The air inside the Ice Palace was tense, heavy with fatigue and the unspoken dread of what lay outside its frozen walls. Every soldier, mercenary, priest, and archer had been clinging to whatever strength remained in their bodies. The makeshift chambers carved within the crystalline palace gave them shelter, a reprieve from the unrelenting swarm of devils, yet no one could truly rest. The horns of the enemy had sounded all night, their echo vibrating against the barrier like cruel laughter. Even now, the humans stood half-awake, half-dead on their feet, their bodies trembling not only from exhaustion but from the ceaseless anticipation of another strike.
The silence that followed was eerie, almost suffocating. The devils outside had stopped their constant banging. The horns no longer wailed. The humans within the palace dared to hope, though only briefly. Because silence, in the middle of an enemy's domain, was not safety. It was warning.
And then—it happened.
