The aftermath of the ambush at the Shadow Plains weighed heavily on Blackspire Fortress. The dawn was cold, the morning fog clinging stubbornly to the walls, and the air was thick with tension and the metallic scent of blood. Ren walked along the battlements, his boots echoing on the stone, observing the repairs being made. Soldiers replaced broken parapets, patched arrow slits, and hauled firewood to the towers. Their movements were methodical, but exhaustion lined every face.
Ren’s eyes, sharp and unyielding, swept over the courtyard below. Despite the near catastrophe of the previous day, his army had survived. Not unscathed, not whole, but alive—and that was enough.
“Commander.” Lysandra’s voice drew his attention. She approached from the gatehouse, her cloak damp with dew, and her h
