Low tide peeled the wetlands open.Water clung to stilts and roots in slick, rainbow-sheened pools. The air carried a sharp, oily tang that burned the back of the throat. Children stood coughing near the walkways, faces wrapped in cloth that did little to help.“Don’t step there,” an elder warned. “That patch leaks.”A woman waded into the shallows anyway, panic cracking her voice. “My son, ”She dragged the boy out seconds later. Black oil streaked his calves. Blisters rose where the slick touched skin, angry and fast.“It burns,” he cried.“Don’t touch it,” another woman shouted. “It was clean last season,” the mother said, shaking. “We drank from it.”“We filed reports,” an old fisherman muttered. “They filed us away.”A government notice flapped loose from a post, ink already bleeding from damp air.Tax due.Relocation pending.Aid under review.Upstream, a low mechanical hum rolled through the reeds, steady and approaching.Someone whispered, “They’re back.”No one argued.____

Dawn fractured under iron fire.Cannons thundered from the misted flats, their recoil shuddering through wet earth. Mud-packed ramparts split open, stones leaping as if startled awake. Horns sounded too late. Argathe sentries loosed arrows in tight arcs, copper hands steady, red eyes sharp beneath braided helms.“Hold the line,” a captain shouted.Gunfire answered. Clean. Relentless. Shafts fell short, hissing into muck.Smoke crawled along the ground, pressed low by wind. Pale figures advanced through it, boots finding rhythm where paths should not exist. Fair faces flashed between metal plates. Blonde hair caught firelight. Blue and green eyes stayed fixed ahead.“Reload,” an Othmir officer called calmly.The second blast tore the inner wall apart.Argathe soldiers surged to meet them, steel ringing, banners snapping above crowned sigils. The monarchy’s colors still flew. The king’s crest. The elders’ seals.“Protect the gate,” came another cry.But the gate sagged under the overwhe