Chapter 2
The crack of dawn found Vi perched atop the city wall, just before the first pale rays of sun crept over the mountains. One leg was tucked beneath her, the other drawn up, knee bent, her chin resting against it as she stared down into the dark valley below.
Sleep had never come. Her eyes burned with it, heavy and raw, but her mind would not quiet. Anxiety did not ask permission, it simply stayed.
A cool breeze slipped through the stones and tangled itself in the fiery strands of her hair, lifting them from her face and letting them fall again. Below her, the land lay still, shadowed and silent, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Her chest felt too tight, as though something unseen were pressing down on her ribs. Everything she had ever known felt like it was cracking beneath her feet. Sparta’s promises no longer sounded unbreakable. Victory no longer felt certain. Even the stones under her hands seemed to crumble.
She swallowed hard.
It felt like drowning without water.
Every breath carried the weight of things she could not stop. The future loomed like a storm she could see but not outrun. No sword could cut it. No anger could punch through it.
Her fingers curled against her legs.
She had always believed that if she fought hard enough, if she stood tall enough, the world would bend. But now it felt as though the world was leaning back, preparing to fall on her instead.
Vi lowered her forehead to her knee, eyes closing.
For the first time, the thought crept in uninvited and unwelcome:
What if this is the last morning that feels like home?
…..
Vander was leaving.
One by one, they said their goodbyes as they always had, standing in the courtyard of their home beneath the pale morning sky.
For years, this ritual had been familiar, boots on stone, quick embraces, brave smiles. But this time, something in Vi felt wrong.
She hugged him harder than she ever had before. Pressed her face into the fabric of his uniform, breathing him in, the smell of leather, dust, and smoke that meant home as much as these walls did. His arms closed around her, solid and unyielding, and every point of contact seemed to vibrate through her bones, as if her body were trying to memorize him.
When they finally pulled apart, it felt like being stripped bare before the world.
She stood there, watching him walk away. Step by step, he moved toward the gate. The space between them widened, and panic rose sharp and sudden in her chest.
“Vander!” She shouted
He turned.
Before he could speak, she ran.
She slammed into him and wrapped her arms around his middle, clinging as though the ground itself were giving way beneath her. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall. Her chest ached from holding back the sob clawing its way up her throat. There was too much she wanted to say but no words would come.
He rested a hand at the back of her neck, steady and warm. His voice thrummed against her ribs.
“Nothing can break you unless you allow it.”
He cupped her face between his palms and lifted her gaze to his.
“Come back with your shield,” he said quietly, “or on it. Remember that.”
Her breath shuddered out of her. She nodded.
….
Dinner was loud with talk of war.
Mylo could barely sit still, waving his bread like a banner as he spoke.
“They’re drilling us twice a day now,” he said, mouth full. “Shields, formation, spear work. The instructors say we’ll be ready if Thebes tries anything. They’re even taking volunteers down by the market.”
Powder rolled her eyes. “You’d cry the second you saw real soldiers at the walls.”
“I would not!”
“You’d shut your pants.” Claggor snorted into his cup.
But Vi hadn’t touched her food.
Her plate sat full in front of her, bread unbroken, stew gone cold. Her gaze was fixed on nothing, somewhere beyond the wall, beyond the table, beyond the house.
Mylo asked something but his words passed next to Vi like smoke. He frowned. “Oi. Did you hear me?”
No answer.
“Vi?”
The words cut through her like a blade.
She snapped upright. “What?”
“You deaf now?”
“Fuck off!” she shot back, already pushing back from the table. The chair scraped hard against the floor as she stood.
She didn’t look at any of them as she stormed out.
“What did I say?” He asked confused
The maid paused mid-step, worry pinching her face. “Is she…”
Claggor glanced toward the doorway. “Did she get turned down again?”
Powder was already on her feet.
She found Vi in the courtyard.
Her sister’s fists were slamming into the stone wall, over and over, skin splitting, knuckles raw. Chips of stone scattered across the ground.
“Vi,” Powder said softly. But there was no response
“Vi.”
Another blow. And another.
“Vi!”
Her sister’s shoulders hitched. She leaned her forehead against the wall, breath tearing in and out of her chest. Then it broke out of her in a sound that didn’t belong to anger but pain. A guttural sob tore through the evening air.
Powder stepped closer. Slowly, carefully she laid a hand on her sisters shoulder.
Vi crumpled. She turned blindly and collapsed into Powder’s arms, gripping her like she might fall through the ground if she let go. Her chest heaved, tears streaking down her face, hot and helpless.
Powder held her, small and steady, saying nothing. Her tiny frame wrapped around her.
After a long moment, Vi pulled back. She wiped her face with the heel of her hand and grabbed Powder’s wrist.
“Come”
“Come where?” Vi, where are we going?”
Vi didn’t answer. She dragged her across the courtyard, through the back door, down into the cellar.
“Why are we in the cellar?”
It was cool and dark there, the smell of earth and old wood heavy in the air. Vi shoved a barrel aside. Then another.
Powder stared as the wooden hatch in the floor was revealed.
“What is this?”
Vi lifted it.
Blackness yawned beneath them.
“I need you to pack,” Vi said. “Food. Clothes. Anything you can carry. Money.”
Powder stared at her. “What? Vi…how do you even know about this?”
“Listen to me,” Vi said sharply. “When the army comes, you come down here and you wait for me. The tunnel leads out past the walls.”
“And where are you going?”
“I’m gonna fight.”
Powder’s eyes went wide. “You’re WHAT? No, you’re not”
“Yes I am”
“Are you insane?”
“I am not running like a coward while the city burns!”
“And I’m not going anywhere without you! So that’s that.”
“No you’re not,” Vi snapped. “Vander wanted us to run. If Mylo runs and he gets caught he’ll be executed for treason. If he fights he’ll be dead in ten minutes. I can’t leave him. So you wait here. You’ll be safe. If the city falls, I’ll come get you. I’ll get us out. All of us.”
Powder’s face folded in on itself. Her voice broke. “I’m scared.” She grabbed Vi’s tunic. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Hey…don’t cry. “ Vi cupped her face in both hands, forcing her to look up. “I will never leave you,” she said fiercely. “Never. Where I go, you go. Remember?”
“What if you die? What if you all die?”
“We won’t!”
“Promise”
“I promise.”
Powder nodded, tears spilling over.
They pressed their foreheads together in the dark, the open tunnel breathing cold air up between them like a warning neither of them wanted to hear.
…..
Night lay thick over the camp.
Most of the men slept, sprawled beside dying fires or wrapped in cloaks beneath the open sky. Spears leaned against shields. Horses shifted and snorted softly in their tethers.
The world seemed at rest but Doreios had not closed his eyes.
Inside his tent, a single oil lamp burned low.
He sat hunched over a rough table, the light carving sharp lines across his face. In his hands lay a rolled scroll, sealed with dark wax. Beside it, a small leather pouch heavy with coin. He stared at them for a long moment, jaw tight, as if waiting for doubt to speak.
It did not.
He stood.
Outside, the camp murmured with sleep. Doreios moved between the rows of resting soldiers, careful where he placed his feet, stepping over spear shafts and discarded cloaks. No one stirred. No one questioned him. To them, he was only another officer walking the lines.
He passed the outer fires.
Beyond them, the land fell into deeper shadow, where the hills swallowed the starlight and the wind carried no voices.
A shape waited there.
A man cloaked in dark wool, his face half hidden beneath a hood.
Doreios stopped before him.
“Make sure you’re not caught,” he said, his voice low.
He placed the scroll into the stranger’s hand, then pressed the pouch of silver against it. The coins clinked softly, loud as thunder in the stillness.
The hooded man weighed the bag, looked inside and nodded then turned and vanished into the darkness without another word.
Doreios stood alone for a moment, the cold biting through his cloak.
Behind him, the camp slept.
Ahead of him, war was already moving.
….
The market woke as if nothing were wrong.
Stalls filled the square in crooked rows, cloth awnings catching the morning light. Fish sellers shouted their prices. Bakers passed out warm barley cakes wrapped in cloth. Bronze glinted from trays of tools and knives. Children darted between legs. Old women argued over figs. Somewhere, a flute played badly and without shame.
People laughed. Bargained. Lived.
As if war were not standing just beyond the hills.
As if death were not already walking toward them.
Near the council building, a squat stone hall with faded carvings of shields and spears, a short line of men had formed. A wooden table stood before its doors. Three soldiers sat behind it, helmets resting at their feet, cups of watered wine on the table beside them.
Vi stopped at the edge of the square.
She watched the line for a long moment. Her chest rose and fell once, slow and deliberate.
Then she stepped forward.
Some of the men glanced at her and frowned. Others smirked. One muttered something under his breath and nudged his friend. Vi ignored them all and took her place at the back.
The line crept forward.
A man ahead of her reached the table
The officer behind the desk asked simply “Name? Age?”
A man cleared his throat
“So,” he said, “how much do we get paid?”
One of the officers barked a laugh. “Paid?”
“You wanna get payed to protect your own house?”
The man scowled. “You expect us to die for nothing?”
The laughter stopped.
One of the officers rounded the table and grabbed a man’s sleeve “Get the hell out of here!” he snapped shoving him away. “Before you shame yourself further.”
The man stumbled back, still shouting as he went.
Vi stepped forward.
The officer didn’t look up. “Name. Age.”
“Violet,” she said. “Sixteen.”
The table erupted in laughter.
One of the soldiers leaned back. “We’re done for. Women lining up next.”
Another snorted. “What’s next, babies with spears?”
Vi didn’t move.
The first officer finally lifted his head.
She met his gaze without blinking.
“I am Violet, daughter of General Vander Kleon,” she said, voice steady, “and I am here to fight.”
The laughter faltered at the name.
The officer studied her again, slower this time. “You’ve got courage,” he said at last. “More than half the men who come through here. If more had it, we wouldn’t be losing ground.”
Her jaw tightened.
“It’s admirable. Your father would be proud. But we do not enlist women,” he continued. “That is the law.”
Vi’s temper snapped. “So you’d rather let the city fall than let a woman lift a blade?” she shot back. “Sparta was built on blood and iron, not fear. If this is all that’s left of it then no wonder we’re dying.”
She spat onto the dust between them.
“Go to hell.”
Then she turned on her heel.
“Wait.”
Her feet stopped without meaning to.
She turned back.
One of the officers stood. He drew a short blade from his belt and tossed it toward her.
Instinct took over.
Her hand shot up and caught it cleanly out of the air.
The officer smiled, sharp and dangerous.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” The officer drew his own blade. Steel slid free with a soft, deadly sound.
One of the men at the table snorted and tossed a coin down onto the wood. “My money’s on her.”
The other stared at him like he’d lost his mind then slapped his own coin beside it. “You’re dreaming.”
The officer rolling his shoulders loose.
“Don’t cry when you fall,”
“I won’t” Vi said
Then he lunged.
Vi barely had time to lift her blade before his strike crashed against it. The force rattled up her arms, numbing her hands. She staggered back, boots skidding on dust.
He came again, fast and brutal, driving her toward the edge of the square. Their blades rang together, metal shrieking against metal. She ducked one swing, twisted aside from another.
His free hand shot out and struck her across the face.
Her head snapped sideways. Pain exploded across her cheek, hot and blinding.
She snarled and went low, slashing at his leg. He blocked and shoved her back with his shoulder, sending her stumbling into a fruit stall. Figs rolled underfoot. Someone screamed and jumped away.
He advanced, unrelenting.
A hard blow knocked the blade from her hand. It clattered across the stones.
For a heartbeat, she was unarmed.
He raised his sword.
Vi dropped instead.
She scooped a fistful of dirt from the ground and hurled it straight into his face.
He cursed, blinded, swiping wildly.
She slammed her boot into his ankle. He stumbled, balance breaking he fell on one knee.
She surged in vaulted onto a barrel, then another, boots thudding against wood as she climbed higher. Crates rattled beneath her weight. Before he could recover, she leapt.
Her fist drove straight into his jaw.
The impact snapped his head back and sent him crashing into the stall behind him, splintering wood and scattering fruit across the stones.
She didn’t stop. She punched him once, twice, blood bursting from his lip.
But he was stronger.
He caught her wrist, twisted, and threw her down hard. The world jolted. Stone knocked the breath from her lungs. She tasted blood and dust.
She tried to rise but his boot pinned her shoulder.
For a moment, she thought he might strike again.
Instead, he spat onto the ground beside her.
Then he bent and offered his hand.
Vi stared at it, chest heaving, face streaked with dirt and blood. She took it.
He hauled her to her feet and turned toward the table.
“Write her name,” he said.
The officer behind the table gaped. “You’re having a laugh.”
“We need every body on that wall,” the man replied. “And this one doesn’t know how to quit.”
Vi stood swaying, nose bleeding, knuckles raw. But she was grinning.
…..
The sun hung low over the hills, staining the land in gold and red.
A lone figure tore through the scrub and stone of the valley below. Feet pounding against dust and rock, cloak snapping behind him like a torn banner. He ran through olive groves and dry riverbeds, lungs burning, sweat streaking his face as he climbed the last rise toward the camp.
Peloponnesian hills rolled around him, harsh and beautiful, wind-bent grass, twisted pines, and distant mountains glowing beneath the dying light. He did not slow.
The camp came into view.
Men shouted as he burst through the outer line, stumbling between tents, nearly colliding with a pair of soldiers before righting himself and sprinting straight for the largest tent at the center.
“General!” he gasped as he was let in by the guards outside
Vander was on his feet before the man reached him.
The scout shoved a sealed scroll into his hands.
Vander broke the wax and unrolled it.
His face drained of color. For a moment, the world seemed to still around him, the distant clang of armor, the murmur of voices, the creak of leather in the wind. He sat heavily at his table, eyes racing over the words again.
Then he reached for fresh parchment.
His hand moved fast, sharp strokes cutting across the page. He rolled it, pressed hot wax into the seal, and shoved it back into the scout’s trembling grip.
“To the city,” he said. “Do not stop.”
“Yes sir!” The scout nodded once and ran.
Vander stood alone.
In the corner of the tent, a small shrine rested on a wooden crate, two simple carved figures, darkened by smoke and age.
He turned to them and bowed his head.
“Gods of my fathers,” he murmured, voice low and raw, “do not turn your faces from us now.”
The wind lifted the tent flap. War was already on its way.
…..
Two days later the city of Ephyra was alive with preparation.
The city did not sleep.
By dawn, the streets were already alive with movement. Not the usual hum of merchants and children, but the sharp, urgent rhythm of preparation.
Men dragged wooden barricades into place at the narrowest streets. Stones were piled near rooftops for throwing. Water buckets lined the alleys in case of fire. Old spears were pulled from storage, their heads hastily sharpened.
Claggor worked near the eastern road where the ground sloped toward the fields. His shoulders strained as he lifted sacks of sand and earth, stacking them into low walls meant to slow an advance. Sweat ran down his back, darkening his tunic. Each thud of a bag hitting the ground sounded like a heartbeat. He said nothing, only worked, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the rising barrier.
Vi was everywhere she was told to be.
Carrying bundles of arrows from the storehouse. Holding planks steady while they were nailed into makeshift shields. Running messages between officers and watch posts. Her muscles burned, her lungs stung, but she didn’t slow. Every task felt like a way to keep her fear contained. If she moved, if she worked, she didn’t have to think.
Mylo stayed close to her, trying too hard to look brave. He joked once, loudly, about how the Thebans would trip over their own sandals. No one laughed. He fell quiet after that, only adjusting his helmet again and again as if it might slip away if he didn’t keep touching it.
Back at the house, Powder moved through the rooms like a ghost.
She knelt before the small shrine in the corner, where the clay figurines of their parents stood with faded paint and chipped edges. Her hands trembled as she lifted them, wrapping them carefully in cloth before placing them into her bag. She added a loaf of bread. A small waterskin. A spare tunic.
Then she stood in the doorway and looked at the room.
The table where they ate. The wall where Vi had scratched her height marks as a child. The place where the light always came in through the window in the afternoon.
Her throat tightened.
“I’ll come back,” she whispered to no one.
Then she turned towards the cellar.
…..
They sat on overturned crates in the shadow of the wall, dust still clinging to their clothes. Mylo tore a chunk of bread in half with his teeth. Claggor chewed slowly, staring at the ground. Between them lay a small bundle of cloth Powder had packed, bread, a wedge of cheese, a few dried figs.
Vi wiped her hands on her tunic and looked at them both. “We need a plan,” she said.
Mylo glanced up. “We already got one.”
“No. A real one.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “If we see the gates are falling, we go. We get back to the house before they pour inside.”
Claggor frowned. “Why don’t we just go now?”
Vi shot him a look. “You want to hang from the walls like a traitor?”
Claggor stiffened.
“The cellar’s for women and children, not for you” she went on. Then, quieter, “But if the city falls… I’m not staying for the plunder.”
The words settled heavy between them.
Mylo stopped chewing.
Claggor swallowed.
The food suddenly tasted like ash.
Vi looked away for a moment, jaw tight. Then she straightened. “We don’t split up. Not in the fighting. Not for anything. You hear me? We stick together.”
Mylo nodded immediately.
Claggor hesitated. “They won’t let me up on the wall.”
“Then you stay low,” Vi said. “By the water buckets. Don’t move from there. I’ll find you.”
Claggor nodded slowly. “Alright.”
Silence fell over them again. The sounds of the city drifted over them, shouting, hammering, boots on stone.
Claggor cleared his throat. “If the army comes… that means Father is…”
The word never came out. It cut anyway.
Vi stood up abruptly. “Break’s over,” she said, too fast. “We got a city to prepare.”
She turned before either of them could look at her face.
….
Outside the city, the army had formed.
Rows of men stood in the dust, shields at their sides, spears upright like a forest of iron. Horses stamped and snorted. Armor creaked as bodies shifted. The smell of leather, sweat, and oiled metal hung in the air.
Vander sat astride his horse at the front.
The wind came down from the mountains behind him, carrying the scent of pine and cold stone. It tugged at his cloak and rolled forward, sweeping over the ranks, over the road, all the way toward the distant city walls, as if his words were already traveling ahead of him.
He raised his hand. The murmurs died.
“Brothers,” he said, his voice carrying across the field.
“Today, they come to take what is not theirs. Our land. Our homes. Our children’s future.”
He looked down the line of soldiers, one by one, as though memorizing them.
“They think us small. They think us tired. They think fear will make us kneel.”
His voice hardened. “But we were not raised to kneel.”
A low sound of agreement rippled through the ranks.
“We stand so the city does not burn. We stand so our sons and daughters sleep another night in their own beds. We stand so history remembers that this road was paid for in blood, not surrender.”
He lifted his spear.
“If this is the day we fall, then we fall as men who did not run.”
The wind surged again, sharp and cold.
“Shields up,” Vander said.
“And walk with me.”
….
Vi felt the wind touch her face.
She stood among the younger recruits, a helmet pressed into her hands, a sword strapped clumsily at her hip. The metal felt heavier than she expected. When she lifted the helmet, her hands shook.
She watched Mylo beside her struggle to pull his own helmet down straight. He forced a grin when he noticed her looking.
“Too big,” he muttered.
Her throat tightened so suddenly it hurt. She reached out and adjusted the strap for him without speaking then pulled him into a hug. They clung for each another for a long moment. Then she pulled back and bumped his helmet with a fist. She forced a smile.
…..
Far beyond the walls, dust rose on the road.
The army was marching.
They met the enemy in the open fields.
The clash came like thunder, shields striking shields, spears biting flesh, horses screaming as they went down. The ground churned beneath their feet, turning from dirt to mud to something darker.
Vander fought at the front.
His spear drove forward again and again. His shield caught blows meant for others. He moved like a storm given shape, roaring commands, dragging wounded men behind the line, cutting down those who broke through.
Around him, his soldiers held.
For a time, it looked as though they might win.
Then the horn sounded from the hill.
Vander turned.
A regiment of cavalry stood above them on the ridge, their own men. The ones meant to sweep down and strike the enemy’s flank.
They did not move.
They watched.
Confusion spread through the line like poison.
“Signal them!” someone shouted.
Another horn blew.
Still, the riders did not advance.
Vander’s blood ran cold. He understood.
The gap opened.
The Theban forces poured through it like a flood. Shields broke. Men fell. The formation shattered.
He could just watch as his army was being cut apart below them.
Steel rang. Blood sprayed. The wind carried the smell of iron and smoke back toward the city.
And far away, behind stone walls Vi felt it —
not with her eyes, but in her bones.
…..
Vi was halfway up a ladder, hauling a basket of stones toward the inner wall, when the shout came from above.
“Open the gate!”
Her head snapped up.
She dropped the basket. Stones scattered across the dust, and she was already running.
The courtyard was in chaos, guards shouting, women clustering. Vi shoved through them, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
The gate parted just enough for one man to slip through.
He was barely recognizable as a soldier.
Blood soaked one side of his tunic. His helmet was gone. His left arm hung useless at his side, wrapped in cloth already dark and stiff. His legs shook as if they might fold under him any second.
Two guards caught him before he fell.
His words were quiet but they were louder than any shout. “The line broke at the ridge,” he said. “Horsemen on the left… they didn’t move. They just, watched.”
His jaw clenched. “The Thebans poured through.
Vi pushed forward. “My father. The general?Where is he?” she demanded, breathless. “Where’s my father?”
The man’s eyes found her.
They were hollow.
He swallowed once. Then again.
“I’m… sorry. General held them as long as he could.”
Vi shook her head. “No. You’re wrong. He wouldn’t..he…,” Her voice cracked.
The man couldn’t look at her anymore.
“He fell with his shield forward.”
Something inside her went still.
She staggered back as if struck, boots scraping uselessly against stone. The world blurred. Sound dulled. Someone pushed by her and she staggered. The smell of blood and smoke clung to the air like rot.
Mylo reached her first.
He took one look at her face and froze.
“Vi?..” he whispered. “say it’s not…”
Claggor came up behind him. He didn’t speak. He just stared at her, jaw tight, eyes glassy.
Vi didn’t answer them.
She stood there, dirt-streaked and shaking, tears carving clean lines down her face through the dust and sweat. They dropped from her chin onto the stones at her feet.
Mylo’s mouth opened. No sound came out. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
Claggor swallowed hard, throat tight . He turned away for a second, dragging a hand down his face like he could wipe the truth off it.
Vi straightened.
Slowly.
Her grief hardened into something sharp and burning.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and looked toward the gates, the road where her father should have been riding back through.
Her voice came out rough. Steady.
“Come back with your shield… or on it.”
She turned toward the walls.
Then toward the city.
And for the first time, the word war stopped being something distant.
It had found them.
…..
The first hit shook the gates like thunder.
Wood screamed. Iron groaned. Dust burst from the stone seams of the walls as if the city itself had flinched.
“Hold the line!” someone shouted.
Vi was already moving.
Buckets of sand were being dragged up the ramp. Pitch boiled in blackened cauldrons near the parapet, thick and stinking, men stirring it with long poles while others stacked stones and broken tiles to hurl down. Archers lined the wall, arrows trembling on their strings.
(hot sand was used to throw down the walls at the army similar to how they used the hot oil)
Below, the Theban rams smashed again.
The gate bowed inward.
“Pour it!” a captain yelled.
The first wave of pitch went over the wall in a roaring black sheet. It splashed down onto shields and helmets, men screaming as fire caught cloth and hair. Smoke rose in choking coils.
The smell of burning flesh twisted Vi’s stomach, but she didn’t stop.
She grabbed a basket of stones and heaved it over the edge. She didn’t watch where they landed. She just grabbed another.
Around her, men were falling.
An archer to her left jerked backward, an arrow buried in his throat. He made a wet sound and slid down the wall, blood spreading under him like spilled wine.
Another took a spear through the gut and folded in half, clutching himself as if he could hold his insides in.
Vi watched as the ram pounded the doors to city and something screamed inside her. It was time to move. She dropped the basket and ran down from the walls towards the courtyard.
The ram struck again.
The gate split.
A crack ran through the wood from top to bottom.
“They’re through!” someone screamed.
“Shit—” Vi twisted her eyes searching for her siblings.
But then a hand clamped onto her shoulder.
“Get to the barricade!” a soldier barked. “Move!”
“I—” Vi started, eyes flicking toward where Mylo should have been.
“Move!” he shouted shoving her
Another blow from the ram. The gate groaned, bowing inward.
She dragged a fallen shield into place, bracing it against the inner barricade where men were piling carts, tables, anything that might slow what was coming. Her arms burned. Her lungs felt like fire.
Wood screamed.
Then the gate burst inward. Men flooded through the smoke and splinters.
Vi’s head snapped left, then right.
“Mylo?” she shouted.
No answer. Her stomach dropped.
“Mylo!” She turned.
Mylo stood a few paces back.
Still.
His sword hung uselessly in his hand. His mouth was open, but no sound came out. His eyes were locked on the gate as the first Theban helmets appeared through the splintered wood.
Men poured through the smoke.
Spears. Shields. Blood already on them.
A defender beside Mylo lunged and was cut down in one clean stroke. He fell across the stones with a sound like dropped meat.
Mylo flinched then froze. His eyes wild frantically looking around.
“MYLO!” Vi grabbed his arm and shook him. “MOVE!”
He looked at her then.
Truly looked.
His face was white. Not pale, empty. His lips trembled. “I…I…” he whispered.
A warm, dark stain spread on the ground beneath his feet.
Vi saw it.
For half a heartbeat, she didn’t understand.
Then she did as it poured down his legs.
Her chest tightened like something had punched her from the inside.
Another scream tore through the air. A man was dragged down by two Thebans and stabbed until he stopped moving. Blood ran between the stones in thin red lines.
“Mylo,” she said, softer now. “Hey. Look at me.”
His eyes flicked to hers, wild and glassy.
“I can’t,” he breathed. “Vi, I can’t..I can’t..”
A body slammed into the barricade beside them. He flinched again.
Vi shoved him back behind a stack of crates. “Stay down,” she ordered. “Stay down and don’t look.”
She turned back to the fight and grabbed a fallen spear and hurled it into the Theban running towards her.
Anither Theban rushed her. She ducked under his swing and smashed her shield into his knee. He went down hard. Another came right after, blade skimming her arm. Pain flared, but she kept moving, kept swinging, kept breathing.
Around her, men were dying in pieces.
A friend from the street fell with his skull split open. Someone she’d eaten with the night before screamed for his mother while blood bubbled from his mouth. The stones were slick now. Feet slipped. Bodies piled.
And behind her Mylo.
Vi turned just in time to see him crouched against the wall, hands over his ears, rocking.
The enemy was inside.
And the world he had bragged about, glory, honor, easy victory, was burning in front of him.
War didn’t look like stories.
It looked like this.
Vi grabbed him by the arm and hauled him up. “Come on…. Let’s go!”
He stumbled, nearly falling, legs weak like they’d forgotten how to work.
“We have to find Claggor,” she said, breathless.
She dragged Mylo through the chaos, shouting his name over the clash of iron and the screams.
“CLAGGOR!”
Smoke rolled through the street in dirty waves. The gate behind them was gone, only a jagged mouth of splintered wood and bodies. The fighting had spilled inward, into the city itself.
She saw him then.
Claggor was near a toppled cart, grappling with a Theban soldier twice his size. His arms were locked around the man’s shield, teeth bared with effort. The soldier slammed his helmet into Claggor’s face, and Claggor staggered, but didn’t let go.
“CLAGGOR!” Vi ran toward him.
A deep, terrible sound rose above the battle.
Something screamed through the air.
Vi barely had time to look up.
The catapult stone struck the wall above them.
The impact was like the sky breaking.
Stone exploded outward in a storm of dust and fire. The wall burst apart, blocks shearing loose, raining down into the street. It threw Vi off her feet as if a giant hand had swatted her aside.
She hit the ground hard.
Her ears rang. The world went white, then black.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then the world came back in pain.
Vi’s eyes fluttered open to a sky choked with smoke. Her ears rang so hard it felt like her skull was splitting. Dust coated her tongue. She tasted blood.
She tried to sit up but couldn’t . Her arms shook. Her vision swam.
The street was unrecognizable.
Part of the wall had collapsed entirely, leaving a raw wound of broken stone and rubble. Dust choked the air. Fires burned where pitch had spilled. Bodies lay half-buried under fallen masonry.
She turned her head her eyes scanning frantically. Then she saw him.
Mylo lay twisted not far from her, half-buried under broken stone. His helmet was split. His eyes were open and empty, staring at nothing.
“No.” Her voice broke on the word.
She dragged herself toward him, fingers scraping over gravel. Her hand found his sleeve.
“Mylo…” Her breath hitched into a sob as she looked past him.
Claggor lay farther back, crushed beneath a slab of wall, one arm stretched. Blood darkened the dust beneath him. His face was still, frozen mid-effort, like he had tried to rise and couldn’t.
For a moment, the battle vanished.
There was only them.
Vi screamed.
It tore out of her chest raw and broken, a sound she didn’t recognize as her own. She staggered to her feet, stumbling toward Claggor, reaching.
Something slammed into her side.
A soldier barreled past, knocking her backward. She fell to her knees crying. Eyes scanning helplessly. Around her men fought and died in the dust. Spears plunged. Swords flashed.
A woman was dragged by her hair across the stones, shrieking. A body burned near a spilled torch. The air smelled of iron and smoke and burned flesh.
Vi pushed herself up, dazed, blood streaking down her face.
She spun toward the street that led home.
“POWDER!”
…..
Vi burst through the door of the courtyard.
The house was already plundered. A chair lay overturned. Everything war either broken or scattered across the dirt.
Then she heard a scream coming from the cellar.
“POWDER!” Vi ran.
She skidded into the cellar.
Powder was on the ground.
A soldier was on top of her, pinning her down. Her tunic was torn at the shoulder, her hair loose and wild around her face. She kicked and clawed, screaming, fighting with everything she had left.
Vi didn’t think. She grabbed the axe from the wall took two steps forward and rammed into the man’s back.
The blade sank into the man’s flesh.
He howled.
Vi yanked it out and struck again.
And again.
And again.
She screamed as she hacked into him, a sound torn straight from her chest, every blow driven by terror and fury and grief all at once. She didn’t stop until the weight on Powder collapsed and slid sideways into the dirt.
Vi staggered back and dropped onto the floor, the axe still clenched in her hand. Her arms shook. Her chest heaved. Blood dripped from the blade onto the packed earth.
Powder scrambled out from beneath the body, sobbing, clawing her way toward Vi.
She crawled into her arms, pressing her face into Vi’s shoulder, shaking.
Vi wrapped her arm around her without even thinking, the other still hanging uselessly at her side with the axe.
Powder pulled back just enough to look at her.
Her face was streaked with dirt and tears and someone else’s blood.
“Vi…” she whispered moving hair from her face “Where are the others?”
Vi didn’t answer.
She just stared at her.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Powder’s eyes filled and tears spilled down her cheeks “Vi… where are they?”
Vi swallowed hard.
Her grip tightened.
“We have to move,” she said hoarsely.
Powder blinked. “What?”
“We can’t stay,” Vi said, forcing herself to stand. Her legs felt wrong, like they might give out at any second. “We have to go. Now.”
She pulled Powder up with her.
The cellar smelled of smoke and blood and earth.
They had barely turned toward the tunnel when voices spilled into the house.
Harsh. Laughing. Close.
Boots slammed against the outer door.
Powder’s hand tightened around Vi’s sleeve. “Vi—”
“Run,” Vi said.
Three soldiers poured into the courtyard.
“GO!” Vi shouted.
Powder shook her head, frozen. “No..I’m not leaving you”
Vi grabbed her face with both hands, forcing her to look up at her. “You listen to me. You run. I will come after you. I swear it.”
Powder wached her in pure horror “No!”
Vi shoved her toward the tunnel.
Powder stumbled, then dropped down into the darkness.
“No please!”
The hatch slammed shut.
Vi dragged the barrel over it with all her strength. Wood scraped stone. She shoved it into place just as fists pounded from below.
“Vi! Vi, don’t..” Her sister’s voice was muffled now.
Vi turned. Picked up the axe.
The soldiers were already stepping inside.
One sneered. “Just one left.”
Vi charged.
The first man barely had time to lift his shield before the axe buried itself in his collarbone. He screamed. Vi ripped it free and drove it into his chest. He fell backward, dead before he hit the floor.
The second lunged.
Vi ducked under his swing and smashed the axe handle into his knee. Bone cracked. He went down with a howl.
She didn’t stop. She brought the blade down again, across his shoulder, blood spraying the wall.
The third man rushed her head-on.
Steel met steel as she raised the axe to block. The impact jarred her arms to the bone. He shoved forward, forcing her back a step, their weapons locked. She snarled and twisted, dragging the blade down his forearm. He cried out and stumbled away, wounded but still standing.
Then something slammed into the back of her skull.
White light burst behind her eyes. Her knees buckled. The axe slipped from her hand as the world tilted and went dark.
….