November 10, 10:34 a.m.—less than twelve hours until Sia City’s blood calamity, the city clock carving the countdown like a thin blade.

“Hey, you heard? Emperor Ogathas abdicated, setting the crown down like a tired weight.”

“Emperor Aelius has taken the throne, like a new dawn over old stones.”

“Times flow like rivers; the old scandal still glints in memory. Seeing today’s flourishing age, this old man could die with his eyes closed like falling leaves.”

“Yeah. If in my lifetime that rose could spread across the continent, I’d die smiling.”

“Hey, hey, that’s a risky thing to say, like dancing on thin ice...”

“What’s to fear? Emperor Aelius is understanding. He won’t condemn me for that, will he?” His heart felt light as a reed.

“Mmm... can’t promise that...” A small cloud hung in his tone.

At the wall posts, the four-sided city wall sat under the elite City Guard, a square of stone like an iron ring.

Beyond the gate, five hundred heavy troops stood like an anvil line.

Sharp greatswords and solid armor turned them into engines of war.

Ordinary attacks slid off like rain on granite.

Most were under forty-five, a field of young steel.

Promoting fresh soldiers freed old veterans like ships easing into harbor.

The old hands became mentors and instructors, oaks weathered but unbowed.

Years of Mountain Bandits and unknown forces had carved wind and dust into their faces.

But they kept discipline and reflex sharp as drawn blades.

A unit that’s trained, blooded, and perfectly disciplined—with battlefield flexibility—is the true ace, a hawk in a storm.

They formed the border line like a spine of shields.

During the Eastern Nation’s civil unrest, they kept guard as steady as stone.

The Southern Kingdom failed to breach the Royal Capital in four years, waves failing to chew a cliff.

Their merit shone like steel.

Each wall rose twenty meters, a sheer cliff of manmade rock.

It was forged from dense Impado mixed with cement, bone set in mortar.

That toughness could stop a thousand cavalry’s packed charge, a dam against a flood.

Even battering rams would not budge it, bulls hitting mountains.

But it hid a fatal flaw, a worm in the wood.

Impado made it quasi-magic, a shimmer under the stone skin.

That meant Collapse Points could appear, soft spots in ice.

Once a Collapse Point was found and struck, the whole face would crumple like paper.

Thankfully, Collapse Point knowledge was scarce across the continent, like stars veiled by cloud.

No one knew how they formed or how to spot them, secrets sunk in deep water.

So fear stayed leashed, a dog tugged short.

The towering walls made climbing a torment, like scaling wet cliffs.

A standard siege ladder capped at fifteen meters, a rib of wood too short.

Twenty-meter ladders were awkward to carry and too fragile, reeds in a gale.

Sia City was a half-island, half rooted in sea, half in stone.

The Boya Sea lapped beneath its south and north walls, salt fingers at the foundations.

To attack those sides, you’d have to fly like a gull.

Or lower siege ladders from within, tongues of wood licking down the face.

Otherwise, a hundred archers could stop a thousand, a hedge of thorns against charging flesh.

Beyond the west wall lay one landing zone, a narrow tooth of shore.

Sia City sat at a vital chokepoint, a knot in the coastline.

Patrol boats scoured every direction like silver fish.

To swing around and assault the west, you’d first cross the southern and northern seas, two mirrors of water.

You’d break the coastal picket line, fortifications, and patrol boats, teeth in the surf.

You’d survive two days on open water under sun and storm.

Then you’d slip past Sia City’s alert net like a needle through cloth.

Only then could you reach the west gate, a mouth behind the teeth.

It was as hard as solo-crossing the Devil’s Triangle.

The main gate was the east gate, the city’s front face.

Two thousand soldiers held it, a forest of shields.

Three outposts stood like teeth.

One watchtower kept its eye, a lamp over the road.

Above the gate, four small doors faced the four directions, eyes to the wind.

To break the city outright, you had to seize the gate’s crown.

Checkpoints and heavy troops stacked like stones.

Most folk couldn’t swim, feet heavy as lead.

The thought of assault washed away.

No one wanted a death march—unless someone proved the wall could break.

East Captain Nip of the City Guard patrolled as always, boots ticking like a metronome.

He never noticed that under the armor, some faces were no longer the ones he knew, masks behind steel.

“About support—what’s your plan?” Powell asked, his voice low as rain. He had tied up affairs in his manor and was ready to leave, like a bird pushing from the eaves.

Sinis smiled at the corner of his mouth, a blade of amusement. “You doubt that lord’s ability? He’s arranged everything, a chess set before the match. We sent pigeons winging like gray arrows. Using Emperor Aelius’s ascension as an excuse, we gifted them wine, feasts, and beauties.”

“This perfect pretext, with temptation they can’t refuse, will pin them down for days. Besides, we killed the pigeons—feathers fallen like ash. Messages will crawl like snails. By the time they arrive, it’ll be a city of fire and a headless corpse.”

“No wonder he’s the man,” Powell said, a falcon among crows. “His cunning leaves me in the dust.”

“Hmph. I won’t speak for other things, fog beyond my map. But he’s made for this, iron cut for war. At least better than Elyu, in my book. A king without ambition—what kind of king is that?”

Powell said nothing; silence pooled like water.

He watched the sky stack up a coming downpour, cloud on cloud like slate.

His expression grew tangled, a knot of rope.

Nira frowned at the ink-black sky, brows like bent willow. “Sir, the rain’s about to pour. What should we do?”

“Thunderstorms have been frequent,” Kasda said, voice flat as a barometer needle. “That last deluge was abnormal, a beast off its leash. My lord, this weather isn’t right.”

The sky dimmed like ink; clouds boiled.

Wind picked up with a whistling edge, blowing knives.

The air grew heavy as wet cloth over a drum.

“How long does weather like this last?” Delaia asked.

“I don’t know.” Nira’s eyes were lost as reeds in fog. “By rights it shouldn’t go past two days, a short fever. That storm and tsunami were terrifying, teeth of the sea. I’ll never forget that day—water everywhere like broken mirrors. The gale howled; the sky keened like a grieving flute. Distant breakers hammered every heartstring. I thought I was dead, a leaf in black water. Then a roar rose from afar, thunder under the waves. The Sky Spear moved, a streak of heaven-iron. One strike shattered that ruthless death god. Their battle cry drowned the gale, lions over jackals. When the sea wall collapsed, the storm finally broke, like glass.”

“Now the war god is gone, a banner lowered. If it comes again, I don’t know what to do, hands cold as rain.”

“I’ve never heard of a tsunami being stopped by men,” Kasda muttered, like halting a mountain. “Is the Commander of the Dike Guard just that strong, or...?”

Delaia wore a thinking look, stone under moss, then nodded. “It might be her talent and power, gifts etched in bone. After all, that one can even crush the stars, pulling nails from the sky. Stopping a tsunami is within reach.”

Hearing “crush the stars,” Nira almost cried out, heart skipping like a sparrow. She thought, “What monsters dwell in the Royal Capital...,” a menagerie behind silk.

“It’s raining. Do we move early?” Powell’s words flicked like raindrops. He heard wind whoop and raindrops fall, a drum on roofs. He couldn’t help asking, tongue drawn by weather.

Sinis watched the street, a painting under glass. Households shuttered their doors and windows, lids over jars. Soldiers at the wall stood like cliffs, unmoved by spray.

“It’s unwise to move now,” he said, wisdom like a cold stone. “Rain will slow them, but it hinders us more, mud to our boots. A siege in this weather isn’t smart, tactics fogged by rain. Damn weather!” He shook a fist at the sky. “It won’t wash all your drug away, will it?”

“Hard to say,” Powell murmured, like tasting clear water. “The lord said the drug is colorless and tasteless, and not easily neutralized, a ghost in the cup. But I don’t know what a downpour like this will do, buckets from heaven.”

“Does your Eastern Nation rain like this every day?” Sinis asked, like a monsoon drum.

“Lately, yeah,” Powell said, shoulders like wet cloth.

Sinis shook his head—when heaven strikes, men bow, reeds under storm. “We can only pray the rain stops early, before the siege horns. I’m not afraid of rain—I’ve marched through rivers. I’m afraid of variables mid-siege, cards changing in the downpour.”

“Heaven’s will.” Powell looked at the sky, where thunder-snakes writhed, awe in his face, like moonlight on steel.