The first scream cut through the dawn like a blade.
The sun had yet to crest the hills, but WindVeil was already ablaze with chaos. Smoke bled upward from the fields where Astrid’s mercenaries had set torch to the harvest. The acrid scent of burning grain choked the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.
Astrid stood at the forefront, her crimson cloak trailing over the grass, spear resting lightly in her grip. Her mercenaries moved in a jagged crescent around her, flooding toward the village’s outer barricades.
From the walls, WindVeil’s archers loosed a volley.
Arrows whistled down. Two mercenaries crumpled, but Astrid didn’t even glance their way. Her eyes were locked on the gate.
The Duke’s soldiers surged forward to meet her.
One man — armor dented, spear leveled — roared and charged.
Astrid stepped aside.
Her spear blurred in a single, vicious arc.
A crack split the air as its tip tore through his chestplate, piercing heart and lung in one motion. The soldier’s eyes went wide — then he collapsed, a dead weight on her weapon. She wrenched it free without breaking stride.
Another soldier tried to flank her. She pivoted low, the butt of her spear smashing into his knee. The man screamed as bone shattered; her follow-up strike pierced his throat before the cry could finish.
> "Hold the line!" a captain shouted. "Don’t give her an opening!"
Astrid moved like a storm given form — the crimson arc of her cloak swirling as she weaved between strikes, her spear an extension of her will. Every thrust was final. Every swing, lethal. She was precise, almost surgical, and the more they fell, the more her mercenaries pressed the advantage.
WindVeil’s first defensive rank shattered.
The Duke, atop the wall, clenched his jaw.
> "Fall back to the second barricade!" he barked. "Archers, cover them!"
Sera’s bowstring twanged beside him, her arrows sinking into the advancing mercenaries. But her gaze kept finding the red figure cutting through her people like grass.
Astrid paused only once — to let the Scale at her hip pulse again.
Her grip on the spear tightened.
> He’s here. I can feel it.
The firelight reflected in her cold, unblinking eyes.
> "Zane," she murmured into the chaos. "Run if you want. I’ll still find you."