Orion felt a chill run down his spine. His gut told him he was being watched. Not just the Foundry Citadel—him.
It was the Unhallowed. The invisible puppeteer had finally shown its face.
"Lost your patience?" Orion muttered, eyes narrowing.
He couldn't be sure if the Doomsday Fire had actually threatened the entity, or if the stalemate had simply become too boring for an ancient horror.
To fight, or not to fight?
Orion's hand twitched toward his weapon. Every instinct screamed at him to go out there, to meet the enemy in the field. But his brain pumped the brakes. The original plan was to turtle—to use the collective power of the Citadel to outlast the siege.
Unknown variables... risks... resource drain... morale...
He ran the calculations in his head. The numbers didn't favor a solo sortie.
Orion forced himself to relax, sinking back onto his throne atop the tower. I was waiting for you before. Now, it's your turn to wait for me.
