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The air hung thick with the scent of charred earth and iron as the warhorn’s echo faded. Shadows clawed at the canyon walls, their jagged teeth framing a battlefield littered with shattered blades and the silent dead. Bloodmoon Company’s survivors crouched behind a barricade of splintered shields, their breaths ragged, eyes locked on the obsidian gates across the gorge. A low tremor shuddered beneath their boots—rhythmic, deliberate. Captain Veyra tightened her grip on a notched broadsword, her voice slicing through the tension. “Arrows won’t save us now. Whatever crawls out of that gate dies screaming. Aim for the joints. If it bleeds, it remembers.” The youngest recruit fumbled a prayer to forgotten gods, cut short as the gates exploded inward. Not beasts. Not men. Armored titans of blackened bone, joints seething with molten veins, their hollow eyes fixed on the fray. Veyra spat, baring teeth. “Finally. Something worth killing.” Steel met scale in a cacophony that shook the stars loose. Somewhere beyond the carnage, a war-drum thundered—or maybe it was just the sound of hearts refusing to break.
