Dawn was beginning to spread over the coast of Marseille when the pressure built around the perimeter of the Orleans mansion finally reached its breaking point. From the start of the assault, the convoy had advanced along the coastal road in tight formation, leaving behind a faint trail that blended with the salty breeze of the Mediterranean. There was no chaos in their arrival—only precision. The first discharges of magical weapons struck the outer barrier like a steady pulse, testing its resistance, forcing it to tighten more and more at a single point until the balance could no longer hold. When it gave, it did not explode; it tore. Fragments of light broke away from its surface and dissipated before touching the ground, exposing the central courtyard in a brief silence that lasted less than it took for the enemy to cross it.
The vehicles slowed without coming to a full stop, just enough for the first units to disembark with coordinated movements, covering one another as they secured access. There was no hesitation in their advance. Within seconds, the fight stopped being external pressure and became a direct breach inside the mansion.
Étienne was the first to respond. The energy of the mark surged through his body with visible firmness, anchoring him to the ground as he intercepted the attacker leading the entry with a strike that hurled him against the base of a column. It was not just strength—it was control of space, absolute command of the point he defended. At his side, Luc raised a barrier in front of the main staircase, absorbing the first volley of shots aimed at opening a corridor toward the interior. The structure trembled, but it did not give way.
The enemy advance did not stop.
From the flanks, new units deployed toward balconies and secondary access points, firing at windows and elevated positions to fracture the defense. The Orleans mansion was not an isolated place protected by nature; it was a fortress integrated into the coastline, with clear access routes, and that made it vulnerable to a well-executed offensive. The sea breeze carried the echo of the gunfire, and the scent of salt began to mix with the smoke gathering in the courtyard.
Blood appeared on the stone too soon.
A guard fell near the fountain without making a sound. Another tried to hold the line on the steps and was struck before he could reorganize. The defense was holding, but with each second it was losing ground.
Then Eleonor entered the battle.
She did not arrive as reinforcement. She was already within the flow of combat, moving among the defenders with a presence that did not need to impose itself. Her combat suit was torn at the side, blood darkening the fabric, but her pace showed no weakness. The energy of the mark ignited within her with fierce intensity, running through her arms before taking form. Two spears emerged almost at the same time. The first pierced an attacker advancing toward the staircase; the second struck a group trying to secure the north gallery, breaking their formation instantly.
She did not stop.
Every movement was direct, precise, without waste. She entered, struck, and shifted position before the enemy could respond. One attacker tried to reach her from behind and ended up on the ground with his jaw shattered. Another fired at close range; the discharge grazed her shoulder, but Eleonor answered in the same motion, piercing him without slowing down. She did not ignore the pain. She advanced in spite of it.
Around her, the enemy advance began to lose order.
Sophie was not at the center of the fight, but her presence held the structure of the defense together. From the edge of the courtyard, with a full view of the field, she reorganized positions, sealed access points, and redirected the guards toward the places where the pressure was beginning to break through. Every order came at the right time.
—Reinforce the west wing. Do not let them through.
There was no doubt in her voice. In the middle of chaos, she was a clear line.
At the center of the courtyard, Noah remained still for a moment, breathing with difficulty. The energy of the mark had stopped being a disordered reaction. It was something deeper, more constant, as if it responded to the whole of the battle and not only to immediate danger.
The air changed.
The temperature dropped gradually, barely noticeable at first, until breath began to turn visible. Noah raised a barrier to contain a volley directed at Luc and several nearby defenders. The impact made it tremble, but it held.
It was not enough.
From the side, a new group advanced, trying to close the space around Étienne. Noah turned his body slightly and let the energy flow without forcing it. Ice rose from the ground in a controlled expansion, trapping legs and breaking the coordination of the enemy advance. It was not an explosion, but a precise alteration of the field.
He closed his hand.
The pressure concentrated, and the ice collapsed inward. The impact was brief, contained—enough to stop that front.
Noah felt the stares, but he did not linger on them.
From outside, the attacks continued to strike the structure, maintaining constant pressure. A new wave crossed the main entrance, occupying the space that had just been cleared. Luc raised another barrier, this time with visible strain. Étienne remained on the front line, without retreating.
Ahead, Eleonor took a direct hit.
The discharge struck near her shoulder and broke her balance for an instant. Her body turned, losing stability. Noah felt it before he saw her fall.
But Eleonor did not fall.
She planted her foot, regained control, and immediately advanced toward the one who had fired. The strike was direct, followed by the appearance of a spear that pierced him before he could react. Her breathing grew heavier. The blood kept falling, more visible now. Her arm was beginning to lose precision, but her advance did not stop.
The rhythm of the battle shifted.
It was no longer a clean sequence, but sustained resistance. Every step Eleonor took was a conscious decision not to give ground.
Sophie adjusted the defense once more, preventing the fight from spreading deeper into the mansion. Noah stepped forward. The cold continued to expand from him, but now it was more stable, more precise.
He looked over the battlefield.
The pressure was not decreasing.
The war was no longer at the perimeter.
It was inside.
And as the light of dawn reflected over the Mediterranean and filtered into the courtyard through smoke and motion, it became clear that the Orleans mansion remained standing not because of its walls, but because of those holding the line without retreating, even when their bodies no longer responded as they should.
The battle had only just begun.
And in a place far from Marseille, inside a wide chamber where multiple tactical projections floated in the air, the assault was being observed in real time.
Valerius was neither standing nor tense. He remained still, his gaze fixed on one of the projections where the courtyard of the Orleans mansion was displayed from multiple angles at once. Every movement, every fall, every shift in the defensive line was recorded with absolute precision.
—Interesting… —he murmured calmly.
The image of Eleonor advancing while wounded occupied the center of his attention.
—Even so… she keeps pushing the battle forward.
He shifted his gaze.
Another projection showed Noah. The drop in temperature, the expansion of ice, the way the field was beginning to change around him.
Valerius narrowed his eyes.
—And he is no longer reacting… he is starting to understand.
The silence in the room grew denser.
—That is faster than expected.
—Sir? —a voice responded from the back.
—Markus Vidon.
The man stepped forward.
—The operation remains within parameters —he said with control—. The mansion is compromised.
Valerius shook his head slightly.
—The perimeter fell… but the structure is still standing.
He pointed at Eleonor's projection.
—As long as she keeps advancing, that position does not collapse.
Then he looked at Noah.
—And if he continues like this… this stops being an assault.
Markus did not need more.
—It becomes a problem.
A faint smile appeared on Valerius's face.
—Exactly.
For the first time, he turned his head slightly.
—We cannot allow both of them to reach that point at the same time.
—Then we must intervene —Markus said.
Valerius looked back at the projection.
—Not yet.
The spreading ice was reflected in his eyes.
—I want to see how far he goes.
A brief pause.
—But prepare the next phase.
—Yes, sir.
Valerius rested his fingers on the control surface, enlarging Noah's image.
—Because when this stops being a test…
His voice lowered slightly.
—There will be no way to contain him.