Stonegratedbeneathherfeet as they stepped from the wreckage of the supply station into the open air behind the wall. Smoke stung Rynna’s eyes, rising in lazy spirals from broken ramparts and scattered signal fires. The sky glowed copper with the light of ongoing battle, and somewhere nearby, a horn cried out, followed by the distant clash of steel.
Takara led them forward without a word. She moved like a dulled blade, still dangerous and lethal, but worn. Her usual fluid gait was stiffer now, with a slight hitch to her right leg, and her arm held too close to her ribs. The silk of her robes had torn in places, and blood stained the pale hem of one sleeve.
Rynna’s gaze lingered on that for a beat too long.
The walls around them thrummed with sound: orders shouted in clipped cadence, the boom of Source attacks striking from the barrier’s far side, and the rising howl of the dead. Their cries weren’t human. Not anymore. They screeched and scraped against the stone like claws on bone, relentless in their hunger.
The Warden led them past a fortified checkpoint. Above, archers crouched along platforms, their bows already strung. Hollow-born in soot-slicked armor darted between signal towers and aid stations, most of them bloodied but upright, eyes dulled by exhaustion.
“Every Hollow-born who can still draw the Source is fighting,” Takara said at last, her voice slicing through the din. “Anyone who can’t is either dead, healing, or guarding the children and elders. No one is idle.”
Rynna followed her through a break in an inner wall.
Just beyond, the Alliance Army’s outer camp sprawled in haphazard lines, more in triage than strategy. Tents and canvas lean-tos choked the narrow paths between barricades. Smoke drifted from half-dug fire pits. Wounded were laid out on stretchers in the mud, and children clung to their guardians as soldiers herded them toward waiting transports.
“They’re from the outer territories.” Takara nodded toward the nearest wheeled platform, where two weary horses stood waiting. “The non-Hollow-born provinces. Farmers, traders. Anyone left standing when the cities fell.”
A group of children ran by barefoot, chasing a rolling stone like it was a ball. None of them laughed.
“There are still strongholds,” she continued, glancing to the far end of the camp where runners mounted borrowed horses. “Some of the Non-Reach village leaders are rallying, pulling together what remains.”
She didn’t sound convinced.
Rynna opened her mouth, but Takara kept speaking. “Did you find a way to take the barrier down?”
“It should already be down,” Fenn answered, eyes locked on the distant wall. “But we need the rest of Fang Unit first.”
Takara stopped.
“Yes.” Her shoulders pulled in slightly. “Bran mentioned the Great Phoenix would be required.”
But she didn’t move. And the moment stretched.
“What is it?” Rynna asked, stepping closer.
Takara turned. Her face was all poise, but her voice thinned at the edges.
“Fang Unit is the only reason we haven’t been completely overwhelmed.”
That hit like a stone to the ribs.
“Bran and Taren are…a force unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” she said, but her cadence slowed, as if measuring each word. “And Elara. She’s the fulcrum between them, keeping them centered.”
Rynna didn’t press. She didn’t have to.
“Sacrifices…” Takara murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Her gaze dropped to Kaelith’s wrists.
His arms hung loose at his sides, not quite defiant, but not ashamed either.
Her lips thinned. “Any issues?”
“No, Warden.” Fenn bowed at the waist. “He has been…an asset.”
There was no irony in his tone, just honesty.
Takara’s eyes lingered a moment longer. Then she turned, glancing toward the nearest tower where another burst of flame rolled skyward, briefly lighting the jagged silhouette of the battlefield beyond.
“Very well.” She looked them over one at a time—Fenn, Rynna, Kaelith—measuring, weighing. “We don’t have much time left. You’ll need to act fast.”
