Chapter 63: Lines of Fire
The fires burned long into the night.
From the highest tower, Leon could see them forming a perimeter—one torch every ten paces, encircling the lower ridge like a noose drawn slow. There was no mistaking it now. The siege hadn’t just begun; it had been declared with ceremony and smoke.
In the war room, the council reconvened. Maps shifted. Cadet assignments were rotated. The fortress, built for defense but rarely tested, began to feel its weight stir beneath stone and steel.
"Two hawks returned," Kellen reported, voice clipped. "The Eastern ridge is clear. The north path remains unblocked—for now."
Marien raised an eyebrow. "And the west?"
"Compromised. No exit, not unless we cut through their flank."
Leon leaned over the table, eyes on the cluster of red pins. "Then we don’t exit. Not yet."
Eliane exhaled slowly. "They’re forcing your hand."
"Let them." Leon’s voice was steady. "They think they’ve drawn the line. But they haven’t seen what lies behind ours."
A knock echoed against the stone. One of the young scribes entered, cheeks flushed. "Commander. A response just arrived from the Bastion of Glass."
Vastian took the scroll, eyes scanning quickly. "They won’t send arms. But they’ve voted in your favour—recognising the fortress as sovereign under the First Accord."