The rain was unrelenting. It lashed against the stone ramparts of Blackhall Keep, cloaking the fortress in a curtain of grey. The storm had arrived swiftly, as if summoned by the shift in fate that had begun within its walls. Inside, beneath the high-arched ceiling of the war room, Thalen stood at the center of a map-strewn table, his eyes locked on the glowing markers of enemy movement.
The silence in the room was deceptive. Around him stood soldiers, strategists, and a few of his closest allies each man and woman seasoned, scarred, and uncertain of what the dawn would bring. No one questioned Thalen's right to lead anymore. His victories, his aura, his defiance these had become legend. But even legends could be broken, and what faced them now was not a mere battle. It was a reckoning.
Thalen leaned over the table, voice calm but edged in steel. "They move faster than we expected. If they reach the outer ridge before we reinforce"
