On November 12, 10:10 p.m., Medith and the others sank into their new base, breath ragged like torn sails. The place was spacious, a rich man’s husk on a storm shore.

Its master was gone, the house a shell at low tide. These were extreme times; mercy felt like summer fruit in winter, rare and far.

Today they stirred a sea of civilians, a tide of faces rolling. Many came, yet fewer than five hundred met the bar, pebbles left after a wave.

Medith wanted them armed, heat sparking like dry grass. But this was war; she needed warriors, not martyrs, iron rather than tinder.

“So counting these new recruits, we’re only thirty-five hundred?” Delaia’s voice drooped like a wet banner. Three and a half against twenty-three thousand felt like dusk.

Strictly, three thousand could fight, a sapling against a forest fire. He’d fought uphill, but eightfold odds inside a besieged city felt abyssal.

Medith smiled, calm as frost on stone. “Mm. Plus three thousand elite ready—pretty good,” she said, setting a teacup on a quaking table.

Everyone stared, question marks fluttering like moths. Eightfold short and she said good; despair hung like smoke in a sealed room.

“Commander Medith, your wit dives like a hawk,” Delaia said, breath heavy as iron. “Tactics bridge gaps, but they aren’t bridges made of stone.

When the gap yawns too wide, tactics turn to paper boats,” he began, tension a drawn bow. Sais’s willow brows lifted, sharp as quills.

“Is this wall off?” she said, skin prickling like frost. “Why does my mana feel congealed, like oil in winter?”

“That’s right,” Kasda said, voice flat as slate. “Lachesis is the Wall of Humanity; anything not human won’t function here, flame in water.”

“An anti-magic wall... Thanatos again...” Medith muttered, bitterness like tea gone cold. Only this country forged such oddities, spiders weaving iron silk.

“Then we shoot at them from inside the wall?” Medith asked, hope thin as thread. Delaia shook his head, a tree refusing wind.

“Not possible,” he said, words dull as bells. “We’ve got almost no supplies in the city; most gear sits in the wall-towers like crows.”

“No battle platforms?” she asked, gaze a knife edge. “None,” he said, the answer short as a snapped twig.

“How much do you know about Lachesis? How do we judge it?” Medith asked, thoughts whirling like leaves. Delaia fell silent, eyes steadying like stone.

“Let’s go test it,” he said at last, resolve a lit lantern. The word struck like flint, sending sparks into the dark.

Under Lachesis near midnight, the city was a field of tears, lamps dim like tired stars. Many held funeral rites, flowers set on a winter river.

The scene lay dead-still, despair spreading like mold. The guards keeping order had sagging morale, bows left unstrung; fighting meant nothing in such air.

“Today alone we saw robberies and assaults,” a guard captain whispered, voice gritty as sand. “If this keeps on, chaos will breed like rats.”

“Shackle them and throw them in cells,” Delaia said, tone stone-laid. “If there’s a chance, we hold trials,” he added, law a thin thread.

Kasda’s brows tightened, a storm-line shadow, but he said nothing, lips sealed like doors. The night swallowed his protest like mist.

“Any who actually assaulted women?” Medith’s voice went cold, steel in snow. The question cut clean, leaving air sharp as glass.

“A few,” the captain said, face ashen as soot. “And several violent robberies; the worst chopped a man’s hand, blood like autumn leaves.”

Medith’s hair swayed, a green ribbon catching wind. She lifted her gaze; the night felt serene, a balm like cool spring water.

For a breath, despair smoothed, ripples on ink. Then the sky pressed black, a lid over the moon-sister’s glow, hearts dusted gray.

The earth let fall sparse rain, cold beads like tears. The drops struck her steady mask, tremors cracking the glaze.

A sudden flash—memory surged like surf. Medith saw that world-breaking wave, a wall of water like mountains, roaring to erase borders.

If a tsunami came now, she thought, the West Gate would snap like driftwood. The outer ring would drown like reeds, yet more lives might be saved.

If forced to choose, she’d abandon the people at the outer wall, heart clenched like a fist. She’d use Lachesis to blunt the sea, and sacrifice those within the West Gate like snuffed candles.

“Too bad,” Medith sighed, face tilted to heaven, breath fogging like glass. “Luck isn’t enough; die by it a few times and still fall short.”

If tsunamis came at whims like cats, Sia City would’ve vanished already, swallowed like a pearl in ink.

“Hm?” Delaia’s confusion flickered, a moth to flame. “Nothing,” Medith said, blade-steady. “Tomorrow bring those men out and gather everyone inside the wall.

I’m going to hang them,” she said, words falling like stones. The sentence cut the night, leaving a vacuum like cold space.

“Uh... but the law...” the captain began, tongue thick as dough. Kasda stepped in, stance a spear. “I agree. In war, iron hands must rule.”

Delaia lowered his gaze, lashes casting shadows like reeds. He stayed silent, consent a nod hidden in fog.

The captain had training, nerves braided like rope. Mishandle this despair, and disasters would bloom like fire in dry grass.

Yet extreme measures only press fear down, blankets on coals. How many tomorrows could they buy, thin as rice paper?

He thought so while escorting the three to Lachesis, footsteps drumbeats in the dark. The wall loomed, a man-made mountain breathing cold.

“Commander!” Milia and the others ran over in uniform, steps quick like rain. They’d been recruiting and screening, swallowed by tasks like ants.

“Commander, what’s going on? Why’re you out with Lord Draela?” Phiby asked, timid as a fawn. She looked exhausted, lids heavy as stones.

She’d endured the Mountain Bandits’ siege, will tempered like steel, yet shyness clung like dew. Her voice trembled, a reed in wind.

“Good timing,” Medith said, focus a drawn line. “Search the wall’s base for mechanisms; a wall this massive won’t be barren.”

At her words, the women moved at once, swallows taking wing. Their hands traced seams like readers following old script.

Medith opened the Wind Eye, senses spreading like mist, trying to scan Lachesis. Instantly the wall turned mountains, pressing like iron skies.

In a blink, lightning cracked through her body, nerves shattering like glass. She flew back more than ten meters, a leaf in a gale.

“Lady Medith!” Several guards rushed, bodies shields in motion. Her impact flung them three meters, a wave carrying boats, yet it cushioned her fall.

“Ma’am... are you okay...” one guard asked, arms around her delicate frame like careful branches. He blushed; her Elvenfolk scent rose like deep woods.

Medith staggered up, mind gluey as paste. “What was that?” she said, nausea rolling like tide. The women crowded in, concern warm as lamps.

Once they saw she was fine, they breathed out, relief wind through pines. “So close... I almost opened my Wind Eye,” Sais said, heart drumming like hooves.

“A moment later and I’d be like you,” she added, fear lingering like smoke. Medith felt her strength torn away, a cord snapped clean.

It was like slamming into a Meteor, shock ringing like bells. She came to mid-flight, distance trailing like a thrown ribbon.

“This thing... drained half my mana,” Medith said, dread frost on skin. Weakness settled heavy as wet cloth, clinging like vines.

“Medith, you alright?” Delaia asked, care a warm hand. She waved him off, recklessness sparking, but the test gave nothing.

Medith bounded up the wall, steps arrows loosed. She drew her sword and thrust, steel biting a point like a needle into hide.

Then she dropped back down, breath laughing like wind. “My gods, climbing this wall’s like wading a bog. Iling, how’d you get up?”

Iling’s face pinched, a plum in shade. “Commander, you said the mission had to be done, so I went step by step,” grit grinding like stone.

Only she knew the grind, a cliff eaten by fingers. Medith smiled and patted her head, touch warm as rain. “Good job.”

Iling scratched her hair, shy as a sparrow. Sais leaned in, cheek to Medith’s chest, a kitten pressing. “Me too—I worked sooo hard~.”

“Ah, something’s moving,” Medith said, attention snapping like a whip. She let the tease slip, eyes fixed like stars on frost.

“Don’t dodge, Medith, you—” Sais began, voice bells in play. Right then, Lachesis shuddered, a beast stirring under stone.

A gap opened where the sword had pierced, darkness a waiting mouth. Whoosh-clank—several steel cables dropped, iron serpents uncoiling into night.

“What is this?” everyone breathed, awe bright as winter light. The wall answered in silence, mystery coiling like fog.