Victor had a clouded consciousness, floating between battle dreams and stabbing pain.
He managed to focus enough to see he was passing through a large reinforced stone gate, its edges familiar even through the fog covering his mind.
He was entering the castle.
The soldier who had extracted him from the battlefield had succeeded.
But at what cost?
Questions swirled in his mind like nightmare fragments.
How many would have already fallen holding back Venmont and his Dragon?
How many of his men had died buying the minutes necessary for him to be evacuated?
Victor tried to speak, ask the soldier carrying him about casualties, about the state of defenses, but his voice emerged as an unintelligible moan.
The soldier ran faster.
♢♢♢♢
In the castle's depths, Arturo prepared the last resistance.
He had gathered all soldiers who had retreated in time. Barricades were built in every critical hallway, all entrances were reinforced.
But it was useless, and he knew it.
