Then chaos.
The sky webs lit up like lightning in the pitch. Shadows burst from the black above the fortress. Wings. Dozens—hundreds. A Glider army, all female, one hundred strong at least. The Vanguard hadn’t seen them. Not a single scout had called alarm. And now, the Gliders were already there, right on top of them, so close the first talons scraped the outer Wards before the horns even finished their echo.
The shriek of gathering mana pierced the air.
“Brace!” Zarrek roared, voice carrying like thunder. “Shields up!Shields—”
The first bombs fell, striking the Wards like meteors, exploding against the runes with a shock that rattled teeth and bones. The wards screamed like glass under pressure. Stonewake lurched. Men were knocked to the ground. Golden light flared, the dome lighting up in retaliation as the shields held. Heat and ash rained down.
More horns. More wings.
The Cycle of Dark had hidden them. Now it revealed them all at once.
More bombs came, wailing as they careened through the air. More explosions cracked against the shields. Most burst harmlessly overhead, but one or two fell wide. Stone shuddered. Smoke hissed.
“We’re holding!” Thessia called beside him, her glaive in her hands. She stood tall, her violet eyes burning, her golden braids flying in the wind. A smile lit her face, a smirk in the face of death.
Another wave of bombs fell, but the shields did not yield.
When the blast and smoke cleared, the men cheered. More horns wailed in mourning. Reskala crossed arms and threw curses at the winged invaders high above. Daring them to persist, to fight against the might of Stonewake.
But the Resh’Agar stood apart, focused on the dome. With his Manasight and the insight from his rune, Perthro, he knew…
It was only a matter of time.
The wards could not withstand this bulk of force. Not for long. They’d bought time, but time mattered little when they were surrounded. Archers fired endless arrows, but few hit their mark in the surrounding darkness. The mages came next, casting mana into balls of flame. This was more effective. Some collided with the less agile Gliders, swatting them from the skies. Bodies fell like rain, feathers torn, gray blood spraying wide.
As they landed, some Gliders recovered. Others crashed into the stone, pulverized into steaming piles of broken bone and flesh.
Zarrek stepped beside him.
“Pull the tether on the sky webs. Now,” Kailorien commanded.
Zarrek nodded, raising his arm for the signal.
Above the dome, more magic burst to life. Green mixing with red and blue, coalescing into visible netting then snapping shut like a colossal trap. Gliders screamed as their wings were crushed. More bodies fell. More shattered. Those that survived the fall surged to their feet, glaives flying, teeth white in snarls and howls of battle.
The Reskala met them head-on, charging them. Judging from the shape of the Gliders’ bodies, lack of tails, and smaller wings, these were not Apex, but Talonstride—a bloodline bred for sieges like this one. He should have been relieved. A single Apex like the Riven could have taken the entire fortress alone. But relief was the farthest thing from his mind, especially as the dome above finally cracked.
One splinter at first.
Then another.
Then fate itself took up its sword and slashed a spiderweb of fractures all across the dome.
The runes on his body roared, burrowing deep into his spine.
Krâthar, Eihwaz, Hjarta, Raido—all sang in unison as they sank their teeth into his flesh, into his mana, into his core. He bore the pain without flinching, allowing even Vargrún’s whispers to stretch out from its prison. The scar on the back of his neck burned, but he did not reach for it.
In a shockwave, the wards burst.
Men shouted in panic as wings, talons, and glaives descended.
He dodged when a Glider nearly fell on top of him. Then several more.
Beside him, Thessia gave a mighty battle cry and launched into the fray.
Kailorien cut them down, one by one. Crushing skulls, rib cages, hearts. With Gliders, one could not risk it. Leaving one alive could mean certaindeath if they were armed with the right runes for survival. He swung his blade in an arc, each motion sending rows of blue magefire outwards. The air thinned around him, blazing, screeching as his runes woke more and more.
