ChapterFifty-Four
JASCE
The first lightof dawn creeps over the city, casting long shadows that retreat like cowards before the day’s battle.
I stand on the ramparts, my gaze fixed on the horizon, where dust billows up in ominous clouds. The siege weapons of House of Silver loom in the distance as Asha’s forces approach with the relentlessness of the tide.
My fire magic pulses at my fingertips, eager for release. Beside me, my men brace for impact.
The first catapult stone smashes against the wall with a sound like thunder, jarring but ineffective against our fortifications. We strengthened the walls of Sharhavva after Hector’s attack nearly a summer ago.
They will not crumble today.
“Archers!” Widow Maker’s voice carries over the ramparts.
They respond with a unified movement, nocking arrows to bows, their silence more threatening than any war cry.
The sun climbs higher, casting its judgmental gaze upon us. It warms my skin as Asha’s siege engines unleash their fury. Trebuchets hurl flaming projectiles that arc through the sky like falling stars, only to be snuffed out by our prepared defenses—troughs of sand and teams of water bearers ready to douse any flame. And Ellery, who uses her silver magic to quench the fires.
Yet, Asha is undeterred. She leads from the front, her armor catching glints of sunlight as she commands her troops forward. Her relentless nature is as admirable as it is infuriating.
And then, there’s Keel. His rebel forces are a rabble of crimson—traitors to their house, weaving through Asha’s ranks like a sickness. They are hungry for change at any cost, even if it means tearing down everything we’ve built.
We unleash volleys of arrows. Warriors from House of Silver fall like wheat before the scythe, but still more come.
A horn sounds from below, a call for battering rams. They think to breach our gates?
I grip my hematite ring for a moment before leaping down from the wall, landing among my soldiers with a force that stirs the dust at my feet.
“To me!” I roar as flames dance along my arms, casting an otherworldly glow on my men’s faces.
We rush toward the gate where the enemy thinks they’ll find victory.
The rams lumber forward, shielded by rows of soldiers. But they’ve underestimated House of Crimson’s resolve. Underestimated me.
We crash into them like a wave breaking upon rocks. Fire and steel clash with flesh and wood. I am in my element, leading from the front where danger is greatest and victory most sweet.
Asha is relentless, but so am I.
Steel sings and fire roars as I stand shoulder to shoulder with my men. Reeve’s blade flashes as he cuts down one foe after another with a grace that belies the ferocity of his attacks. He is the calm to my storm.
Jude and Aleksander wait with the calvary. Both, no doubt, eager to join the fray.
I let loose a torrent of fire, manipulating it with precision that has become second nature. It wraps around a siege engine like an infernal serpent, its intense heat melting through metal and wood. It collapses in a heap of twisted wreckage.
This is what I was born to do—lead and protect my people with every ounce of strength I possess.
Another group charges us, their eyes filled with the madness of battle. They don’t see the death that awaits them. They only see the chance for glory in striking me down.
They won’t get it.
I raise my hand, palm outstretched, and unleash a wave of fire that surges forward like a ravenous beast. It devours everything in its path, leaving only ash and screams in its wake.
But there’s no time to savor the victory. The battle rages on, and I am its master.
As quickly as we set fires, their silver flame wielders snuff it out—quenching it as if was never there. I keep striking, keep conjuring flames, knowing eventually they will consume more than the silvers can quell.
A shout goes up from the western flank. I turn as Hector’s army closes in. Sol fights next to her husband, using her dark magic to curse anyone who dares to get too close to them.
