The manor didn’t fall clean or quick, the way I’d pictured in those late night stares at the ceiling, imagining one big push and the whole thing crumbling like dry ash; instead it turned into a slow grind, days bleeding into nights where we’d breach a section, take a core or a ward room, then pull back when alliance reinforcements poured in from airships that still answered Voss calls, and the mountain air tasted constant of smoke and ozone and the copper tang of blood that never quite washed off. We set up siege lines in the midlevel platforms tents and barricades scavenged from academy stores, Valeria turning a blind eye that wasn’t blind at all, and every morning I’d wake to the low rumble of Rag snoring and Mira curled small against Liora’s side because the kid had started wandering in her sleep toward whoever felt safest that night. Liora and I took the dawn watch most days, standing on the forward ledge with cloaks pulled tight against the wind, watching the manor list a littl

I don’t like the way the big house looks when it’s falling. It used to be pretty from far away like a golden cloud that sometimes caught the sun and made everything below shine. But now it leans funny, lights going out one by one like someone’s blowing out candles too fast, and the smoke coming off it smells bad, like burned food and something sharp I can’t name. Eli says it’s okay. He always says it’s okay even when his side is wrapped in cloth that used to be white but now has red spots that keep growing. He smiles when he says it, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes the way it used to when we were just cleaning trays in the lower city. I sit next to him on the mats while Liora changes the bandage again. Her hands shake a little, even though she tries to hide it. I see it because I’m small and people forget I’m watching. “Does it hurt bad?” I ask, voice small so it doesn’t make the grown-ups jump. Eli looks at me. His gray eyes are tired, but they’re still his. “Not as bad as

The manor kept sagging lower every night, like it was tired of holding itself up and just wanted to rest against the mountain, the golden lights dimming one by one until only a few stubborn windows glowed high up, small and lonely against the black sky, and the wind carried down the smell of cooling metal and something sharper, like ozone after lightning or the way a forge smells when the fire’s dying and you’re left with hot iron and regret. We didn’t rush the next push. Couldn’t. My side still pulled every time I breathed too deep, the stitches tugging like they were reminding me I wasn’t whole yet, and Liora watched me closer than anyone, her eyes tracking every wince, every slow step, like she was counting the cost of every breath I took. She didn’t say it out loud, but I felt it in the way she stayed near, hand brushing my arm when we walked the lines, shoulder pressed to mine when we sat around the small fire, the warmth of her cutting through the cold better than any blanke

The manor kept bleeding light every night, one window after another going dark like someone inside was snuffing candles with wet fingers, the golden glow shrinking until it looked more like a dying ember than the proud house it used to be, and the wind that came down now carried the smell of hot metal cooling too fast, mixed with the faint, sour bite of failing mana that made my nose wrinkle even when I tried to breathe shallow to keep the stitches from pulling. I could walk again, mostly. Not fast. Not straight. But enough to pace the lines when the sun came up thin and gray, enough to stand watch with Liora on the ledge while the rest of the team slept off yesterday’s bruises, her shoulder against mine the only thing keeping the cold from sinking too deep. She didn’t say much those mornings. Just stood close, hand brushing mine when the wind gusted hard, fingers lacing through when no one was looking. I felt it in the way she leaned into me slow, deliberate, like she was testin

The manor kept bleeding light every night, one window after another going dark like someone inside was snuffing candles with wet fingers, the golden glow shrinking until it looked more like a dying ember than the proud house it used to be, and the wind that came down now carried the smell of hot metal cooling too fast, mixed with the faint, sour bite of failing mana that made my nose wrinkle even when I tried to breathe shallow to keep the stitches from pulling.I could walk again, mostly.Not fast. Not straight. But enough to pace the lines when the sun came up thin and gray, enough to stand watch with Liora on the ledge while the rest of the team slept off yesterday’s bruises, her shoulder against mine the only thing keeping the cold from sinking too deep.She didn’t say much those mornings.Just stood close, hand brushing mine when the wind gusted hard, fingers lacing through when no one was looking.I felt it in the way she leaned into me slow, deliberate, like she was testing if