The woman stood motionless beyond the gate, her bloodied robes clinging to her frail frame, her face obscured by tangled strands of dark hair. The undead encircled her, silent and still, their milky eyes locked onto the city walls, their rotten bodies swaying with unnatural patience.
Jonas felt his pulse quicken. The sight of the Magi he had spared—walking among the dead, leading them—turned his stomach into knots. He had thought she was just another survivor, fleeing for her life. But now, standing in the morning gloom, he knew better.
"What in the hells is this?" Veyne muttered beside him. Her fingers twitched near the hilt of her blade.
Jonas didn't answer. He couldn't.
The Magi lifted her head, revealing pale skin smeared with soot and blood. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Yet, the dead reacted—their bodies straightening, their chests rising in an imitation of breath. It was wrong. They were listening.
Veyne exhaled sharply. "I don't like this."
Jonas gritted his teeth. Neither did he.
A sudden, sharp crack echoed from the gatehouse above them. The guards had loosed an arrow. The shaft whistled through the air and struck the Magi's shoulder. She staggered back, not from pain but surprise, blinking down at the wooden shaft buried in her flesh.
Then, she smiled.
Jonas' stomach turned to ice.
The dead moved. Not in a mindless lurch, but in unison. Hundreds of heads snapped toward the gate, bodies shifting as if controlled by a single unseen thread. A low, guttural moan rippled through the horde—not the aimless groans of hunger, but something… cohesive.
Jonas knew what came next.
"Get the archers ready," he snapped. "They're coming."
Veyne didn't hesitate. She turned on her heel, barking orders to the gatehouse. Men scrambled onto the walls, bows drawn, torches lit. The city's last defenders—tired, bloodied, uncertain—stood at the edge of annihilation.
Then the horde charged.
The air shook with the weight of the stampede. The dead, once passive, now threw themselves against the gate with a force that made the wooden beams shudder. Hands clawed at the stone, nails splintering as they tore at the barricades.
Arrows rained down. Some found their marks, piercing skulls and dropping the creatures where they stood. But most kept coming. A volley of firebombs followed, exploding in the mass of writhing flesh. The smell of burning rot filled the air, but even as bodies crumpled in flames, more clambered over them, relentless.
Jonas had fought the undead before. He had seen them swarm, driven by mindless hunger.
But this was different.
They weren't clawing their way through by accident. They were coordinated.
Jonas looked past the flames, past the writhing masses—and his blood turned to ice.
The Magi still stood where she had been, untouched by the chaos. Her lips moved again, and the dead responded. They shifted their attack, pressing harder against the weakest points in the defences.
She was controlling them.
Jonas gripped his sword tighter. This wasn't just another attack.
This was a siege.
And the city of Vorelle was already as good as lost.
The wooden beams groaned under the relentless assault. More cracks formed along the barricades, splinters snapping off in jagged bursts. Jonas could hear the panicked shouts of the defenders, the desperate sounds of men trying to reinforce the gate with whatever they could find. But it wouldn't be enough.
The Magi raised a hand.
The dead responded.
Their attack intensified, the force of their combined weight causing the timbers to warp. The gate wouldn't hold much longer.
"Jonas!" Veyne barked. "We need to fall back to the inner wall."
Jonas turned to her, his mouth dry. "If we give up the outer gate, we're finished."
"We're finished if we stay here," she snapped. "The High Lords already fled. We're defending a graveyard."
Jonas cursed under his breath. He wanted to argue, but the truth was undeniable. The city was falling. He could hear it in the distant screams, the growing panic from the lower districts. The dead weren't just attacking the gate. They were inside.
A terrible creaking sound tore through the air.
Jonas looked back just in time to see the wooden beams snap.
The gate collapsed inwards.
The first wave of undead surged through, their twisted forms pouring into the city like a flood. Guards barely had time to react before they were torn apart, their screams lost in the frenzy.
Jonas and Veyne turned and ran.
Behind them, the streets filled with death.