The first thunderous crash of the battering ram against the gates echoed through the still night air, a sharp, decisive sound that signaled the beginning of the final assault. The soldiers manning the ram strained with each swing, their muscles taut as they threw their weight into the motion, driving the thick wooden beam against the iron-reinforced doors. Sparks flew, and wood splintered, but the gates held—for now.
Lyan stood at the forefront, his gaze fixed on the stronghold with cold determination. The air around him buzzed with the tension of impending battle, and his warriors were poised, ready to strike the moment the gates gave way. The flames from nearby torches cast flickering shadows on the ground, dancing like specters over the armored figures that awaited his command.
