The first wave of Alaric's forces hit the outer walls of the capital just before dawn. The city, still cloaked in the haze of sleep, was caught off guard. Smoke curled into the air as siege engines unleashed a relentless assault, the thunder of their strikes shaking the very ground.
Alaric stood at the rear of the formation, his gaze fixed on the towering gates that separated him from the heart of the kingdom. The light of the rising sun reflected off his armor, the crimson sash across his chest a stark reminder of the blood he was prepared to spill.
Behind him, Asher moved like a shadow, his quiet presence both reassuring and unnerving.
"The gates will fall soon," Asher said, his voice low. "But that's when the real fight begins. The city will be chaos once we breach the walls."
"That's the plan," Alaric replied, his voice cold. "The more chaos, the better. It will flush out Valden and his supporters. They won't have time to organize a proper defense."
Asher nodded, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation, perhaps, or doubt. "And what about the civilians? The innocents?"
Alaric's jaw tightened. He had thought about it, of course, but there was no room for mercy in this war. "They've already made their choice," he said quietly. "They stand by Valden, or they fall with him. This kingdom doesn't have room for neutrality anymore."
Asher said nothing, but the silence between them was heavy, the unspoken tension like a knife in the air.
The gates finally gave way with a deafening crash, and Alaric's army surged forward. Soldiers poured into the city like a flood, their cries mingling with the screams of the waking populace. The streets became a battlefield, blood staining the cobblestones as the clash of steel echoed through the air.
Alaric moved with purpose, his sword cutting down any who dared stand in his way. He had no time for hesitation, no time for doubt. Every strike was a step closer to his goal—a throne reclaimed, a kingdom restored.
But as he fought his way through the chaos, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that something was wrong.
The resistance was too light.
Valden's forces should have been prepared for this, especially after Rion's message. And yet, the soldiers they faced were poorly organized, their movements erratic and uncoordinated. It was as if they hadn't expected an attack at all.
"Asher!" Alaric shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.
Asher appeared at his side, his daggers slick with blood. "What is it?"
"Something's wrong," Alaric said, his eyes scanning the streets. "This isn't the defense of a man who knew we were coming. Where is Valden? Where are his elites?"
Asher's expression darkened. "You think it's a trap?"
"I don't think. I know," Alaric growled.
Their suspicions were confirmed when they reached the central square. The grand palace loomed ahead, its gates wide open, as if inviting them in. The sight sent a chill down Alaric's spine.
"No one leaves their gates undefended," Alaric muttered.
Asher glanced around, his sharp eyes catching every movement in the shadows. "It's bait. He wants us to walk in."
Alaric clenched his fists. "And if we don't, we lose the momentum. We can't afford to pull back now."
"Then we go in prepared," Asher said. "Send scouts ahead. If there's an ambush, we'll flush it out before we step into it."
Alaric nodded, his mind racing. The paranoia that had plagued him for weeks threatened to consume him, but he forced it down. He couldn't afford to second-guess himself now.
The scouts returned quickly, their faces pale.
"There's no one inside," one of them reported. "The palace is empty."
Alaric's heart sank. This wasn't a victory—it was a ruse. Valden had abandoned the capital, leaving behind only enough forces to delay Alaric's advance.
"Damn it!" Alaric snarled, slamming his fist against a nearby pillar.
Asher's gaze was sharp. "If he's not here, then where is he?"
The answer came before Alaric could respond. A horn sounded in the distance, its mournful wail echoing through the city. It wasn't one of theirs.
Alaric turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. "What is that?"
Asher's face was grim. "That's the signal for reinforcements. Valden isn't here because he's already moved his forces somewhere else."
Realization dawned on Alaric, the weight of it crashing down on him like a tidal wave. "He's not running. He's countering. He's going for the territories we left undefended."
Asher cursed under his breath. "He's outmaneuvered us."
Alaric's mind raced. If Valden had moved his forces to strike at their strongholds, it meant that this victory—if it could even be called that—was hollow. They had taken the capital, but at what cost?
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the empty palace, Alaric stood alone in the throne room. The seat of power loomed before him, cold and unyielding.
He had won the battle, but the war was far from over.
The capital was his, but his kingdom was still slipping through his fingers. Valden had played him, forcing him to reveal his hand while keeping his own hidden.
And now, as Alaric stared at the empty throne, the whispers of doubt returned. Was this truly his destiny? Or was he just another pawn in a game he couldn't control?
The answer, he realized, would only come with blood.