Night fell over Ngabo like a heavy, suffocating drape.
High atop the massive city walls, the flickering torchlight danced against the grim faces of hundreds of Paayasian sentries, their warm silhouettes pacing the stone battlements in steady patrols. Out past the perimeter, where the light died into shadow, their eyes returned to the same dark horizon—where the jagged crest of Mopia Mountain cut into the sky, guarding the valley like an invincible, sleeping giant.
Below the battlements, the evening chatter of the sprawling city slowly drained away. Human voices dissolved into the black, surrendering to the cold rustle of the wind and the eerie, unnatural chorus of night creatures echoing up from the dark valley floor.
Everything was quiet. Perfectly, dangerously quiet.
Until the dark sky suddenly erupted in a brilliant, terrifying wave of red.
A blinding canopy of fire ignited high above the valley, cutting through the night like a bleeding scar. The Paayasian sentries on the walls of Ngabo froze, their breath catching in their throats as they watched the glowing wave surge forward with lethal speed—heading straight toward the jagged crest of Mopia Mountain, where the supposedly impregnable gate of their defense stood.
For a single, breathless second, the sky burned brighter than midday.
"Call General Phia! Now!" the lead patrol soldier shouted, his voice cracking as his eyes locked onto their primary line of defense, completely engulfed in a sea of roaring flame.
Before the soldier's frantic cry could even die down, heavy, armored footsteps thundered up the stone stairwell. Phia, Jietang, Bliang, and Mingle burst onto the ramparts, rushing straight to the edge of the city wall.
Their faces were instantly illuminated by the brutal, blinding inferno consuming the night sky. The sheer brilliance of the blaze cut through the dark, throwing violent, dancing shadows high into the heavens as if the fire itself were trying to scorch the stars.
"We are under attack," Phia murmured, his breath catching as he turned his head toward the elder general, Jietang.
"So... they move sooner than expected," Jietang grunted softly to himself, his weathered face hardening under the red glow of the distant disaster.
"That... that Alhu was right," Mingle stammered, gripping the stone battlement until his knuckles turned white. "At this pace, Hmagol's Eastern General will not stop. She won't give us time to breathe."
"In war, continuous, unrelenting pressure only ever stems from two conclusions," Phia said, his voice remaining remarkably steady despite the rising panic around them. "One: the enemy is running dangerously low on supplies and cannot afford a prolonged siege. Or two: they are flawlessly prepared, and they have already marked this land as their own territory."
Mingle and Bliang turned sharply, their eyes fixing on Phia.
"Which one do you believe our enemy falls under?" Mingle asked, dread lacing every word.
Phia stared out at the burning mountain crest, his heart heavy as stone.
"I am afraid... the Magoli have already marked their territory."
"Generals," one of the sentries spoke up, his voice trembling as he stared at the horizon. "At this rate... will the fire travel toward us? It has been bone-dry these past few days. Should we—should we begin evacuating the people across the bridges?"
"The pass is a full day's march," Bliang countered grimly. "It will take days to pull that many civilians out of the city. Generals—" He looked up, his eyes darting between Phia and Jietang. "I am afraid our time has already run out."
"Captain Bliang is right," Mingle interjected, his knuckles white against the stone rampart. "What if the moment we unbolt the gates, Magoli soldiers come charging down the mountain straight into our ranks?"
"They are not foolish," Phia said coldly. "They will not burn themselves alive just to reach us."
Turning on his heel, Phia swept his gaze over his subordinate officers. "Deploy half of our archers to patrol the city walls along the riverbanks. Once the mountain finishes burning, the river is their most likely crossing point. Ensure every quiver is full and ready." He paused, turning toward the quiet, brooding figure of Jietang. "General... what are your thoughts?"
Jietang, who stood closest in rank and mind to Es Ke, knew the harsh reality better than anyone. At this stage, Es Ke would strictly refuse any incoming refugees into Zouis City—he had already ordered its heavy iron gates bolted shut. Any civilians fleeing Ngabo now would end up surviving in ragged tent camps along the exposed riverbanks or freezing in the mountain passes.
Yet Jietang also knew that Ngabo was now staring directly down the throat of a full-scale invasion. If the citizens remained trapped inside the battlements, their chances of survival were practically zero. They would become collateral damage, and their desperate panic would severely compromise his soldiers' ability to fight at peak discipline. He had witnessed firsthand how Kark City crumbled from within. If these civilians stayed trapped behind Ngabo's walls, they would meet the exact same tragic fate. Forcing them out into the wilderness was cruel, but out there, they at least stood a chance to breathe another day.
Jietang's jaw set into a razor-sharp line.
"Give the order," Jietang commanded, his voice cutting through the panic like cold steel. "All males aged sixteen to fifty are strictly forbidden from leaving the city—they are conscripted into the defense. Per His Majesty's royal decree, all other civilians and noncombatants are to evacuate Ngabo within forty-eight hours."
"General!" a Paayasian sentry shouted, pointing frantically down into the dark, shadowed valley below. "We've got company!"
The sharp warning forced Phia and Jietang to snap their attention back to the sweeping plains. In the gloom of the night, a thick cloud of rising dust announced a pack of riders galloping hard toward the lower city gate. Squinting into the darkness, neither commander could tell whether the approaching cavalry were retreating comrades or Hmagoli advance scouts.
"Archers!" Phia barked, his authoritative voice echoing along the wide stone ramparts. "Take your positions!"
In a single, fluid motion, a full line of archers stepped up to the stone crenellations, nocking heavy iron-tipped arrows and drawing their bowstrings taut. They stood frozen, eyes locked on the approaching silhouettes, waiting for the unidentified riders to cross the deadly two-hundred-yard mark.
Below, the thunder of frantic hoofbeats shook the dry dirt. Seeing the brilliant flare of torches lining the high city walls, Yongyee felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of relief—followed immediately by sheer terror. He was fast approaching the deadly perimeter. He knew Paayasian military doctrine all too well; if the watchers on the wall couldn't positively identify his men in the pitch dark, a deadly hail of iron would turn them into pincushions long before they ever reached the heavy gates.
Desperate, Yongyee reached down, violently ripped his regional unit banner from its leather holster beside his saddle, and thrust it high into the night air, waving it wildly above his head.
"Do not shoot!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice raw with pure panic. "Do not shoot! It's Yongyee!"
High atop the wall, Jietang leaned far over the stone battlement, his sharp eyes cutting through the rising dust and heavy shadow. He caught the distinct, woven crest of the Mopia Guard fluttering wildly under the flickering torchlight.
"Hold your fire!" Jietang bellowed, sweeping his heavy arm down in a swift command. "Stand down! Lower your bows!"
The archers instantly eased the tension on their bowstrings, stepping back from the ledge. Below, the heavy wooden gates of Ngabo groaned on their massive iron hinges, slowly swinging inward just enough to swallow the exhausted, dust-covered riders before slamming shut once more.
Yongyee practically threw himself off his lathered horse, his knees buckling the moment his boots hit the cold stone courtyard. Breathing heavily, covered in soot and sweat, he looked up to see Phia and Jietang striding rapidly down the grand stairwell toward him.
"Captain Yongyee," Phia said, stopping dead in his tracks as his eyes took in the officer's singed armor and wide, terrified gaze. "Mopia Gate... is it truly lost?"
Yongyee swallowed hard, his throat dry as ash. "It wasn't a ground force, General... they came from the sky. They rained fire from above, and the mountain itself is burning. Mopia is gone."
"What do you mean, they came from the sky?" Phia demanded, his brow furrowing in deep disbelief.
"My sentries reported hearing the sound of rain—but it was oil," Yongyee panted, his hands trembling violently as he spoke. "They could only have dropped it on us from above."
"And did you see what kind of craft or mechanism they used?" Jietang asked sharply, stepping forward.
Yongyee shook his head helplessly. "It was too dark to see anything... but the wave of fire arrows that followed had to come from at least five to ten thousand archers. They are standing on the opposite side of Mopia Mountain right now, simply waiting for the inferno to die down."
"The civilian evacuation begins immediately," Jietang declared, his stern, echoing voice carrying across the quieted courtyard.
As the words left his lips, a single, cool droplet touched his forehead and slowly slid down his cheek. Jietang reached up, touching the wet streak with his fingertips. A soft, bitter chuckle escaped his lips as he looked up into the gathering gloom.
"Even heaven itself is on their side."
Then, a soft, metallic clink echoed across the stone platform, followed by another, and another—a steady, rhythmic cadence of raindrops beginning to strike the golden armor of the silent Paayasian soldiers.
On the other side of Mopia Mountain, deep inside a tactical command tent pitched within Mopia Valley, Chinua, Hye, Zhi, Khunbish, Khenbish, Haitao, Timichin, Chaghatai, Erden, Terbish, Och, Yisü, Baterdene, Khartsaga, and Bilguun were sitting together, enjoying a surprisingly quiet dinner.
Suddenly, the stretched leather roof of the tent began echoing with a soft, rhythmic patter.
Chinua slowly looked up toward the central tent pole above her, then shifted her gaze across the table until her eyes met Hye's.
A sharp grin curved Hye's lips, and he playfully rolled his eyes at Chinua, unable to hide his immense satisfaction. He let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh, raised his bowl of warm tea toward her, and said with a triumphant smile, "I guess the great Hmagol Eastern General is on kitchen duty until this war ends."
The generals, captains, and unit leaders sitting at the table looked back and forth between Chinua and Hye, rapidly piecing together the wager, before bursting into a roaring wave of collective laughter.
Outside, a blinding flash of bright lightning sliced through the dark sky, immediately followed by the deep, booming thunder of the coming storm.