The afternoon sun dipped below the jagged horizon, its warmth retreating like a coward before the coming night. As the light faded, the long, sharp shadows of the Whitefang Peaks stretched across the valley floor. The silhouettes of the connecting ridges fell over the wreckage of the Cigan pass—once the unyielding stronghold of the Payapasa Kingdom—like a set of massive, devilish palms closing slowly over a ruined prize.
Within that cold embrace, the fires of the afternoon had begun to die down into a smoldering, orange rot. The proud architecture that had stood for generations was now nothing more than a jagged silhouette of charcoal and splintered stone, hidden from the sky by the dark weight of the mountains.
The silence that followed was heavier than the noise of the catapults. It was the silence of a grave.
Standing in the center of the ruins, Chinua looked straight ahead toward the long, winding stretch of dirt road that cut through the first break in the Whitefang Peak. The mountain wall stood high against the darkening sky, a jagged barrier between her and her prize. She knew that just on the other side of that stone pass lay the jewel of the north: Kark City. But to her, it was already a ghost. Soon, it would be renamed Behrouz City, a permanent territory of the Hmagol Kingdom.
The air around her was a thick, cloying swirl of scents—the sweet, sharp fragrance of mountain pine fighting against the heavy, sickening smell of burnt flesh.
She looked down at her feet. There, half-buried in the soot and still licking with low, stubborn flames, lay a Payapasa flag. Without a moment's hesitation, Chinua stepped onto the fabric. She felt the heat through her boots as she ground the golden crest into the ash, leaving a dark, heavy footprint over the symbol of the kingdom.
She walked forward toward Haitao and his men, who were busy clearing the path of debris. Behind her, the flag continued to smolder, now marked by the literal weight of its new conqueror.
Chinua walked to Haitao and stood beside him, the scent of the cooling ruins heavy between them. She reached into her inner robe and pulled out a map, unfolding it to reveal the intricate details of the borderlands. The road was marked in sharp ink, and the suspected hidden outposts of the enemy were circled in blood-red.
"Over that side of the mountain is Kark City," Haitao said. He didn't look at her; his eyes were fixed on the towering peak in front of them, which now completely blocked the final, dying rays of the sun. "We have never ventured this far into Payapasa territory. This—" he sighed, finally turning to her. "This will be uncharted territory for us."
"We move forward," Chinua said, her voice like grinding stone.
"It is not always a good idea to move forward when we don't know what waits on the other side," Haitao suggested gently. "Besides—"
"Khunbish!" Chinua's voice cut through his caution, echoing and bouncing back from the massive mountain wall. "You and Azad ride out. Send a message for me."
Khunbish appeared from the shadows of the ruins. "What is the message, Chinua?"
"Tell Leej and Jietang that Chinua allows the mothers, fathers, brothers, wives, and children of the fallen soldiers to come and collect their dead," she said. Her voice was as calm and cold as the late afternoon breeze, the left corner of her mouth curving into a sharp, predatory smile. "Trade their bodies for a bowl of rice and a bowl of water for Drystan."
Khunbish nodded solemnly. He and Azad mounted their horses, and the two men galloped into the fading orange horizon, their silhouettes swallowed by the coming night.
"Captain," Chinua said, turning back to Haitao. "Get everyone ready. We move through the night. Everyone must reach the other side of the mountain before the ghost hour."
"Understood," Haitao replied.
As Chinua walked away toward the section of the camp where the Salran Hill bandits were gathered, Yisü moved closer to Haitao. The young general looked bewildered.
"I don't understand why Her Highness would give such an order," Yisü whispered. "What good does it do us to let them take their dead?"
Haitao gave a soft, knowing chuckle. "It is part of her strategy."
"What strategy?"
"Chinua wants Kark to boil before she adds more wood," Haitao explained, looking at the young man's confused face. He smiled. "She wants the people of Kark City to fight against their own soldiers. When the families demand to go out to the battlefield, and the generals try to stop them, the city will tear itself apart before we even strike the first blow."
He tapped Yisü lightly on the shoulder and walked away, his voice rising to command the soldiers to clear the debris for the arrow machines, the battering rams, and the catapults.
As the wind blew against their faces and the sounds of the valley faded, the silence of Kark City was shattered. Khunbish and Azad rode straight toward the main thoroughfare, passing the last desperate groups of civilians who were rushing toward the city gates to seek refuge. The dust kicked up by their horses settled over the frightened faces of those who had just realized the border had fallen.
Khunbish and Azad halted their horses, the dust scattering around them like a grey shroud. The civilians scrambled away, their eyes wide with terror as they realized these riders were not their own, but the iron-clad heralds of Hmagol.
Above, on the high walls of the city, bows were drawn and arrows aimed. But the Paayasian soldiers held their fire. They were trapped by the proximity of their own people, and more importantly, they were silenced by the white negotiation flag fluttering in the final, dying ray of sunlight.
"Citizens of Kark!" Azad's voice echoed, carrying a weight that demanded attention. "Chinua has given an order! She allows the fathers, mothers, brothers, wives, and children of the dead to retrieve their fallen—provided you come weaponless!"
"In two days, Chinua will attack Kark City!" Khunbish's voice rang out next, sharp and unforgiving. "Now is the time for you to flee. If your King loves you, he will open these gates and let you leave. If your King has deserted you, you and your loved ones will die—unless you surrender to Chinua!"
Without waiting for an answer, Khunbish and Azad wheeled their horses around. They galloped back toward the looming shadows of Whitefang Peak, their mission complete.
The soldiers and civilians watched until the riders were swallowed by the distance. Then, the muttering began. As the night slowly took over, the voices in the streets and inside the houses rose. Whispers passed from one ear to the next, a contagion of doubt. By the time the moon reached its zenith, Chinua's message had reached every corner of Kark City—from the southern slums to the northern palaces.
In the heart of Kark City, a young soldier sprinted through the dark hallways of the palace, his boots thumping against the fine, polished wood. His heart was racing, faster perhaps than the falling sand of a broken hourglass. He reached the heavy doors of the military conference room—doors crafted from the rare timber of the Whitefang Peaks and carved with ancient words of encouragement—and threw them open.
"General!" the soldier burst through, his chest heaving.
Leej, Jietang, and their circle of captains froze, their eyes shifting from the maps of their planned counterattack to the trembling messenger.
"What is it, soldier?" Jietang snapped, his voice tight with irritation.
"Report, General!" the soldier gasped. "A massive group of civilians has gathered at the South Gate. They are demanding we open the passage. Some seek to flee the city before the deadline, but others... they want to go to the border to retrieve the bodies of their sons."
"Who spread these rumors?!" Mingle roared, his eyes turning a ferocious, bloodshot red.
Jietang looked from the soldier to the tactical map, his jaw tightening. "The gates remain shut. This is a trap. The moment we crack those doors to let them out, the Magoli will charge inside."
The soldier bowed low and hurried out, leaving the room thick with a new kind of tension.
"General," Bliang said, breaking the silence. "Do you think the Hmagol Eastern General will push this far after taking the Cigan Pass?"
"A general in their right mind would not hesitate to stop," Nhia countered. "Not with the night upon them and traps likely set in the mountain passes."
"But as Koorush said," Suxeu interrupted, his voice distant as he remembered his encounter with the warrior Zhi. "This Eastern General is not like anyone we have fought before. She leads a gathering of warriors from every corner of the land. I would bet my life her army arrives at our gates by tomorrow morning."
"Besides," Bliang added softly. "The rumors will be true. She is the 'People's Princess.' From Hosha City to Nue-Li, she has always allowed the dead to be collected. She even permitted the body of Payam, Zasra's most beloved strategist, to be recovered at Zoaging. This time will be no different."
Leej sighed, a heavy, hollow sound that seemed to echo the defeat already settling into the room. "Which means we have a problem far greater than iron. We have a battle within our own walls. This is no longer a rumor—it is a test of our people's will against our own."
Jietang fell silent for a long moment, his eyes scanning the flickering shadows on the map before he turned back to Leej and the five captains.
"At the moment, we don't know the true size of her host," Jietang admitted, his voice low. "I believe she brings the entire Salran bandit force and the full force of the Eastern Hmagol soldiers. We are not just facing an army; we are facing a migration of vengeance."
"General," Leej said, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. "Do you have a plan?"
"I think it is best for a small group of soldiers to leave Kark City," Jietang said, leaning over the table. "They must ride back to Ngabo City and send a message to His Majesty in Zouis City to demand immediate reinforcements. If the Hmagol Eastern General comes at us with everything she has... in the worst-case scenario where Kark City falls, we must have half of the Payapasa forces ready for her in Ngabo. She might take the gate, but she will never take Ngabo."
Leej looked at Jietang for a long time, seeing through the tactical reasonable preparation and the hidden fear of heavy losses beneath the gaze of Jietang's eyes. He knew his fellow general was trying to balance the survival of the kingdom against the survival of his own soul.
"Then you should leave for Ngabo City tomorrow night," Leej said quietly. "Kark City is my city. Whether it rises or falls, I will be one with the stones His Majesty entrusted me to guard." He paused, his gaze hardening. "You and your men leave tomorrow night through the water tunnel. Use the river out of the East Gate to avoid the eyes of the enemy—and the eyes of our own people."
"Then I will take Daiji with me and leave Suxeu with you," Jietang agreed quickly. "It is settled. We depart one hour after the ghost hour."
The men inside the conference room nodded at Jietang, the silence heavy with the price of their decision. They knew that while Leej would stay to be the face of the defense, Jietang would become the shadow, carrying the weight of their survival through the dark. As the maps were rolled up and the candles burned low, the countdown to their darkest hours began—a race against time to reach the East Gate before the "Ghost Hour" ended and the world turned to Hmagol iron.