The relentless tolling of the alarm bells filled the air, a haunting melody of impending doom. Gareth moved swiftly through the streets of Nateron, his steps heavy but determined. His sides throbbed beneath the hastily applied bandages, yet he paid no heed to the pain. His duty demanded his presence at the main gate—the city's first line of defence, now reduced to rubble.
Behind him, King Alf followed closely, his knights flanking him like a shield. Their expressions were grim, the weight of the earlier attacks etched into their faces. The once-vibrant city seemed subdued, its usual bustle silenced by fear and uncertainty. Civilians peeked out from windows or huddled in corners, whispers of dread filling the void left by the ringing bells.
"The assassins…" King Alf muttered, his voice barely audible above the noise. "Their attack wasn't just an act of chaos. This was calculated, and deliberate. They've left us exposed."
