Snowkeep trembled.
Stone groaned, frost cracked, and the pitch-black night flashed with a pale crimson hue as the walls surged upward, growing, stretching, thickening.
The Theodosian miracle had begun.
*** Enemy Camp ***
"—My lord! The walls—!"
A young crusader ran through the snow like a madman, slipping as he reached Ilmund's tent. His armor still glowed faintly from the holy blessing, yet his face was pale with fear.
Ilmund stepped out, Raven supported on his arm. The divine fire around him dimmed to faint embers, the ceasefire binding his power's expression.
"What is it?" he snapped.
The soldier pointed, trembling.
"My lord… look!"
Ilmund turned.
And froze.
Snowkeep, that stubborn fortress lodged into the mountainside, had suddenly become… something else entirely. The once modest curtain wall now towered like a bastion of ancient empires. A second layer grew beneath it like the ribs of a colossal beast. A third section hummed with magic.
Triple walls.
