Year 14,999 BCE – Cycle 6, Month 3
The war room of Westfield Keep was a place of ordered chaos. Maps and carved markers crowded the great table, their positions shifting with every report that came in from the outer watchtowers. The smell of hot wax and damp parchment hung in the air, mingling with the faint tang of foxfire from the lanterns.
Aleric West stood at the head of the table, one hand braced on the oak surface, the other tracing the route of the Duskford River. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of iron.
"We hold the bridge," he said. "If Duskford falls, we lose the lifeline to the southern territories. Without that, we'll be feeding Westfield off winter stores before spring."
Lady Maeryn West leaned forward, tapping a carved marker shaped like a tower. "The bridge's wardstones haven't been recharged in two years. If the wolves bring lightning mages, the wards will collapse in minutes."
Aleric's gaze shifted to her. "Then recharge them. Strip the enchantments from the old city gates if you must. I don't care if the front court is bare."
In the corner, General Torrek Duskbane, the towering warebear, rumbled in his low voice. "My troops can hold the southern bank for three days if the wards hold. Any longer, we'll need reinforcements."
Selene stood apart from the council, her hands folded in her sleeves. She had said little since arriving, but her silver eyes never left the map. When Aleric dismissed the generals, she approached the table, her voice quiet.
"They will not stop at the bridge," she said. "This is only the first test. They are measuring your strength — and your will to defend those boys."
Aleric studied her for a long moment. "They are my sons, Selene. No measure exists that will find me wanting."
She didn't reply, but her gaze lingered on the map, tracing the distant curve of the Highlands. Her blood knew what her tongue would not yet speak — this war would not burn out quickly.
That night, Westfield did not sleep. Armor was mended, arrows were fletched, and foxfire oil was poured into the siege braziers. In the nursery, the twins stirred in their cots, their dreams restless beneath the moonlight. Somewhere in the dark, the river whispered its endless song, carrying the scent of battle down from the north.
At dawn, the horns would sound again.