The sun was low on the horizon, casting a pale orange glow over the frozen landscape as James and his group returned to the gates of Eberdeen. The battle had been brutal, and the weight of their victory was heavy on their shoulders. Despite having successfully disrupted the necromancer's ritual, the growing presence of dark magic and the sheer number of undead left James with an uneasy feeling.
The gates creaked open, revealing a bustling courtyard filled with soldiers, mages, and townsfolk preparing for the inevitable siege. Supplies were being loaded onto carts, weapons sharpened, and armor polished. There was an unspoken tension in the air, the kind that came before every great battle. The chill of the wind did little to soothe the anxiety that rippled through the fortress.
