The sun never truly rose on the third day.
It hovered behind a thick veil of smoke and ash, a pale red eye barely visible through the haze that clung to the battlefield like death's own breath. The scent of blood and rot was very strong. Corpses from the previous clashes still littered the fields, some burnt beyond recognition, others trampled into the mud. No one had time to bury them.
Captain Braedon stood atop the central platform, his armor splashed with grime and dried blood. He hadn't slept in nearly two days. None of them had.
"They're massing again," Lieutenant Marcus said, lowering his spyglass. "A full push. Heavier than before."
"How many?"
"Hard to tell. A lot. More than we've seen."
Braedon turned toward the bastion's inner trench. "Get Odric and Agis to the central line. If the wall goes, they're our last hope."
As Marcus ran to carry out the order, the first of the drums began.
Low. Deep. Rolling like distant thunder across the open plain.
