Chapter 38

Moonlight spilled across the battlements of the Silver Gate, bathing the stone in a pale glow that belied the storm gathering beyond. Torches flickered along the ramparts, their flames whipped by a biting wind that carried the distant thunder of drums. The enemy was coming—an army vast enough to shake the very earth.

Serenya tightened her grip on the cold iron railing as she looked out across the valley. Thousands of tents sprawled like a sea of fireflies, enemy banners fluttering above them. Each crest bore the crimson sigil of Duke Thalric Veynor—the man who had sworn to topple her bloodline and claim the crown.

“Every soldier he’s bought, every ally he’s deceived, stands beneath those banners,” Kaelen said quietly at her side. His voice was steady, but his jaw clenched as if he wanted to strike the army himself.

Serenya turned to him, her auburn hair escaping its braid to whip across her face. “Do you believe the walls will hold?”

“They must.” His eyes glinted, dark and stormy. “But walls mean nothing without the will to fight. And tonight, it is not stone that will decide this battle—it is us.”

Behind them, the Silver Gate fortress hummed with frantic preparation. Armor clanked, bows were strung, and cauldrons of oil were hoisted into place. Every man and woman knew what was at stake. If the gate fell, the capital would follow, and with it any hope of Serenya reclaiming her rightful throne.

Darian Crestfall strode up the ramparts, his armor scarred from countless skirmishes, his expression grim. “The scouts report movement. Thalric’s vanguard is forming. We have less than an hour before the first strike.”

“Then we meet it head-on,” Serenya said, her voice firm despite the storm of fear inside her chest.

Darian hesitated, studying her with eyes that carried both loyalty and unspoken concern. “You do not need to be on the wall, my lady. If the enemy breaches, your survival—”

“My survival means nothing if my people fall,” she interrupted. “If I am to be their queen, I will bleed with them. Stand with them. Die with them, if fate demands.”

Kaelen’s hand brushed hers, a fleeting touch hidden from the others. His eyes spoke what words could not: a plea for her to live, a vow to protect her even if it meant his own life.

The war horns sounded before she could answer.

A deep, guttural blast echoed across the valley, followed by the steady pound of war drums. Shadows moved in the torchlight as Thalric’s soldiers marched forward—rows upon rows, shields glinting, spears bristling like a forest of steel. Siege towers rolled across the field, monstrous wooden beasts pushed by sheer numbers, while catapults creaked into position.

The night erupted.

Stones hurled from catapults smashed against the fortress walls, sending tremors through the battlements. Flaming arrows arced across the sky, raining down like falling stars. Men shouted, women cried orders, and the scent of smoke and blood mingled in the air.

Serenya drew her sword—a blade once belonging to her father. Its edge shimmered in the firelight, a reminder of the legacy she carried. She raised it high. “For Silver Gate! For the crown!”

A roar of voices answered her, rising above the chaos. The defenders unleashed their fury: arrows flew from the walls, striking down soldiers as they surged toward the gate. Cauldrons of oil tipped, spilling molten fire onto the advancing siege towers. Screams pierced the night as the front lines collapsed under the onslaught.

But Thalric’s army did not falter.

Kaelen leapt onto the wall’s edge, his twin blades glinting as he deflected arrows and cut down grappling soldiers trying to scale the stone. His movements were swift, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. Darian fought beside him, his broadsword cleaving through shields and bone alike, each strike a testament to his unshakable oath.

Serenya’s heart pounded as she joined the fray, her blade flashing as she struck down an enemy soldier who had breached the parapet. Each clash of steel rattled through her bones, each scream etched itself into her soul. Yet she did not falter. She could not.

The siege towers reached the walls.

Ladders slammed against the stone as soldiers swarmed upward, their faces twisted with bloodlust. Serenya cut through one, sending him tumbling into the darkness below, but three more rose in his place. She spun, parried, struck again, her muscles screaming with effort.

“Hold the line!” Darian shouted, rallying the defenders as they pushed back wave after wave.

But for every enemy slain, more poured forward.

A thunderous crack split the air—the first battering ram struck the Silver Gate itself. The massive oak doors shuddered under the impact, dust raining from the stonework above. Again it struck, and again, each blow like a drumbeat counting down to their doom.

“Reinforce the gate!” Kaelen bellowed, cutting down another soldier as he sprinted toward the stairs. “If the doors fall, all is lost!”

Serenya’s breath caught as she saw him vanish below. Fear clawed at her chest, but she could not follow—not when the wall burned around her, not when her people needed her blade.

“Your Grace!” a voice cried. It was Isolde, the healer, her robes streaked with blood as she carried the wounded to safety. “We cannot hold much longer!”

Serenya’s gaze swept the battlefield. Flames licked the siege towers, but more pressed forward. The walls shook beneath the constant barrage. And at the heart of it all, beyond the sea of soldiers, she saw him—Duke Thalric Veynor, seated upon a black warhorse, his gaze locked upon her like a predator watching prey.

He raised his hand.

A new wave surged forward, larger, fiercer, unstoppable. Among them marched armored brutes wielding hammers and axes, their strength enough to shatter stone. Behind them, mages cloaked in crimson began to chant, their hands weaving fire from the air.

The Silver Gate groaned under the next strike. Stone cracked, splinters flew. The defenders faltered, fear spreading like poison.

“No!” Serenya cried. She raised her sword high, her voice ringing above the chaos. “We are the crown’s last hope! Stand with me! Fight with me!”

Her words ignited a spark. The soldiers rallied, their blades clashing with renewed vigor, their cries echoing across the battlefield. But even as they pushed back, the enemy pressed harder.

The gate shuddered again—and split.

A deafening crack split the night as the mighty doors burst inward, fragments scattering like broken teeth. Through the gap poured Thalric’s soldiers, a tide of steel and fury.

Kaelen reappeared, his armor dented, his blades dripping crimson. He locked eyes with Serenya. “Fall back to the inner keep!”

But Serenya shook her head, her chest heaving, her sword trembling in her grip. “If we fall back now, the Silver Gate is lost. And with it, the kingdom.”

Kaelen’s voice broke. “If you die here, Serenya, so is everything.”

Before she could answer, the first of the enemy stormed onto the ramparts. Darian charged, his sword cutting a path through the invaders, his roar carrying above the din. Isolde dragged another wounded soldier back, her hands glowing faintly as she whispered desperate healing spells.

Serenya stood firm, her eyes blazing. “Then we do not die. Not tonight.”

She plunged back into the fight, Kaelen at her side, Darian before her, Isolde behind. The walls of Silver Gate shook with the fury of war, fire and steel mingling in a storm of destruction.

And above it all, Serenya felt the weight of destiny pressing down on her shoulders. This was no longer just a battle for survival—it was the moment that would decide the future of the crown, of her people, of the love she had dared to claim in defiance of fate.

As the Silver Gate burned, Serenya lifted her sword once more, her voice fierce and unyielding.

“Shadows or stars, crown or death—we fight until the last breath!”

The roar of her people answered, and the night swallowed them whole.