The days after the siege were spent fortifying Blackfang Fortress. Though they had won the battle, the scars it left behind were deep. The walls bore the marks of the siege beasts, the ground was still stained with demon blood, and the warriors carried their wounds—both seen and unseen.
Jajwok stood atop the highest tower, watching the horizon. The war was shifting, evolving. The Demon King had retreated, but that was no mercy—it was strategy. The abyss did not accept defeat; it only adapted.
Brakzul joined him, his axe resting on his shoulder. "You've been staring at the wasteland for hours."
"They're regrouping," Jajwok said. "The Demon King wouldn't let this loss go unanswered."
Brakzul grunted. "Then we'll be ready."
But would they?
The War Council
