The fire crackled in the fluxhearth, popping.
“I’ll get the Riftwardens out,” Zarrek said, desperate to break the awkward silence. “They can try to search for a rift.”
“It will come,”Auryn said, then trailed off, remembering how no one had listened to her during the varkhound attack in the Moores.
“Can you sense where it might strike?” Kailorien asked.
She looked at him, surprised. “Not now, but I’ll try moving around the fortress. Perhaps I’m not close enough to the coming tear.”
Kailorien nodded, looking to Zarrek. “Get the Dowsing Rods out.”
His Second caught the double meaning in his words.Don’t leave them alone with her.
“It will be done.”
They spoke for a time about preparations and adjustments. None had ever breached the Wake’s walls, but they could all agree on one thing—they’d never been in a situation like this. Not with Gliders coming to assault the Wards. Not with the fear of an unpredictable rift hanging heavily in the air.
Auryn added her voice where she could, pleased that everyone listened and took her advice and observations to heart. Over time, her body drifted, leaning against Kailorien’s until her eyes closed, and her breathing slowed—lulled in the cadence of his voice and the solid warmth of his arms.
Kailorien adjusted her weight and turned his gaze back to the war table.
Zarrek frowned. “She use that power again?”
Hesitant, Kailorien nodded. “To appease my foolishness.”
Thessia snorted. “Won’t be the last time you say that, Shadeslayer.”
“He’ll learn,” Zarrek added. “One way or another.”
Kailorien wasn’t a man of pride, but even he had his limits. He smoothed his expression into neutrality. “She’ll sleep through the rest,” he said. “Let’s resume.”
The others shifted—subdued now, as though the rules of the room had subtly changed. The air had thickened with something wistful. Even Zarrek seemed unwilling to break the silence first.
Kailorien’s voice cut through the hush with the crisp certainty of a blade drawn.
“We don’t know when they’ll strike. Could be tomorrow. Could be days. But we need to assume the worst.” He nodded to the scrolls and maps laid across the stone. “First priority: ground defenses. The southern wall is still weakened from last Cycle’s quakes. I want fifty stationed there at all times—thirty archers, fifteen with shield bracing, and fifteen rotating in shifts.”
Zarrek stepped forward, arms crossed. “And the rift?”
“We prepare like it’s coming,” Kailorien said. “Every battlement will double as a leywatch post. If the mana begins to fracture, I want each shift assigned a Riftwarden to catch early signs before it tears open.”
“We don’t have many Riftwardens left,” Talia interjected. “Most are leaving with the wagons to Maradryn.”
“Then teach fast. We have mages willing to work hard. Thessia, you’ll oversee training rotations. I want every able caster drilled by dawn.”
She gave a short nod. “We’ll need tinctures to bolster stamina.”
“We have Lustrals for that purpose. Let the mages have access with supervision.”
Kailorien reached with his free hand for a sealed diagram and unfurled it across the table—etched with aerial arcs and lines of projected impact. Thessia looked interested, and Zarrek raised a brow.
“For the Gliders,” he continued, “we cast sky webs. Mana-fused lattice nets that hover just beneath visibility. They’ll catch wings and confuse scouts long enough to bring them down.”
Thessia gave a low whistle. “They’ll know the moment they hit one.”
“They don’t need to stay down. Just long enough to die.”
Talia grimaced but said nothing.
