When dusk fell, Greyrock Castle had not been torn apart by artillery fire.
Outside the walls, the Red Tide Legion's armored formation had finished deploying.
Steel vehicles stood in a line, their engines idling at the lowest speed. A deep rumble rolled along the ground like thunder pressing against the chest.
They did not advance quickly. They simply switched on their searchlights in unison.
Cold white beams swept over the walls, trenches, and arrow towers before settling steadily on the towering castle. That deliberate pause was more tormenting than any siege.
Greyrock Castle sank into deathly silence. The defenders held their posts, but no one knew what they were waiting for.
The attack never came. There was no sign of negotiations. Even death had been postponed.
Kyle Raymont stood on the terrace of the high tower, his eyes bloodshot, his fingernails digging into his flesh.
The wind slipped into his ears, but gradually its sound changed, becoming a whisper against the back of his head.
"Kyle." The voice was gentle and composed, as though its owner had been standing behind him all along. "I can see everything you do."
Kyle spun around. The terrace was empty, with only the castle's silhouette, sliced into fragments by the searchlights.
These auditory hallucinations had begun after the rout at Blackstone Gorge.
They came at night. They came when he closed his eyes, too.
Kyle stumbled into the council chamber.
The heavy oak doors closed behind him with a muffled boom.
The sound stretched through the empty chamber like an ill-timed funeral bell.
People filled the seats around the long table.
The nobles, commanders, and quartermasters of Greyrock Province were all there.
Candlesticks stood in two rows, their flames trembling faintly, casting every face in a waxy, exhausted yellow.
Commander Barron stood near the