The fires of rebellion had taken root in Lormund, but victory was far from secure. The Circle of Shadows had suffered a blow, but they were not defeated. In the days following the attack on their supply depot, whispers of a new threat began to spread—an army of the dead, resurrected by the Circle's dark magic, was on the move.
Ronon stood atop the walls of the city, his eyes scanning the horizon. The air was thick with tension, and the silence was unnerving. Beyond the walls, the enemy was regrouping. But something else lurked in the distance, something far more terrifying than the soldiers of the Circle.
"They're coming," Kellan said, joining Ronon at the battlements. His voice was low, and his face pale. "The scouts have confirmed it. The Circle has unleashed the Undying."
Ronon clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "Undying... I've heard the stories, but I thought they were just myths. Soldiers brought back from the dead, impossible to kill."
Kellan nodded grimly. "They're not myths. They're real, and they're coming for us. The Circle is using them to break our defenses."
Thalia, who had been listening nearby, approached. "If the Undying are marching toward Lormund, we need to find a way to stop them. We've faced impossible odds before, but this... this is different."
Ronon turned to her, his mind racing. "We need more than swords and fire to defeat them. We need magic, something powerful enough to break the necromantic hold the Circle has over them."
"Then we'll find it," Thalia said resolutely. "There are still ancient relics in this city, hidden away in the old temples. If we can harness their power, we might stand a chance."
Jorin joined them, his expression grim. "The people are starting to panic. Word is spreading about the Undying. We need to keep morale up or we'll lose Lormund before the battle even begins."
Ronon nodded, knowing the truth of Jorin's words. Fear was a powerful enemy, and the mere mention of the Undying was enough to shake even the bravest of warriors. But they couldn't afford to let fear take hold. They had to act—and fast.
"We'll split up," Ronon decided, his voice firm. "Thalia, Kellan, and Jorin, you'll search the temples for any relics that can help us. I'll stay here and coordinate the defense. If the Undying reach the walls before we're ready, we'll need every able-bodied fighter to hold them off."
Thalia placed a hand on Ronon's arm, her eyes filled with determination. "We'll find a way to stop them. Just hold the line until we return."
Ronon gave a nod of thanks, and with that, the group dispersed, each heading toward their critical tasks.
As the sun began to set, the first signs of the enemy's approach could be seen. Dark figures appeared on the horizon, marching in perfect unison. At first, they seemed like ordinary soldiers, but as they drew closer, it became clear that they were anything but alive. Their flesh hung loosely on their bones, their eyes hollow and glowing with an unnatural light.
The Undying had arrived.
Ronon stood at the gates, his sword drawn. The defenders of Lormund lined the walls, their faces pale with fear. But Ronon's presence gave them strength. He was the hero they had rallied behind, the warrior who had led them through impossible battles before.
"Hold steady!" Ronon shouted, his voice carrying over the walls. "We've faced worse than this. Today, we stand united. Today, we fight for Lormund!"
The defenders let out a ragged cheer, but their fear was palpable. Ronon could feel the weight of their doubt pressing down on him, but he refused to let it break him. He had to be strong—for them, and for the city.
As the Undying marched closer, the ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble with their unnatural presence. Ronon's heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his focus. The gates would hold, and his warriors would not falter.
The first wave of the Undying reached the walls, and the battle began in earnest. Arrows flew from the battlements, cutting down the undead soldiers with precision. But for every one that fell, two more took their place, rising from the ground with eerie resilience. The defenders fought bravely, but the sheer numbers of the Undying began to take their toll.
Ronon fought at the front lines, his sword cutting through the undead with brutal efficiency. But even as he struck them down, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the walls were overrun. They needed more than just steel to win this fight.
Meanwhile, Thalia, Kellan, and Jorin made their way through the ancient temple district, their eyes scanning the darkened corridors for any sign of the relics they sought. Time was running out, and the city's fate hung in the balance.
"There," Thalia said, pointing to a chamber at the far end of the hallway. The walls were covered in ancient runes, and a faint glow emanated from within.
They entered the chamber cautiously, their weapons drawn. At the center of the room stood a pedestal, and atop it, a shimmering orb of light pulsed with energy.
"This must be it," Kellan said, awe in his voice. "The relic we need to break the Circle's hold on the Undying."
Jorin reached out to touch the orb, but Thalia stopped him. "Careful. This kind of power is dangerous. We need to harness it carefully, or we risk destroying ourselves along with the enemy."
Together, they worked quickly, gathering the orb and the necessary components to activate its power. With the relic in hand, they raced back to the city, hoping they weren't too late.
Back at the walls of Lormund, the battle raged on. The defenders were being pushed to their limits, but they refused to give in. Ronon fought with everything he had, but even he was beginning to tire.
Just as the Undying seemed poised to breach the walls, a blinding light filled the sky. Thalia, Kellan, and Jorin had returned, and with them, the relic's power.
"Now!" Thalia shouted, raising the orb high. A wave of energy erupted from the relic, washing over the battlefield. The Undying froze in place, their movements halted by the ancient magic.
Ronon watched in awe as the once-unstoppable army of the dead crumbled to dust before his eyes.
The battle was over—but the war was far from won.