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The citadel gates loomed in the gray dawn like the jaws of some ancient beast, their black iron teeth slick with dew. Fog pressed close against the walls, dimming the torches and muffling the voices of the watch. The gates rarely opened this wide, not for training, not for supply runs. This was different. A low groan of iron reverberated through the stone as the portcullis lifted. Emil felt it in his chest, as if the very earth shivered. He stood in formation with twenty others, armor stiff and unfamiliar, a spear balanced awkwardly against his shoulder. His armor was not yet knight-forged steel, only the plated leather of an apprentice, but it felt like a burden anyway, heavy with what lay beyond the gates. The knight-captain sat mounted at the head of their column, a broad-shouldered
- Writer
