The dawn sky was painted in muted greys as Arteja stood atop the fortress walls, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that settled deep in the chest and refused to leave. The enemy was close—too close.
A scout, one of the riders from Dain's group, returned on horseback, his face pale and sweat streaking his brow.
"They're coming," he panted as he dismounted. "Hundreds of them. Orcs, goblins, and worse. They'll be here by nightfall."
Arteja's stomach churned, but her expression remained cold and composed. "How many?"
"At least three hundred, maybe more," the scout replied. "They've got siege weapons. Catapults, battering rams—this place won't hold for long."
Arteja nodded and turned to Corliss, who was already beside her. "Gather everyone. We need to prepare."
As the scout led his horse away, Lirael approached, her face grim. "We're outnumbered at least ten to one."
"We always are," Arteja replied, her voice calm but firm. "But numbers don't decide battles. Strategy does."
Within the hour, the fortress courtyard was bustling with activity. Arteja stood before the gathered villagers, Dain's riders, and her fellow guardians. The ragtag group looked at her with a mix of fear and hope.
"The enemy wants to crush us," Arteja began, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "They think we'll scatter and run. But we won't. This fortress is our home now, and we will make them pay for every step they take toward it."
She gestured to the walls. "We've fortified the gates and shored up the weak points in the stone. Our archers will hold the high ground. Dain's riders will form a mobile unit, striking at their flanks when the time is right."
Dain stepped forward, his expression skeptical. "And when they breach the walls? Because they will breach the walls."
"They'll find us waiting," Arteja said, her eyes cold. "We'll funnel them into the courtyard, where they'll lose their numbers advantage. Lirael, Corliss, and I will lead the defense there."
The villagers exchanged nervous glances, but no one spoke up.
Arteja continued, her voice steady. "We're not fighting for glory or conquest. We're fighting to survive. And if we hold, we'll send a message to anyone who dares threaten us: we are not weak, and we will not fall easily."
The crowd's murmurs grew quieter, replaced by grim determination.
As the group dispersed to their tasks, Lirael approached Arteja. "That was… impressive," she said, a faint smile on her lips. "But do you really think we can hold out?"
Arteja didn't answer immediately. She looked out toward the horizon, where a dark line was beginning to form. The enemy was coming.
"We don't have a choice," she said finally.