Astra looked up.
Kaal and Helena clashed to the left side of where he was standing, they were like titans the mana precsense just being near them was strange, as grave seal magic was truly interesting the way it suffocated a literal curse at times.
The tide had turned. Helena was faltering—slower now, defensive, her golden spear buckling under Kaal's relentless Grave Seal magic and blighted strikes. Her armor was cracked in places, her breathing labored.
Still, she wasn't down yet.
Just as Astra was about to make his move, to end this Herald-
"My prince," came Merry's voice in his mind, urgent and tight, " Major Spectre needs help—now. He's being overwhelmed. The north wall is collapsing. Units are retreating toward the castle for tactical fallback."
The retreat horn blared.
Astra smiled, His plan was working yet the onslaught was truly damaging, he had not expected the famed order of the Deathsingers to be present, They had to abandon the counter attack, which disappointed Astra, he really thought such a tactic would have worked and won them the battle decisively, yet the famed peacekeepers seem to truly hold to their merit, they had entered and flooded the fortified city within twenty minutes. Astra didnt need to be genius commander to understand that it was a remarkable feat. Yet his damage was done, he was sure they had suffered heavy casualties and will suffer more, he needed to make sure of it.
"The enemy's pressing harder," she continued. "Our knights are falling. We've lost more than half of Platoons Eleven through Fourteen on our company. It is time to headback"
Astra swore under his breath. He really wanted to get Helena back for the beating she gave him and his soakers, and he knew Helena would survive Kaal—for now.
He also knew she would not survive the both of them. But he couldn't afford to linger. The city was breaking and he needed his northern wall commander and genius of a fighter back alive.
"Im on it," Astra replied. He turned on his heel and sprinted.
He tore through broken streets and mangled buildings, weaving through rubble and blood-soaked cobblestones. Rank Ones and Twos fought in brutal, disorganized scrums. while some fought evenly to unevenly matched, the large city structures were falling overhead and chunks of heavy debris fell from the skies.
He ducked under a spear, parried a blade with his vambrace, and delivered a ruthless slash that left one soldier crumpling behind him. Astras mood was somber
A building exploded nearby. Fire roared. A tower crumbled in the distance.
Enormous explosions and a large amount of mana fluctuations were happening at Spectres location.
Heat scorched his face as he climbed a ruined rooftop, making sure to dodge arrows—and then he saw it or him to be more precise.
Spectre.
Half-armored, blood soaking his cloak, twin blades glowing red-hot in his hands. He drove one through a foe's throat, another into the gut of a second. Mana bled from him like steam, his body trembling under the strain. As he dodged the incoming onslaught of attacks.
Spectre was truly surrounded.
Four pinnacle-tier Rank Threes.
Four high-tier Rank Threes behind them—the Death Singer elites all most likely also Heralds.
Astra's jaw tightened, He shivered.
The entire avenue was locked in a crucible of colliding domains. Flame roared from Spectre's domain, devouring air and iron alike. But it was being pushed back—hard. Three other domains were stacked against it: curse magic, void manipulation, and soul affinity. The air buzzed with oppressive, clashing power.
"Shit..." Astra whispered. " I cannot even last long against one of those pinnacle tier knights yet alone all of them,Bastard is outshining me again Astra grumbled amused and kind of proud he was in command of such a powerful person." Astra chuckled ".Should I just collapse Blackstar on them now?"
Hm. Tempting. He grinned darkly. But not yet.
Astra felt his mana run out, he was growing tired. His domain was serving as both a enhancement to his allies and a bombard for the enemies, his star bombardments and minor leeching curse were still dropping down on the sides solace was most heavily assaulting, he had no control of it as he can just direct the side for them to drop, it was strange how he could order his mana to such a level but he never really questioned it, shadows required actual mind power and effort so the battlefield did not see much of that.
"Okay. Let's make a commotion first."
He reached out through their Mana channel. "Hello there little furnace. I see you're having fun."
"Ugh,..Im a little busy, asshole," Spectre growled, breath ragged. "I was thinking you forgot about me, half my high tier knights and more than half of yours are all tied up in their own little battles and it seems I got stuck at the forefront of the attack"
"Yeah, yeah suck it up." Astra laughed, Spectre was right of course, all Astras squads and platoons and most of Spectres were all currently retreating as they clashed with the enemy troops, this battlefield was truly large, Astra didn't even want to see how bad Merry was over run with her logistics for the Seventh company and he certainly did not want to know how bad it was for Shroud who was overseeing all of this back in the Castle and laughing bombardments as well.
"Im jumping in, you know stir up the hornet's nest, drop Blackstar on us, then we retreat. Sound good?"
"You're a sick bastard," Spectre chuckled."I love it, just get me out of here I'm getting exhausted"
"I know."
From above, Astra concentrated as he redirected his domain.
Celestial bolts shrieked through the sky. Stars like spears of glowing silver and obsidian fell between buildings, detonating around the Death Singers the shadows surged and attacked them out of nowhere,. The elites drew back, forming a perimeter.
Astras assault continued in fact, he kept dropping his celestial bombardment onto the enemy heavy areas, the sky was literally falling to cover his troops retreat.
And then Astra dropped from the rooftop like a comet, his cloak trailing starlight, his eyes glowing beneath the obsidian helm.
"Hey guys," he called out, a grin in his voice. "It's me. Your assault's biggest pain in the ass."
The Death Singers recoiled in recognition.
"Prince Astra Noctis," they hissed. "Weknew this weird large abomination of a domain spell looked eerily familiar but we did not dare believe it, for shadow to send such a weak greenhorn to the front lines, they truly must not care for you" another spoke.
"You dare show yourself here?" A tall knight spat, skeletal steel armor groaning. "A mere Rank Two masquerading as a Knight?"
"Yeah, Of course I do," Astra said, raising his blade. "After all, you lot are not nearly strong enough to kill me. You'll need...like what, ten maybe twenty more of you?"
"Capturing you would bring us great reward, oh heir of Night, You know the Order of Ezio has issued you the Highest Order commission right?." muttered a scarred elite as he grinned, his long black spear glinting with a form of rot.
"Oh, Im sure they did" He grinned. "But I'm not worried, you wouldn't dare kill us for now" Astra taunted as he turned to Spectre. "You see this furnace that has killed and held all you up oh and I my self..well we're both castle commanders. You know real important targets."
One of the elites laughed, hollow and venomous. "Such obvious bait. But you're mistaken, heir of Night. We won't capture you nor go after your bounty no. Your death will be our offering."
A low chant began to rise among them. Mad zeal gleamed in their eyes.
"To the Death God," they whispered in unison. "To the God of the End."
Astra shivered, yep they were truly terrifying bastards.
"Hey Spectre do you know what these bastards hate most?" Astra murmured, his blade glowing with abyssal starlight. "Life."
He turned to Spectre, voice raised "And what better way to mock them, then to offer them to war herself "
"Into the Fires of Battle!"
Spectre chuckled Astra was truly a sick bastard. To chant their mortal enemies motto and even dare to offer them to her, was seen as the highest form of disrespect and blasphemy to all those who follow Death.
"Onto the Crucible of War!" Spectre roared back.
The Deathsingers chant did not stop, but their voices became icy cold.
Mana roared
The elites struck first—curse runes flared, spears of void-matter twisted mid-air, and soul-chains lashed from the darkness. But Astra met them, his blade singing. Each motion was precise. He deflected a soul-chain with the flat of his sword, burned away a void spear with starlight, and slipped past a hammer swing to carve through cursed armor.
Spectre joined him with a scream of fire, his dual blades spinning as they rejoined. Spectre was magnificent, dancing between opponents with chilling elegance and finesse, a true genius.
Astra felt the Blackstar above hum in sync with his mana. The field grew darker—starlight thickened—shadow poured like liquid smoke.
Astra parried another blow, countered with a rising slash, then used a blink-step of astral magic to get behind a foe. His sword stabbed clean through a chink in the armor, severing ribs and spine alike.
The Death Singer gurgled and fell.
He had killed two high tiers, Astra felt his strength increase rapidly for some reason, it seems theres another part of his domain he had not yet fully discovered, he pushed back the thought "later" he thought
"Capture me, was it?" Astra mocked.
"My Prince, why the hell are more and more troops being rerouted towards you and Commander Spectre? You're supposed to be retreating!" Merry's voice blared in Astra's head, sharp with panic.
"Oh, you know…" Astra deflected a spear strike, only to be kicked through three buildings, stone and steel crumbling around him as he hit the ground with a thud. "…So I can get more of them to come and buy time as I drop my Blackstar on their heads and run like im being chased by death itself, which I am if you really think about it." Astra snorted
Dust clouded his vision, yet his blade was already stabbing upward.
A column of shadow burst into the air, catching the Death Singer mid-leap. A spear of starlight followed, searing his cursed armor and forcing him to recoil. The zealot snarled and twisted midair, flinging a wave of rot at Astra.
"Okay, bye!" Astra transmitted, diving out of the detonation's radius.
Then he felt it.
Rank Threes entering the battlefield a shit ton of them and powerful ones at that.
And behind them—thousands of Rank Twos charging in from the north and east, with no one holding the walls Solace troops have began to flood the streets.
"Great," Astra muttered. "I guess that somehow worked."
From above, a blur—Spectre smashed into a nearby wall beside him, rebounding like a thrown hammer. As he summoned a wall of heated iron blocking off arrows and mana.
"They're insufferable," Spectre grunted, flipping midair and landing beside Astra just as another barrage of soul and curse energy ripped through his defenses and blew apart the stone behind him.
"Eh, good enough," Astra smirked. "Soooo like its time to go."
"You gonna drop that star yet?" Spectre asked, flames licking at his boots.
"Right after you blow your domain..you can do that right?."
Spectre grinned. "Does a runebear shit in the woods?..wait dont answer that they dont."
He slammed his blades together. As the area around grew incredibly hot, Spectres battlefield was already hot before and quite literally on fire as buildings were melting yet some parts were stabilized by his opponents domains, so Spectres domain never fully manifested, yet now he wasnt vying for dominance in this domain spell clash no, he simply was blowing up everything his domain had authority over,
A ring of impossibly compressed heat ignited around them. A shockwave of iron and flame detonated outward—scattering debris, soldiers, spells, and even two lesser Rank Threes who screamed as their shields collapsed. A massive mushroom cloud was seen overhead again.
Laughter echoed in the smoke.
"Is that all your desperate gamble amounts to?" one of the Death Singers called out.
"Unfortunately for you.No" Astra replied.
He raised a hand to the heavens as he ordered his domain.
"Fall, Blackstar."
Above, the great celestial body — black as ink, rimmed with burning silver light — pulsed.
The shadows below grew still.
The sky twisted.
All across the city, even amidst the chaos of battle, soldiers paused. The enemy, eager with premature victory, turned to look. Shadow warriors, bloodied and retreating into the castle, stopped in the courtyards. The night sky rippled.
It wasn't the real stars they saw spinning — it was the domain Astra had summoned. Phantom constellations spun like a mirrored sky — and then collapsed inward.
The Blackstar devoured them all, swelling.
A scream of energy echoed through the air as the star spiraled, fed by everything Astra had left in reserve. Light and shadow merged — silver coronas rippled out like molten rings around a collapsing singularity.
Then — it fell.
It didn't streak down.
It descended.
A slow, eerie, terminal drop of inevitability.
The north side of the city vanished in the impact.
A dome of shadows erupted — then compressed inward, exploding with a soundless shockwave. Star-metal light streaked across the sky, lighting the rooftops with a haunting glow. Streets cracked. Buildings incinerated. The death wails of soldiers were swallowed by the overwhelming roar of warping mana and boiling light.
The detonation was not fire, not heat — it was pressure and entropy. Everything within the radius was compacted, shredded, and smeared across ruined stone and collapsing towers.
Hundreds died in the first instant.
Three powerful Rank Threes — including a soul caster and a void adept — were caught near the epicenter. One evaporated mid-domain. Another managed to raise a full warding sigil before it shattered and flung him lifeless into a crater. The third tried to blink away—only to reappear halfway through a falling spire. Many others were stuck in the vicinity bearing the brunt force of such an attack.
Through the smoke two men ran like their asses were in fire towards the castle keep
"Faster, damn it!" Astra yelled.
"You call that a retreat plan?" Spectre huffed.
"No," Astra laughed between gasps. "Pretty sure that classifies as a hate crime."
"Did you see their faces?" Spectre said, smirking through bloodied teeth. "I cant believe they fell for such weak provocation seriously, we had at least 50 high tier knights coming to our position I swear!"
"Honestly...Same" Astra grinned. "But they are mad zealots. He shuddered. "Wow its terrifying the lengths they'd go to offer me to the god of death"
Spectre chuckled. "Yeah well you quite literally dropped a star on a literal district because of that."
"Well I was done using it anyway." Astra rolled his eyes
The two of them ran through the smoke-filled alleys, the shattered remains of the city yawning open before them. Behind them, the northern quarter was being overrun—not by bodies, but by silence. The enemy had stopped their pursuit, holding their line now with grim, ordered confidence. They weren't chasing anymore.
They were preparing to siege.
Astra and Spectre had gotten out just in time.
As they neared the final bridge to the castle, the wounded gatehouses of Velhor came into view—ancient, grey, and grim, they neared the Eastern gate..the infamous gate. The old marble of the castle was cracked from past wars, patched with layers of iron and shadow wards. Its battlements bristled with archers and shaken guards. The moment Astra and Spectre appeared in the distance, barely upright, a wave of noise rippled up the wall.
"Open the gate!" someone screamed. "The commanders! They're still alive!"
Astra didn't hear it. His heartbeat was too loud. His body felt like a forge, His mana was damn near empty his cores replenishing like starved beasts. Spectre was limping beside him, cursing every few steps, half-laughing through bloodied teeth.
They crossed the bridge just as the portcullis slammed shut behind them. The last two through. having held up the enemy covering the retreat.
The last to survive.
And the first to fight.
A stillness washed through the courtyard. thousands of soldiers, some hurt, some high off battle, somewhere were slick with blood, all of them lined the stone square—shattered units, battered reserve companies, men who had never truly seen war until tonight. And yet… they'd lived. Against all odds.
And now they looked to them.
At the two leaders limping into the keep.
Astra's armor was scorched black, cracked at the pauldrons, blood seeping through chainmail like ink through silk. But even ruined, it still looked regal and mystical as it repaired itself slowly—his blacksteel breastplate etched with starlight filigree, his tattered cloak still dragging the banner of House Night through ash and fire. His face was a little bruised, his lip split, but his eyes were clear. And his sword?
Still glowing a eerie light.
Spectre held him up with one arm, barely walking, but still alive. His twin blades hung at his sides, blood caked along their edges like war paint. The healers were already running to him, rushing with white-gloved hands and mana-glowing pouches. He tried to wave them off at first, then let them take him. He collapsed onto the stretcher like a man who'd earned it.
And then Astra raised his sword.
The courtyard went still.
His voice rang out, hoarse but loud, over the burnt stones and scorched silence.
"Warriors of Shadow, we have repelled the first assault!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the dawn. "The famed Peacekeepers. The fabled Deathsingers!"
Silence held—one breath—then it cracked.
"Now we shall prepare. Prepare this Inpreginable fortress that has been held by Vela for gods knows how long!"
"Prepare for a siege!"
The roar was deafening.
"Night! Night! Night!" the men screamed, pounding their fists to their chests. It echoed up the walls, into the heavens, into the stars above.
Far away even the peacekeepers heard it.
They weren't just cheering for victory. They were cheering because they were still breathing. Because they had fought back elites—and lived.
The legendary units of Solace had come to crush them: elite shock troops, blessed by Death, revered across the world as unstoppable. And yet…
They'd been halted.
By castle guards.
By the reserves.
By madmen who should've been corpses.
As the roar died down, Astra walked toward the old stone well and drank greedily. His hands trembled slightly as he washed his face, grime and blood mixing in streaks down his cheek.
He felt it in his soul—the waning pull.
The stars above were fading.
Dawn.
He turned toward the rising light. His first true battle… survived. But this was only the beginning. The siege hadn't even begun.
Astra sighed.
"No rest for the wicked, I guess."
He adjusted his cracked armor, tightened the strap on his sword, and headed inside toward the war room—toward the waiting commanders—toward whatever hell came next.
As Astra made his way through the castle halls, the soldiers watched him with something more than respect.
They looked at him the way one might look at a bishop —or a saint . A mere Rank Two who should've been just another footsoldier, yet bore the firepower of a Knight. He wielded a mythical core, and in that moment, limping through the ancient gray stone of Castle Velhor, his battered armor glittering with residual starlight and shadow, he looked like something out of legend.
And maybe he was.
Merry intercepted him near the courtyard, armor scuffed and her expression sharp. "You need healing," she said, already dragging him by the arm.
Healing in war was never simple. It depended on your mana core, your affinity, and how close you were to death's doorstep. A Heroic-core Rank Two might take days to recover naturally. But Astra? With a mythical core, mana pooled in him like sacred wine in a chalice. His shadows coiled around his wounds, knitting flesh with a cold precision, while the stars bathed him in quiet restoration. Mana answered him quickly, willingly—even protectively.
It wasn't just his talent. It was his lineage. Divine blood whispered in his veins.
And yet, power wasn't exclusive to birthright. Spectre was proof of that. A Legendary core, one A-grade affinity, and a handful of B-grades—yet he had carved through elites, held the northern flank nearly alone. His strength came not from privilege, but pain. He had earned every scar. Atlas had once walked that same path. From nothing to legend. All one had to do… was dare.
Astra reeled slightly as the healing specialists finished their work, their hands glowing with careful control. His thoughts had drifted—his curse was flaring again, pulling at his concentration, unraveling threads in his mind.
He focused. Merry's green eyes were watching him, sharp and grounded. But somehow, despite her beauty and presence, he found himself thinking of a different pair of eyes—clear, haunting, blue.
He sighed and made his way deeper into the keep.
Near the old command stairs, Kaal stood waiting, robes torn and ash-covered, his staff strapped to his back.
"My prince," he greeted with a small nod.
"You saved my ass," Astra said with a tired smirk. "So...did you?"
Kaal exhaled, "No, my prince. The herald proved... difficult. As soon as you left, she pulled me on a chase through half the city before linking up with another company of Deathsingers—one with a pinnacle-tier commander."
"And?"
"I killed half of them," Kaal said without pride, "but I had to retreat. A shame, truly."
Astra grinned. "It's fine. She's mine. I'll deal with her. Thank you again Platoon Commander"
Kaal just nodded, expression unreadable.
As Astra and Merry continued toward the command chamber, she gave him the casualty report. Somehow… it was minimal. Light losses, considering the scale of what they'd just faced. It should have been relieving—but instead, something inside Astra felt... empty.
He should've felt grief. Gratitude. But all he felt was nothing.
It scared him.
What scared him more was how easy it had become to kill. The way his sword had slipped into flesh—how the screams and the gore had barely registered. The terrified gazes of his enemies as he slipped his sword into their throats..
He felt a wave of nausea just remembering it.
He broke away from Merry and staggered toward a window overlooking the city.
Then, he vomited.
Ash and bile hit the gray marble.
Below, the city smoldered. In the distance, solace banners fluttered, a gray—entrenching, organizing, preparing.
A siege had begun.
"Are you done, prince?" Merry asked from behind, giving him space but not sympathy.
He wiped his mouth, chest heaving. "Yeah… yeah, I'm coming."
They walked on, and the sun kept rising.
As they walked to the command room, Astra straightened his back. The room was alive now, captains, platoon leaders, and field commanders coming in and out like a stream of ants. Everyone was busy reporting troop movements, casualties, getting orders, and relaying debriefs. Nobody even noticed Astra at first—but they did notice the shadows growing a little darker, more obedient, more alive.
That always got their attention.
Heads turned. A few froze. Then the bows followed — some low, some hesitant. It didn't matter. He waved them off, not bothering to stop. He wasn't here for ceremony. walking past them with Merry close behind glued to a communicator of sorts. They climbed another flight of stairs, this one leading to the inner command balcony where his senior officers and the current lord of Castle Velhor waited.
In front of him stood Seif, still in decent condition. Tenor, surprisingly, looked even better. Then there was Shroud, who hadn't seen direct combat but wore a grim expression. Probably from handling artillery or coordinating the outer wards. Her armor was unscathed, though her hair was frayed, her face tight.
Spectre wasn't present still recovering in the healing wards.
"How come I'm always late?" Astra mused under his breath.
The commanders turned. They bowed. Seif's was shallow, expected—he was nobility, even if low-born by the realms standards.
"Commanders. Lord," Astra greeted, stepping forward. The room felt off—solemn, despite the cheers still echoing faintly from the courtyard. Seif and Tenor were still slick with dried blood, their armor scratched and dented. Shroud stood to the side, arms folded, looking as though she hadn't slept in a day.
"It can't be that bad, can it?" Astra thought.
"Commanders," Seif said without preamble, "quite frankly, we're fucked."
Astra fought the urge to laugh.
"Peacekeepers and Deathsingers aren't playing the long game," Seif continued. "They're not trying to starve us out. No encirclement, no passive pressure. They're going active siege. Bombardment rotations are upon us within the hour. Waves expected by tonight. They want to take Velhor now."
Made sense. The quicker they took the castle, the less likely House Shadow had time to respond. He'd sent out a envoy the moment he saw their sigils on the ridge. Reinforcements would come — Shadow wasn't about to let the Siege-Eater fall without throwing half the House behind it — but the enemy knew that too.
Astra crossed his arms. "They know reinforcements are coming."
"Exactly," Seif said. "House Shadow likely mobilized the moment they got the request. But it'll take time—five, maybe six days. A week if the roads are cursed or slowed. The enemy knows this. They're gambling on a decisive breach before then."
"So nothing we hadn't prepared for," Shroud said dryly. Her voice held a sharp edge—annoyance or disbelief, it was hard to tell. "Sure, the Deathsingers and Peacekeepers were a surprise, but Velhor has historically held worse. We've enough food, water, mana crystals, and munitions for months. Castle Velhor didn't get nicknamed the Siege-Eater because its poetic."
"She's right," Tenor added. "The outer wards are still intact, we've rearmed most battlements, and every courtyard has been restructured for fallback chokepoints. If they want to grind through us, they'll bleed doing it."
"Yes, but now we know why they're confident," Seif continued, stepping forward and placing a report on the table. "Scouts confirmed it: they've brought a siege-breaker regiment. And they're being commanded by a Herald of Death and a Lord of Peace."
The room dropped a few degrees.
Astra felt it immediately — the shift in weight behind those titles.
Right. That changed everything.
The Solace military, particularly the Deathsingers and Peacekeepers, used a rigid rank structure. Most officers in Solace earned military ranks—standard titles. But once they ascended in strength and spiritual clarity within their order, they were given ceremonial names. "Herald" was one such title. A Herald of Death was not just a general—they were a prophet, the position of herald was present for many elite units sure but to be named a herald of death. that meant who evert it was is a battlefield commander and chosen vessel of their order's divine principle. And a "Lord" was even worse. A Lord of Peace would be a spiritual heir to Solace's doctrine—someone with a Rank Three core at minimum, perhaps a divine lineage inheritor of deaths angels or even the main bloodline, Whoever this was, they were probably equal to him or Vesper in talent, maybe stronger. Maybe.
Helena had been a Herald a lesser herald of the deathsingers but still a Herald. He remembered her curses, the way her mana screamed across a field like a symphony of suffocating ash.
Astra himself was recognized as a Lord of Shadows, and the people had started calling him "Prince of the Stars" after his second core had awakened. The titles were more than ceremonial—they denoted capability, potential, and threat level.
He'd even wager Vesper will be called a Prince of Madness soon or even Shadowflame soon.
Astra sighed
Now, that two such figures were confirmed among the enemy.
He wasn't fighting a scattered vanguard anymore.
Which meant the enemy was playing for keeps.
The others had turned their attention to Astra subconsciously. The room quieted. Astra lowered his gaze to the table in front of him—a round slab of obsidian and gold, its surface shaped by enchanted shadow mana tech. The battlefield rose in peaks and lines, a full map of the city and castle projected in three-dimensional relief, constantly shifting as new data came in.
He studied it carefully, but his headache only worsened.
"Alright," he muttered, tapping the edge of the projection. "We all know where they'll hit. How they'll hit."
The Veiled Edge.
The eastern gate.
The cursed side of Velhor.
"It's the only choice," he continued. "Even I'd attack it. It's not even a secret. That side's cursed."
Castle Velhor was shaped like a massive six-pointed star, each 'arm' of the star curving upward into sky-piercing towers. It was built around the city core itself, rising layer by layer, outer wall by inner wall, until it crowned at the High Keep—where Astra stood now.
It was made of gray, ancient marble, scorched from centuries of war and re-fortified with layer upon layer of new stone and enchantment. Famous across the six realms for three things:
First, its position. A true strategic chokepoint between three two territories—. Second, it's record. The castle had withstood over a at least a hundred full-scale sieges and remained standing through all of them.
Hence its name: the Siege-Eater.
But the third was infamous.
The Veiled Edge.
For reasons unknown to the public—perhaps lost to time, or buried by House Shadow—the eastern side of the castle was always the first to fall. Always cloaked in unnatural shadow, no matter the season. Always bled the most men. Always soaked in red. There were rumors — curses, forgotten rituals, even stories that a god perhaps a seraph had bled on that wall in the First War and the stone never healed.
Astra remembered reading somewhere that of all the major assaults Castle Velhor had endured, the Veiled Edge had fallen in eighty percent of them.
Didn't matter. Statistically? It had fallen in 80 percent of past sieges.
So yeah.
That's where they'd hit.
And Astra had maybe five days to figure out how not to become the 81st.
Seif nodded, arms crossed behind his back like he'd already sworn an oath.
"Yes, they will. I'm too young to remember the battles of Velhor, but I don't intend to be the first in my lineage to lose this keep." His voice didn't waver. Classic noble resolve — all iron spine and inherited pressure. "I've already initiated active siege reinforcements. Extra mana wards, traps layered near the old courtyards, ramparts being reloaded for high-output launches. But more importantly — we need rest. Especially you, my prince."
Astra exhaled through his nose, not bothering to argue.
Seif continued. "Commander Tenor and I saw our fair share of blood, sure — but the forces we faced were a fraction of what you and Spectre were up against. Castle HQ estimates 70% of their pinnacle-tier combatants were committed to your combat zones."
Of course they were. Astra tilted his head, cracking the joint.
"Good," he muttered. "Means we hit them good."
"They hit us too," Seif replied. "Hard. But thanks to Spectre and your decision to collapse both your domains on top of that entire district…"
"...the most expensive one," Shroud added dryly, stepping in like she'd been waiting for the cue. "We estimate their pinnacle tier forces dropped to around a thousand, maybe fewer and thats not even counting the Deathsinger Company deployed with them. Our side's lost about ten percent of our top-tier units. Down from 200 to about 180. Still running numbers."
She tapped a few runes on the edge of the obsidian map table — red lights blinked out like dying embers across the terrain. Astra's eyes traced each one.
Names. Faces. Gone.
"All things considered," Shroud continued, "Not bad for a half suicidal city defense."
Astra smirked. "Thanks."
"Two things we need to address," she pressed on. "One: the Deathsingers. They're likely going to launch precision raids across other sectors of the castle. Sending them to the eastern gate alongside the Peacekeepers would be inefficient — that kind of brute-force warfare isn't their specialty."
"Makes sense," Astra said, scratching the back of his head, tired. "Let the choir of death sing where we're weakest."
"Exactly. Which means we'll need to field high-caliber vigil squads — knights with elite combat readiness and mobility. Rapid-response shadow-platoons. Problem is, that thins our main lines."
"And that," Shroud added, "Is their smartest move so far."
Seif raised a brow. "You're missing something, Commander."
Shroud looked at him. "And what's that, my lord?"
He stepped forward, voice low now — less strategic report, more warning.
"They have a Herald of Death. And a Lord of Peace. You don't bring that kind of firepower and just let them wait."
Astra felt it — that same pressure from earlier, crawling back into the room like a curse reactivating.
"They'll unleash one of them or perhaps both soon," Seif went on. "And don't be fooled — they don't need direct offensive spells to cause devastation. Domain-class spells from those ranks tend to be subtle. Insidious. Curses bound to reality. Soul-type anomalies that corrupt from within."
He pointed toward the ward map.
"Our castle barriers can hold off siege magic. But not conceptual violations. Not spells that reframe perception, or tether themselves to grief, doubt, entropy. Death's chosen don't just attack—they infect. And when they do…"
He looked toward Astra.
"…We'll need domain casters to counteract. Defensive specialists, reality stabilizers."
"And we don't have any," Shroud said quietly.
"No," Seif said. "Except one."
Astra blinked. "Me."
"Correct," Seif replied. "You're the only warrior in our ranks with a unique domain spell capable of being adaptive — enhancing allies, weakening enemies, and holding as an offensive measure. Your Blackstar will need to be active in multiple critical encounters."
Of course it will. Astra felt the weight drop on his shoulders like a second cuirass.
"Very well," he said. "Shroud. Seif. You've both got your own arenas to manage. Spectre should be combat-ready in a few hours. Until then…"
He rolled his shoulders, cracking something painful in the process.
"I'm going to sleep before I collapse and take the ward system with me."
Seif gave a nod. "Rest well, Prince."
"You say that like we won't be under artillery fire in twenty minutes."
Shroud let a ghost of a smile cross her face. "We will be."
Astra gave a lazy salute and turned, making his way toward his quarters. His boots echoed softly down the corridor, the chatter of war plans fading behind him.
His mind wasn't quiet, though. Not even close.
A Herald. A Lord. Specialized domain spells. One curse-bound, one unknown soul-type. And somehow, it was going to be his Blackstar — that bastardized mess of power and shadow — holding the whole siege together.
"Perfect," Astra muttered to himself. "I'm completely fucked."
He needed to get stronger. Fast.