The wall was gone.
What remained was rubble — broken stone, shattered spears, the charred husks of siege towers leaning like corpses in the wind. The breach yawned wide, gaping like a wound, and through it the Grave Alpha’s army poured like a flood.
Reavers swarmed over the ruins, their masks gleaming in the dawn light, their crescent blades flashing. Bonehounds leapt over the debris, jaws snapping, their howls rising sharp above the clash. Drums pounded from the ridges, their rhythm steady, merciless, endless.
And at the center of it all, the Grave Alpha strode forward, his blade burning brighter with every step.
Elinora stood trembling on the fractured dais. The Spine was heavy in her grip, its shadow lashing outward in jagged bursts. The cracks beneath her feet pulsed faint, unstead
