Ash Pov
The night was painted in fire. Alderbrook's walls groaned under the pressure of Kadia's relentless assault. Warlords hurled flaming orbs that shattered towers, and their soldiers swarmed like ants across the breached gates. Our men fought bravely, steel clashing against steel, but the tide pressed heavier with every heartbeat.
"Fall back!" one of our captains shouted, his voice ragged. "Hold the inner square!"
But even I could see it — we were breaking. The enemy had numbers, dark sorcery, and the will to drown us in blood. My staff trembled in my hands, runes blazing as I unleashed a torrent of lightning that scorched the cobblestones and sent men scattering. Nyxara's shadows writhed beside me, devouring the lives of two warlords at once. Yet for every one we felled, five more took their place.
Then, a sound split the chaos.
A horn. Long, deep, and commanding. It came not from the city but from the sea.
I spun toward the harbor — and froze.
Through the smoke, through the night's veil, I saw them: sails. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, white and crimson against the storm. Their masts rose tall as towers, their hulls cutting the waves with purpose. Lanterns glowed like a constellation of stars drifting toward us.
"The fleet…" I whispered, hope blooming like fire in my chest. "The sailors are here."
The first volley struck before the enemy even realized.
BOOM!
Cannon fire ripped through the night, fiery streaks exploding in Kadia's rear lines. Ships lined the harbor, their decks alive with archers loosing flame-tipped arrows that rained like meteors. The water churned as smaller vessels darted forward, their crews hurling grappling hooks and storming the docks.
"TO SHORE!" roared their captain, a scarred giant of a man clad in leather and steel. He swung a cutlass above his head, his voice carrying like thunder. "FOR ELYAS! FOR THE KINGDOM!"
And they came.
Hundreds of sailors poured onto the wharves, blades in hand, shields flashing in the firelight. They hit Zaroth's flank like a hammer striking an anvil. The enemy, once so sure of their victory, now staggered as steel bit into their unguarded side.
The sailors fought like men who had braved storms and lived. Their formation was rough, brutal, but effective: shield walls crashing forward, cutlasses flashing in the gaps, their unity born not from drills but from survival on the seas. They pushed hard, driving Kadia's soldiers back step by step.
Above us, the ships unleashed a second volley. Flaming cannonballs tore into the ground, breaking apart siege engines and scattering enemy mages who had once threatened to bring down the walls.
I raised my staff, my heart pounding. "Ventus Maxima!"
A gale erupted from my hands, catching the sails of the allied fleet. Their ships surged forward with unnatural speed, crashing closer to the docks as if the sea itself carried them. Sailors cheered, voices rolling like waves across the battlefield.
"Together," Nyxara hissed beside me. Shadows leapt from her fingertips, swallowing two warlords in a scream of darkness. "Strike now, Ash!"
I answered with fury. Fire and ice spiraled from my palms, crashing into the enemy lines. The sailors filled the gap, cutting down those stunned by my magic. We fought not as separate groups — but as one. The king's knights, the sailors of the fleet, Nyxara's shadows, and my command of the elements all joined in a single surge of defiance.
And slowly, impossibly… the tide turned.
Magnus fought like a beast, his dark lightning tearing through three men at once, but even he could not stem the crashing wave. I met him head-on, staff blazing, our spells colliding in thunderous bursts that shook the harbor. He staggered, wounded, and Zaroth's smoke swept in to drag him away.
The enemy broke.
Kadia's banners fell, their warlords retreating into the fog of night. Their soldiers threw down their arms, fleeing back into the plains, leaving Alderbrook scarred but standing.
The battlefield grew still. Only the crackle of burning wood and the groans of the wounded remained.
The sailors raised their weapons high, voices booming in unison:
"VICTORY!"
For the first time since the war began, I allowed myself to breathe.
Nyxara stood beside me, her chest heaving, her silver eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. Her shadows retreated, curling back into her like loyal beasts. She looked at me — really looked at me — and the mockery, the playfulness, the walls she always hid behind… were gone.
I stepped closer, my hand brushing the soot from her cheek. She didn't pull away. Instead, she tilted her face toward mine.
In the glow of burning ships and amidst the cheers of victory, I kissed her.
For a heartbeat, there was no war. No Zaroth. No relics or gods or destiny. Only her lips against mine, her shadows curling around us protectively, and the faintest smile breaking against her mouth.
When we broke apart, she whispered, her voice softer than I had ever heard it:
"Looks like you're stuck with me."
And for once, I didn't argue.
THE END.