue. Behind her, Harriet climbed slowly, her face pale but her eyes burning with determination.Darius lumbered last, his massive frame wounded but unbowed, his breath heavy, every inhale carrying the weight of pain. The silence was suffocating, No guards, No more shouts. Only the faint hum of torches, as though the Spire itself had emptied for what lay ahead.THE MOTHER’S WHISPERHalfway up, Harriet stumbled, Eden caught her instantly. “You need to rest,” Eden whispered.But Harriet shook her head. “If I stop, I may never start again.” She lifted her chin, voice quiet but steady. “I want him to see me Not broken, Not begging. I want him to see the woman he thought he destroye

The silence in the throne room was deafening. Eden’s chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, the echo of battle still ringing in her ears. The obsidian throne lay cracked and crumbling, Marlow’s body slumped across it like a broken idol.His blood pooled dark on the marble floor, seeping into the cracks as though the stone itself was drinking the end of his reign. For a long moment, no one moved.Then Harriet dropped her dagger. It clattered loudly, shattering the silence. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. Tears streaked her face, not of sorrow, but of release the chains of decades finally broken.THE UNBROKEN THREEDarius leaned heavily on his axe, blood trickling down his cheek. His eyes were locked on Marlow’s corpse. “Is it over?” His voice was hoarse, uncertain, as though speaking it aloud might bring the shadows crawling back.Eden stared at her bloodied sword. Her arm ached, her shoulder burned where Marlow’s blade had struck, but her heart beat steady. “It’s over,” she

The city awoke to the sound of marching boots. At dawn, the generals made their first move. Soldiers loyal to them mercenaries, deserters, and those who still clung to the old order flooded the capital’s streets.They wore no crown upon their armor now, only the insignias of their respective commanders. Shops were shuttered. Families cowered in doorways as men with spears and torches patrolled like wolves staking territory. Whispers ran like wildfire: The generals are taking the city.THE DIVIDED CITYEden watched from the balcony of the Spire. Below, two tides of people surged: one chanting her name, the other cowed into silence by soldiers’ blades.Harriet gripped the stone railing, her knuckles white. “They’re not wasting time. If they secure the gates and the granaries, they’ll starve us out without ever raising a sword against the Spire.”Darius spat over the edge. “Cowards’ tactics. Let them come. My axe is ready.”Eden’s eyes narrowed. “No, If we fight them street by street, th

The walls of the dungeon groaned as if the fortress itself were dying. Stone cracked, Dust fell in choking clouds. Iron doors rattled against their hinges.Sparrow coughed, clutching the hilt of her dagger. Her body screamed with exhaustion, but her eyes stayed sharp. Across from her, Darius leaned heavily against the wall, one arm cradling his ribs where blood seeped through his tunic.The passage leading deeper into the cells was filled with firelight torches hastily dropped, flames licking up the stone like hungry beasts. The air reeked of smoke and blood. And over it all, the heavy tread of approaching soldiers.THE ENCROACHING TIDE“Do you hear them?” Sparrow asked, her voice ragged. “That’s more than a patrol, That’s the whole nest.”Darius wiped blood from his lips and managed a grim smile. “Then we burn the nest with them inside.” The sound of armor scraping stone drew nearer. Shadows stretched across the dungeon walls, multiplying, swelling.Sparrow pulled two more daggers fr

The Blackthorn fortress burned for three days. When the last flames choked to ash, the survivors of the guard dragged themselves into the council chamber hollow-eyed, bloodied, ashamed.The room itself was a cathedral of power: towering stone columns, banners of crimson and black swaying in the draft, a dais where Lord Alaric Blackthorn sat enthroned like a carving of iron. His face was carved in fury.THE SUMMONINGThe council table stretched long, its surface littered with maps and reports. Family lords and sworn bannermen filled the seats, their voices low, a hive of unease. The chamberlain read the list of the dead.Name after name, Captain Darius, Sparrow, Fifty guards, Two commanders.Each name was another stone in the pit of Alaric’s stomach. Finally, the chamberlain spoke the words that twisted the room into silence: “The prisoners have escaped.”ALARIC’S FURYThe silence that followed was unbearable. Alaric rose slowly, each movement deliberate. His presence filled the room,