Dawn came pale and heavy, its light dimmed by the haze of smoke that blanketed the city.
The streets below the inner wall were a charnel pit—piles of bodies half-buried in ash, armor and banners tangled together in death.
Ravens wheeled above the carnage, their cries lost beneath the slow, steady rhythm of Romanus drums echoing through the ruins of a city once so full of life.
The night's victory had broken the stalemate.
By sunrise, Julius's orders had gone out: press the attack.
No respite, no mercy.
The breaches won in blood would not be left to heal.
Siege horns bellowed as the legions surged forward once more, this time in force.
The engineers had labored through the night, repairing bridges and ladders under torchlight while the rest of the army roused from their slumber.
By midmorning, the entire front was alive again—tens of thousands of men pouring into the shattered avenues like a living tide.
