They had hours to prepare again, it wasn't enough.
The wounded were moved to the deep shelters. The dead were left where they fell—there was no time for honors, no time for pyres, no time for anything but survival. Dwarven engineers reinforced the walls. Elven mages layered every defensive enchantment they knew. Druids coaxed new growth from the battlefield's blood-soaked earth, creating barriers of thorns and thicket.
Fairies scattered across the plains, watching, waiting, counting.
The count came back grim.
"The celestial army will be here before dawn," Asteria reported, her tiny form hovering before the war council. "They've accelerated their march. They know we're weakened."
"How many?" Chronara asked.
