The drums of war echoed through the capital as Tristan's army marched closer, their dark banners fluttering against the stormy sky. From her vantage point on the city's wall, Elara could see the vastness of the enemy force. Shadowy figures clad in black armor, their faces hidden beneath cruel helms, advanced in perfect unison. Above them, the air crackled with dark magic, its presence almost suffocating.
Elara's heart pounded in her chest. This was it—the moment she had been preparing for, the moment her entire life had been leading to. She could feel the weight of the magic stirring within her, responding to the threat with a ferocity that both terrified and exhilarated her.
Beside her, Garrick stood tall, his face grim and determined. "We're outnumbered, but we're not outmatched," he said, his voice steady. "You've given them hope, Elara. Now we fight for it."
Elara nodded, her eyes never leaving the approaching army. "We fight for the kingdom. For everything we've lost, and for everything we still have left."
Behind them, the city's defenders stood ready. Archers lined the walls, their bows drawn, while soldiers braced for the inevitable clash. In the streets below, civilians had been evacuated to the lower levels of the city, far from the front lines. Every able-bodied man and woman had been called to arms, but even with their numbers, it was clear they were at a disadvantage.
Tristan's army was vast, and they had the power of dark magic on their side. But Elara had something they didn't—the old magic, the ancient power that flowed through her bloodline. She could feel it now, thrumming beneath her skin, waiting to be unleashed.
As the enemy drew closer, the sky above them darkened further, the storm clouds swirling in an ominous dance. Thunder rumbled, and lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the battlefield in brief flashes of white light.
"Here they come," Garrick muttered, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.
The first wave of Tristan's army reached the city's outer defenses, crashing against the walls like a tidal wave. Arrows flew from the battlements, raining down on the enemy below. Elara watched as the dark soldiers fell, but for every one that fell, two more seemed to take its place.
From the center of the enemy ranks, Elara could sense a powerful presence—Tristan. Even though she couldn't see him, she knew he was there, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. His dark magic pulsed through the air like a living thing, and Elara felt a shiver of dread run down her spine.
Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the air, and the ground beneath them shook violently. The gates of the city trembled under the impact of a massive battering ram, its iron head smashing into the wood with brutal force. The defenders on the walls scrambled to reinforce the gates, but Elara knew it was only a matter of time before they were breached.
"We need to hold them off," she said, her voice sharp with urgency. "If the gates fall, the city will be overrun."
Garrick nodded, his eyes scanning the battlefield. "I'll lead a group down to reinforce the gates. Marcus will hold the line up here."
Elara hesitated for a moment, her heart torn. She didn't want to be separated from Garrick, but she knew he was right. They had to defend the gates if they stood any chance of holding the city.
"Be careful," she said, her voice softer now.
Garrick gave her a grim smile. "You too."
And with that, he was gone, leading a group of soldiers down toward the gates, where the sounds of battle were growing louder by the second.
Elara turned her attention back to the walls. The archers were doing their best to keep the enemy at bay, but the dark soldiers were relentless, climbing the walls with frightening speed. Elara raised her hands, calling on the magic within her. She could feel it responding, rising like a wave, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent a blast of energy toward the nearest group of enemies. The force of it knocked them from the walls, sending them crashing to the ground below.
But even as she fought, Elara knew this was only the beginning. Tristan hadn't yet revealed his full power, and the battle was far from over.
---
At the gates, Garrick and his men fought fiercely, holding back the tide of dark soldiers that threatened to overwhelm them. The battering ram smashed into the gates again and again, and with each impact, the wood splintered further. It wouldn't be long before they broke through.
Garrick swung his sword with deadly precision, cutting down any enemy that came too close. His heart pounded in his chest, and his muscles ached from the constant fighting, but he couldn't afford to stop. Not now.
Suddenly, a blast of dark magic hit the ground near him, sending him and several of his men flying through the air. Garrick hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. He struggled to his feet, his vision swimming.
From the shadows, a figure emerged—Tristan. He was clad in black armor, his face obscured by a dark helm, and the air around him crackled with dark magic.
Garrick's heart clenched with dread. He knew he couldn't face Tristan alone, but there was no one else. His men were either dead or too injured to fight.
Tristan raised a hand, dark magic swirling in his palm. "Foolish," he hissed, his voice cold and venomous. "You think you can stop me? This city will fall, and your precious princess will fall with it."
Garrick gritted his teeth, raising his sword. "Not if I can help it."
With a roar, he charged at Tristan, his sword gleaming in the dim light. But Tristan was faster. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a wave of dark magic toward Garrick, knocking him back again. Garrick hit the ground hard, his sword clattering from his grasp.
Tristan loomed over him, his dark magic coiling like a snake ready to strike. "You should have stayed out of my way," he said, his voice filled with malice.
But before Tristan could deliver the final blow, a blast of light filled the air, and Tristan staggered back, hissing in pain. Garrick looked up to see Elara standing on the battlements, her hands glowing with magic.
"Leave him alone," she shouted, her voice filled with power.
Tristan's eyes narrowed behind his helm. "So, the little princess thinks she can challenge me?"
Elara's heart raced, but she stood her ground. This was the moment she had been preparing for—the moment she had to face Tristan head-on.
"I don't think," she said, her voice steady. "I know."