The walls of Ravenhold filled with men.
Steel.
Fire.
Breath turning to frost in the night air.
No one spoke loudly.
No one needed to.
They could all see it.
Out beyond the gate—
Movement.
Endless.
Torches were raised along the battlements.
Their light pushed against the dark.
But did not break it.
Corvyn stood at the center of the wall.
Nightfeather in hand.
His eyes fixed on the forest's edge.
Waiting.
Measuring.
Beside him, Halric adjusted his grip on his sword.
"…That's a lot of them."
"Yes."
No denial.
No comfort.
Below—
The gates were reinforced.
Barred with timber and iron.
Men positioned with spears and shields.
Ready to hold if the walls failed.
Edrick moved along the battlements.
Calm.
Controlled.
His presence steadied the men.
Even now.
Even here.
"Archers," he called.
"Hold until they show themselves."
The order carried.
Firm.
Clear.
The horns fell silent.
Suddenly.
Unnaturally.
The forest stilled.
Every man tensed.
Waiting.
Then—
They stepped into the light.
Not all at once.
Not in a charge.
One by one.
Figures emerging from the darkness.
Bone masks.
Dark armor.
The same as before.
But more.
Many more.
They formed a line at the edge of the clearing.
Still.
Silent.
Watching Ravenhold.
Halric exhaled slowly.
"…I don't like this."
"They're waiting," Corvyn said.
"For what?"
Corvyn didn't answer.
Because he already knew.
A gap opened in the line.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Something moved through it.
Larger.
Taller.
Wrapped in dark cloth and bone.
Its mask was different.
More intricate.
Carved deeper.
Marked with the same symbols as the ruin.
It stepped forward.
Alone.
Halric's voice dropped.
"That one again?"
Corvyn's grip tightened on Nightfeather.
"No."
A pause.
"Worse."
The figure raised a hand.
The line behind it remained still.
Perfectly still.
Then—
It spoke.
Not loudly.
But the sound carried.
Across the clearing.
Up the walls.
Into the bones of those who heard it.
"…Return…"
The word dragged.
Heavy.
Unnatural.
A ripple moved through the defenders.
Confusion.
Fear.
Halric frowned.
"Return what?"
Corvyn didn't take his eyes off the figure.
He already knew.
"…the blade…"
Silence fell.
Absolute.
All eyes turned—
To Nightfeather.
In Corvyn's hand.
The figure lowered its arm slightly.
"…what is bound… must remain…"
Edrick stepped forward along the wall.
His voice cut through the air.
Cold.
Unyielding.
"You stand at Ravenhold."
"You will not command us."
The figure tilted its head.
As if considering the words.
Then—
"…then you will fall…"
The hand dropped.
And the world moved.
The line broke.
The masked warriors surged forward.
Fast.
Silent.
Relentless.
"Archers!" Edrick roared.
"Loose!"
Arrows filled the air.
Dark streaks against firelight.
They struck true.
Many fell.
But not enough.
Not nearly enough.
The rest kept coming.
Unafraid.
Unstoppable.
Halric raised his blade.
"…Here we go."
Corvyn stepped forward.
Nightfeather lifted.
The blade seemed to hum—
Faint.
Alive.
"Hold the line," he said.
Below—
The first of the attackers reached the gate.
Climbing.
Striking.
Trying to tear their way in.
The night exploded into chaos.
Steel against steel.
Shouts breaking the silence.
Firelight dancing across blood and snow.
And above it all—
The figure remained still.
Watching.
Waiting.
As if this was only the beginning.