The horn hadn't stopped echoing when Noah was already running.
It wasn't panic — not quite. It was momentum. The kind that starts in the chest and never asks permission.
The night had barely faded. The world still carried that blue hush before dawn, the air sharp enough to sting the lungs. All around him, the Menari were in motion — not chaos, but that strange kind of speed that only happens when everyone knows what's coming and no one wants to say it aloud.
Smoke from the campfires still clung to the valley floor. Boots slapped against packed earth. Orders cut through the chill air in short, clipped bursts.
"Barricade the east path!"
"Bring more rope to the lower ridge!"
"Wake the healers — all of them!"
By the time Noah reached the edge of the longhouse square, Abel was already there, strapping on his armor. The heavy shield rested beside him, pale steel rim catching what little light existed. Cassian was beside him, spear in hand, hair disheveled and still damp from sleep.
"What's happening?" Noah demanded, though he already knew.
Cassian didn't even glance up. "Scouts came down from the ridge. Legion's moving fast — two hours, maybe less."
Abel's voice was calmer, steadier. "We hold the valley entrance. Priestess wants the outer traps armed first."
Noah nodded, forcing himself to breathe evenly. "Then let's move."
The forest at the edge of the village had changed overnight.
Where once the trees whispered with wind and insects, now they stood like sentinels — watching.
The Menari worked beneath them, their movements quick and efficient.
Noah helped where he could. He carried bundles of sharpened stakes to the lower slope, passed ropes, poured oil into clay flasks. Every motion was rhythmic — a beat of preparation, an unspoken drum. The smell of sap and pitch clung to his hands.
He passed a group of women weaving thorn branches into a barrier, their fingers raw but steady. When one of them glanced up, she managed a faint smile.
"For luck," she said, pressing a charm into his hand — a small disc carved with Lada's crescent.
Noah nodded. "We'll need it."
At the ridge, Anya stood with her aides. Even blindfolded, she seemed to see more than anyone. Her voice carried — calm, deliberate.
"The first traps are for feet, not hearts. Make them slow. Make them bleed time, not blood."
Her words were less command than rhythm, and the Menari moved to it.
Noah joined Abel and Cassian near the southern barricade — a line of wagons and felled trees forming a crude wall. Abel tested the stability of a beam, grunted approval, then handed Noah a hammer.
"Here. Make it hold."
"I'm not a carpenter."
"You're a fast learner."
Noah rolled his eyes but hammered the wedge into place, the vibration running through his arms. It felt strange — fighting without magic, without sparks or light. But also grounding. Real.
Cassian was nearby, tightening the rope lines that would trigger oil traps. His sleeves were rolled up, skin glistening with sweat despite the cold.
"Think this will hold?" Noah asked.
Cassian grinned. "Until it doesn't. Then we improvise."
"Great," Noah muttered. "That's reassuring."
Abel's deep voice cut in. "It's realistic."
By the time the first light bled into the valley, the village was ready — or as ready as it could be.
From his position on the slope, Noah could see the world spread out below: forest thickets, broken fields, and the winding path that led through the ravine. It would funnel the Legion perfectly — a narrow choke-point bordered by natural rock. A good defensive position, if they could hold it.
He sat on a fallen trunk, catching his breath. His hands trembled faintly from exertion, though he wasn't sure if it was from fatigue or anticipation.
The air tasted like iron.
Cassian crouched beside him, chewing a strip of dried fruit. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm fine."
"Uh-huh. Your fine face looks a lot like your 'I might throw up' face."
Abel ignored them both, checking the straps on his greaves. "Focus."
"I am focused," Cassian said, but his grin softened the edge. He glanced at Noah. "How's the Zorya flow? You still saving it?"
"Trying to," Noah said. "If they're smart, they'll attack in waves. I can't burn everything in the first one."
Abel nodded approvingly. "Good. Let the traps and archers take the brunt. You strike when it matters."
"I know," Noah said, though inside he didn't feel ready for any of it.
The minutes crawled. The quiet stretched.
Even the birds had gone silent.
Anya's distant chant rolled across the valley like low thunder. The sigils carved on the barricades glowed faintly — not bright enough to dazzle, just enough to remind them that the goddess still watched.
Then the wind shifted.
And with it came the smell — the unmistakable mix of oil, metal, and something burnt.
Abel stood first.
"Positions."
They saw the Legion before they heard them — a shimmer of gold moving through the treeline.
Then came the sound.
Boots. Hundreds of them, synchronized.
The earth itself seemed to drum in time.
"Shields up!" Abel's voice cut across the ranks.
The first soldiers broke from the fog: white and gold armor gleaming, shields raised, their formation tight and mechanical. No battle cries — just precision. They advanced with chilling discipline, stepping over the fallen branches and pits as if they'd rehearsed it.
Arrows whistled from the Menari line. A few found gaps — metal rang, men fell. But most of the shafts bounced harmlessly off the polished armor.
"Now!" Anya's voice rose.
Noah clenched his fists — and the first traps ignited.
Clay flasks burst into flame, spilling oil across the slope. The Legion faltered, shields rising instinctively. That hesitation was enough.
From behind the barricade, Menari slingers loosed volleys of sharp stone. The line of gold fractured slightly.
"Push!" Abel barked, lifting his shield as Cassian darted forward to spear a soldier through the side.
Noah stood just behind them, raising his hand.
Kinetic cards shimmered into existence between his fingers, blue-white and humming. He flicked one forward. It curved through the smoke, struck a shield, and detonated — not lethal, just enough to throw the front rank off balance.
A shockwave rolled across the slope.
Menari cheers followed.
But for every soldier who fell, two more stepped forward.
"They're reforming!" Cassian called, panting.
"I see it," Noah said, pulling another card. His pulse thudded in his ears. He aimed lower this time — at the ground beneath the second rank. The explosion sent mud and roots flying, forcing the soldiers to stumble back into their comrades.
It wasn't victory. But it was time.
And time was worth more than blood.
The first wave broke after twenty minutes — long enough to leave smoke hanging like a curtain and the field littered with bodies and broken shields. The Menari line held. Barely.
Noah's chest heaved. He could feel the ache behind his eyes — the telltale sting of Zorya depletion. Not empty yet. But close.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at Abel and Cassian.
They were alive. Dirty, bruised, but alive.
Cassian grinned. "Told you — easy money."
Abel shot him a look. "Don't jinx it."
The lull that followed wasn't silence. It was worse.
The kind of quiet that makes you hear everything you'd rather not: the whimper of the wounded, the rasp of a dying man's breath, the hiss of fire devouring grass.
Noah moved among the injured, helping drag them behind the second barricade. His hands were slick with blood, though he didn't know whose. A healer pressed a vial into his palm — something bitter, something to keep him from collapsing. He drank it without asking.
"They'll come again," Anya said nearby, her voice thin but steady. "They'll come harder."
Noah looked up at her. Her blindfold was soaked dark at the edges — sweat or blood, he couldn't tell.
"We'll be ready," he said.
"Are you?" she asked quietly.
He hesitated. "I have to be."
She smiled faintly, as if that were the right answer, then turned away to tend to the next group.
The drums began again.
Slower this time. Heavier.
Noah felt it in his bones before he saw them.
The second wave advanced in perfect formation — larger shields, thicker armor, banners carried high. Behind them, shapes flickered — mages, cloaked in sun-gold robes, their hands already glowing.
"Cover!" Abel shouted.
Light flared — precise, controlled bursts of solar magic arcing through the air. Where they struck, wood burst into flame and men screamed.
Noah raised both hands instinctively. The barrier spell — the weave of golden threads he'd practiced. It shimmered to life in front of him, a lattice of faint light. The first blast hit it — cracked the air — and dissipated with a hiss.
He felt it, though. The drain. The threads quivered like taut nerves.
Another blast came — harder. The barrier held but fractured, shards of light breaking off like glass.
"Fall back ten paces!" Abel ordered.
They moved, shields covering, smoke thick around them. Cassian coughed but kept close, guarding Noah's flank.
"I hate mages," Cassian muttered.
"Join the club," Noah said, voice strained.
He flicked another kinetic card, targeting a mage on the ridge. It exploded mid-cast, sending the robed figure sprawling. A small victory, but one that drew a ragged cheer from the Menari nearby.
The Legion pushed again — shields grinding forward, step by brutal step. The barricade splintered under pressure.
"Hold!" Abel's roar cut through everything.
Noah focused what remained of his energy into the ground, using telekinesis to hurl broken planks and stones into the advancing line. It slowed them, bought seconds.
Seconds mattered.
He was shaking by the time the horns of retreat sounded from the Legion's side.
Finally, finally, they were pulling back again.
The battlefield fell into uneasy quiet.
The Menari began tending to the wounded once more, dragging corpses away from the fireline. Noah sank to his knees, his hands trembling violently. His body ached with exhaustion, but his mind still buzzed — too much adrenaline, too much fear disguised as focus.
Cassian dropped beside him, breathing hard. "That's two waves."
"Don't say it like it's done," Abel warned, scanning the horizon.
Noah followed his gaze — and froze.
Far off, beyond the ridge where the forest met the open plain, the light was changing.
Not firelight. Not sunrise. Something purer. Brighter.
It pulsed once, and the ground seemed to hum in answer.
Cassian's grin faltered. "That's… not normal."
Abel's jaw tightened. "No. It's divine."
Anya's voice carried over the wind — hoarse, trembling but resolute.
"The Pillar comes."
Noah felt the words sink into his bones like a chill.
He clenched his fists, drawing what little strength remained.
The Legion was regrouping below, banners raised, forming perfect ranks once more.
Above them, that perfect light flared again — closer now, impossibly bright.
Noah swallowed hard.
"So this is it."
Abel set a hand on his shoulder. "Not yet," he said. "This is just the next wave."
But Noah could see it in his eyes — the same dread, the same truth.
The sky itself began to glow.
And the first echo of the Pillar's arrival rolled across the valley like thunder made of light.