The smoke from the gunpowder on the upper floor of the fortress had become so thick that the torchlight appeared sickly and pale. Kelen tried to tighten his fingers on the rifle's trigger again, but there was no life left in his knuckles.
His hands felt as heavy as stone, and the dark blood seeping from his wound had created a sticky bond between his palm and the rifle's butt. From the high roofs of the opposite building, volleys of arrows and bullets continued to rain down.
Piercing the chests of the crawling monsters like flashes of fireflies in the dark. A black tide was surging right before the main gate of the fortress—hundreds of those hideous creatures were attempting to gnaw through the iron chains and doors with their teeth.
Kelen's vision began to blur. His eyelids were drooping like heavy iron shutters. He swayed where he stood, his massive frame trembling like an old, weathered tree. He didn't even realize when his fellow soldiers had surrounded him.
A young soldier stepped forward and, with great care, pried the rifle from Kelen's numb hands. "That's enough, Commander," the soldier's voice carried an unheard-of firmness along with respect. Two other soldiers supported Kelen's heavy shoulders.
They began to pull him away from the dangerous threshold of the window. They leaned him against a cold, sturdy stone wall at the back. Kelen's head struck the wall behind him—thud...—and his breath came in ragged gasps.
Like a panting old lion. "Commander, if you keep pushing yourself like this, none of us will be left to see the morning sun," the soldier said, standing before him and looking directly into his red, swollen eyes.
"Your condition is becoming our greatest obstacle. Listen to us... leave this burden on our shoulders for just a little while." Kelen opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his parched throat.
"You were the one who told us, Commander," the second soldier reminded him, "that if a soldier begins to shatter from exhaustion on the battlefield, it is the duty of another to take his place."
"Will you break your own rules today?" Kelen looked at those tired but unwavering faces with his blurred vision. He saw how these young men, whom he had trained himself, stood today as a wall for his own protection.
His iron will slowly began to melt. He exhaled a long, trembling breath—not of defeat, but an admission of overwhelming fatigue. "Fine..." Kelen's voice was as faint as the rustle of a dry leaf.
"Only for a little while. If even one creature manages to scale the wall... wake me instantly." He closed his eyes, and as his body slumped further against the wall, he felt the darkness pulling him into its depths.
But even in that darkness, he could see only one face—Zara's. The first rays of the sun filtered through the jagged shards of the broken window, tapping against Kelen's closed eyelids. That golden light pricked the creases.
And the dried stains of blood like a searing needle. Kelen's eyes snapped open. For a few seconds, he forgot where he was, but as the faint hum of the marketplace reached his ears, a wave of panic surged within him.
He looked around frantically. The vast hall, which had echoed with screams and gunfire all night, was now empty and silent. Peering down from the window, a different side of Vespera emerged.
Those hideous nocturnal monsters had vanished; in their place, ordinary people were now sweeping the streets, and shopkeepers were busy opening their shutters and arranging their wares. This mundane morning bustle triggered a strange, restless tension.
"How could I sleep for so long..." he muttered, straightening his stiff muscles. He walked with heavy steps toward the iron door that led to the other section of the hall. As he pulled the door open, the soldier stood there.
Seeing Kelen awake, a mixture of surprise and worry flickered across the soldier's face. "Commander! How are you awake so soon?" the soldier said, stepping closer. "You should have rested more. Your body desperately needs sleep right now."
Kelen shook his wrist, trying to gauge the time, but his gaze locked onto the soldier's eyes. "What time is it? Can you tell me how long I was out?" The soldier hesitated, lowering his gaze.
"The sun has risen high, Commander. You were in such a deep sleep... none of us had the heart to wake you. We felt your body needed this rest above all else, or you would have collapsed."
"You shouldn't have done that!" Kelen's voice suddenly turned sharp, laced with anger. His fists clenched, and the faint clink of his chains clearly betrayed his frustration in the silence. He was furious with himself for letting his guard down.
He stood up unsteadily. There was still an unbearable strain in his back and neck. Seeing him rise, the soldier protested again, "Commander, please listen to me. Your eyes are still bloodshot and your legs are trembling."
"You are far too exhausted; you should sleep here for at least a few more hours." "No," Kelen replied in a voice as hard as stone. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.
"I cannot sleep here anymore. The smell of gunpowder still lingers in this air." "But if you won't sleep here, where are you going in this state?" the soldier asked, bewildered.
Kelen took a step toward the exit, saying only one thing without turning back: "I need to go home. Zara will be waiting... I will rest there." The air was still heavy with the scent of gunpowder.
Kelen pushed his massive frame away from the wall. Every thud of his boots—thud... thud... thud...—created a heavy, hollow resonance against the stone stairs. As he descended, the flickering yellow light highlighted the deep exhaustion.
*
At the main gate of the lower floor, the sentries straightened instantly as they heard their commander's heavy footsteps. As Kelen passed them, they lowered their heads in unison, offering a silent salute.
The massive iron hinges of the gate let out a long groan—creeeak...—and a gust of cold morning air struck Kelen's face. The streets of Vespera were now bathed in the first light of dawn.
But to Kelen, even this brilliance felt like a lingering mist. He moved through alleys where the scars of the night's struggle still marred the walls. The sound of his boots echoed through the empty passages.
A few shopkeepers, busy setting up their stalls, paused to watch the weary warrior pass, the chains on his wrists letting out a faint, rhythmic clink—chink... chink... Finally, he reached the bend in the alley.
Where his home stood. He came to a sudden halt. Before him was the same old, sturdy stone house, but in this morning light, it didn't look like a fortress—it felt like a silent tomb.
The main door, plated with heavy iron sheets, was still bound by the same thick, rusted chains he had locked the night before. Kelen held his heavy breath. He stood directly before the entrance.
The brass latch of the lock was shimmering, damp from the night's dew. A strange silence permeated the surroundings—the kind of silence that often precedes a terrifying truth.
Kelen's hand slowly reached for his belt, where the key to that massive lock hung. He stood there for a heartbeat, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as they brushed the cold metal.