The third day brought a chilling silence. Not the silence of peace, but the heavy, suffocating quiet that precedes the storm.
Arin's legions had withdrawn slightly, pulling back from the immediate assault. The air was thick with the stench of smoke, blood, and the unspoken dread of what was to come.
It was a calculated pause, a cruel mockery of rest for the defenders of Elysia.
Viana used the lull to move tirelessly among the battlements. Her armor, once pristine, was now scuffed and stained.
Her face was grim, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, yet she moved with an unwavering purpose. She spoke to the weary soldiers, her voice hoarse but steady, offering words of encouragement, sharing what little hardtack and watered wine was available.
She saw the despair in their eyes, the slumped shoulders, but also the flicker of loyalty and a desperate will to protect their homes.
