The waves came without mercy.
In the weeks after Lucian's message, the monster waves that had once been seasonal became a constant threat. They came at dawn, at dusk, in the dead of night. They came when the warriors were eating, when the healers were resting, and when the children were playing in the courtyards. There was no rhythm to them, no pattern, no warning beyond the distant glow of the Rift pulsing on the horizon.
The first wave after the second tremor struck three days later. I was in the training yard with Torvin, my sword arm aching, my breath coming in ragged gasps, when the horn sounded. The sound was different now, sharper, more urgent, a cry of desperation rather than warning.
I ran to the walls, my sword in my hand, the ember blazing in my chest. The frozen plain below was dark with movement, a tide of claws and teeth and hunger that seemed to stretch to the horizon.
