The city of Oria held its breath.
The gates stood tall and fortified, their iron-bound edges gleaming faintly under the cloud-laced sky. Archers manned the battlements, their quivers full and fingers twitching against bowstrings. Along the southern wall, the streets thinned—shops shuttered, civilians evacuated inward, soldiers patrolling in pairs with quiet, anxious eyes. Every heartbeat echoed with a silent question:
When will it begin?
And yet—amid the taut stillness of war preparations—something else stirred. Not dread. Not fear.
But a soft, rippling murmur of hope.
Trumpets called out at the northern watchtower, clear and triumphant. A flare of white banners shimmered in the pale light, followed by the rumble of wheels and the rhythmic clatter of hooves. The Holy Mother's caravan had arrived.
The convoy emerged like a ribbon of silver through the forest road: pale wagons marked by radiant sunbursts, gold-threaded drapery pulled tight against the dust. Cloaked clerics walked alongside the carts, their polished armor reflecting sunlight as they marched in measured unity. And at the center, atop a carriage painted with the sigils of the First Light, sat Maia.
Koda was already running.
He vaulted down the steps of the southern post faster than any command could catch him, his boots slamming against stone, legs driving forward like something deep inside him had unlatched. The guards at the outer gate barely had time to register the blur before he slipped between them, his cloak catching wind like a trailing shadow.
Maia's eyes widened just as he reached her—barely enough time to brace herself.
Koda swept her up with a broad, brilliant grin, spinning her once in a wide arc, laughter tearing loose from his chest before he pulled her tightly into his arms. Her fingers clenched in the fabric of his uniform out of instinct, her breath catching softly against his neck.
He held her there for a moment, letting the noise of the caravan and the gates fade into background hum. The scent of lavender and road dust clung to her, warm and real.
"You're here," he whispered.
"I told you I would be," she replied, her voice quiet, steadier than her racing heart.
He slowly stepped back, hands still on her arms, and finally looked at her fully.
Maia had changed.
She had always been beautiful—Koda had known that even before he had words for the feeling—but now the girl he remembered had bloomed into something radiant. Her once-petite frame had matured, slender still but graceful in ways that came only with time and purpose. Her robes of the Holy Mother fit differently now—cut with cleaner lines, emerald embroidery hugging closer to her hips and waist, shoulders squared with quiet strength.
Her face retained the soft curves of youth but carried a gravity now—eyes that had seen more than they spoke of, lips a little more firm, her posture tempered by responsibility. Her hair was longer, loosely tied back, the gold of it catching flecks of sunlight like strands of starlight.
She smiled up at him—and in that smile, for a moment, everything else faded.
The war. The Fallen. The countdown to destruction.
None of it mattered.
He saw her hand lift, briefly hesitating at his cheek, before brushing a knuckle beneath his eye with a gentle, chiding motion.
"You look… tired," she said, the edge of a smile tugging at her lips.
"I've been working," he replied dryly, letting himself relax just enough to tease her, if only a little. "Some of us didn't get to take a scenic tour of the north."
Maia rolled her eyes, but her fingers lingered at his wrist, grounding them both.
"I'm here with the field hospital. We'll be stationed just outside the second ring. The others are already setting up." Her expression tightened slightly. "We heard… rumors. That something was coming."
Koda's face sobered. "They're not rumors. You made it just in time."
Their eyes locked—shared weight passing silently between them.
She nodded once. "Then I'll do my part."
Koda felt something rise in his chest, sharp and familiar. Pride. Fear. The ache of knowing she would be so close, and yet—too close to the storm.
But for now, she was here.
Alive. Whole. And so achingly real that it felt like his body didn't quite know how to hold all the feeling at once.
He stepped aside so she could walk beside him through the northern gate, the guards parting instinctively. The caravan trailed behind her, and already murmurs spread—whispers of the beauty in emerald robes, of Koda's smile, rare and unguarded.
But neither of them noticed.
Because after so long apart, they had found each other again—just before the sky would fall on Oria.
___
If joy greeted the Holy Mother's caravan that morning, it faded by dusk.
Oria did not sleep easily.
Within hours of Maia's arrival, the city returned to its grim rhythm—grindstone hearts and callused hands racing against time. The outer wall had been fortified with reinforced beams and barricades bristling with sharpened stakes. Oil vats were prepped atop the parapets, ready to be spilled and lit. The old stone watchtowers—many long abandoned—were hastily manned again. Every corner, every shadow, was being evaluated, reinforced, hardened.
What the outer wall could not contain, the city's inner defenses would slow.
Temporary blockades sprang up like scars throughout the districts—wheeled carts chained together, furniture from civilian homes sacrificed to reinforce choke points, old statues of saints repurposed to weigh down entryways. The city's cobbled streets had become veins of organized chaos, narrow paths designed to funnel invaders toward traps and kill zones.
Each neighborhood's evacuation route had been assigned and marked in chalked symbols known only to captains and messengers. Families were relocated to safe houses deeper within the city's core, tucked into underground chambers built in secret years ago for earthquakes—not wars.
It wasn't enough. But it was all they could do.
On the eastern side, just beyond the second ring, the field hospital stirred to life.
Maia moved with swift purpose, her white robes trailing like banners behind her as she wove between triage tents, issuing orders with calm precision. The area buzzed with energy, not frantic but charged—a hum of readiness, sharpened like a blade's edge. Assistants sorted crates of salves and potions, laying them in neat rows on makeshift tables. Bedrolls were unfurled, cots hammered into place, and enchanted lanterns suspended between poles to ensure constant light even if the skies turned black.
Healers rotated through practice drills, preparing to assess wounds on the fly, to cast healing blessings mid-run, to seal a severed artery with a breath and prayer. Each group rotated on shifts, ordered by Maia herself—no one was to burn out before the real work began.
Koda had watched her from the walls during his break. Her movements precise, her posture unyielding, her focus absolute. Whatever nerves she carried, they were buried beneath duty. The field hospital stood like a breath of light between walls built for slaughter.
Still, the dread hung thicker with each hour.
By nightfall of the second day, even the soldiers had begun to flinch at every echo.
Scouts returned with nothing. No movement, no marching, no fires in the distance. But that absence felt worse. The air stank of stillness. No wind passed through the streets that night. Dogs did not bark. The city of Oria had gone quiet in its waiting.
Tension curled into the bones of every soul.
Koda stood watch beside the southern gate, eyes set on the black horizon. Around him, his soldiers paced with tight jaws and darting glances. Some chewed on strips of dried meat not out of hunger, but to keep from grinding their teeth. One man kept retying the same knot in his belt, over and over.
The fear was not loud. It didn't scream. It breathed down the back of your neck.
Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.
Maia had visited briefly at sunset, just long enough to deliver a ration of healing potions to his squad. She'd pressed the glass vials into his palm with a half-smile—her fingers lingering for half a breath longer than protocol would allow.
"Be ready," she'd said.
Now, beneath the torchlight, Koda turned that moment over in his mind, holding it close like a ward against the cold.
They were ready.
They had to be.
Because the world was holding its breath.