The dawn stretched across the walls of Fortis like gray silk. In the distance, the wind carried the muffled murmur of the mountains, and in the courtyards of the barracks, the soldiers were already beginning their routine: marching, training, synchronized steps echoing against the metallic ground. Everything seemed… normal.
Pablo watched from the main tower. He wore a light cloak, and the pale gleam of the sun reflected in his tired eyes. Around him, the air smelled of old gunpowder and freshly baked bread—a mix of war and home.
Below, Mikel crossed the courtyard with his uniform half-unbuttoned and a folder under his arm. He was talking with two lieutenants, laughing at something one of them had said. His voice sounded firm but relaxed, like someone who had survived too many battles to fear another one.
When Pablo saw him climb the stairs to the tower, he couldn't help but smile—barely a gesture, small, but real.
"You're going to break your back if you keep carrying those reports by yourself," said the king, without taking his eyes off the horizon.
"And you're going to break your head if you keep staring at the sky," replied Mikel, setting the folder on the makeshift table. "You expecting a divine sign to fall, or do you just enjoy complicating your life?"
Pablo let out a brief laugh.
"Depends on the day. Today… I think I'm just trying to understand why the wind changed direction."
Mikel looked at him, curious.
"Since when do you notice things like that?"
"Since the air started smelling like iron."
For a moment, neither spoke. Outside, a soldier blew a trumpet, marking the start of the guard shifts. The sound bounced off the walls and dissolved among the clouds.
Mikel sat on a supply crate, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You're worrying more than usual. There haven't been reports of enemy movement for weeks."
"And that's the problem," Pablo replied calmly. "When an enemy stays silent that long, it's because they're preparing something."
Mikel smiled faintly, though his gaze softened.
"Or maybe they just got tired of losing."
Pablo glanced sideways at him.
"Would you ever get tired of fighting?"
"Only if war took away something worth more than victory."
The silence that followed was different. Not awkward, not distant—just… heavy, filled with a quiet understanding. Pablo turned toward him, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to say something more, but a sudden gust of wind interrupted, scattering the papers across the table.
The sound of vibrating metal spread through the tower. It was brief—barely a tremor in the air—but enough to make them both look north.
"Did you hear that?" asked Mikel, standing up.
"Yes…" Pablo frowned. "Like thunder, but the sky's clear."
A soldier came running up the stairs, breathing heavily.
"Your Majesty! Sergeant! The lookouts report an anomaly on the aerial radar. They say it might be interference, but—"
Pablo raised a hand for him to stop.
"Easy. Tell them to check the alternate channel. We don't raise alarms without confirmation."
The soldier nodded and ran off.
Mikel crossed his arms, staring again at the horizon.
"Interference. They always say that before something happens."
Pablo nodded slowly.
"That's why I want to be ready… without spreading fear too soon."
The wind blew again, colder now. In the distance, a flock of birds rose from the forest as if fleeing from something invisible.
Mikel noticed.
"Birds don't fly like that for no reason."
"I know," said Pablo, almost in a whisper. "But whatever it is… let it come. Fortis has endured before."
Silence returned. Both stood before the great window, looking at the sky.
It was just another calm.
Or perhaps, the last breath before the fire.
The silence grew thicker. Even the wind dared not move.
Then came the sound—
A low, metallic hum, not from the ground but from the sky.
Pablo lifted his head immediately.
Mikel, without waiting for orders, ran to the edge of the tower and raised his binoculars. What he saw made his jaw tighten.
"…That's not interference," he murmured.
Far away, beyond the hills, a line of dark dots slid in formation, almost imperceptible against the dawn. But the reflection of the sun betrayed them—metal wings. Aircraft.
"By the heavens…" whispered Pablo, lowering his gaze to the courtyard. "Sound the alarm! Now!"
The blare of the siren tore through the air a second later.
The soldiers in the yard froze, the metallic echo of their boots ringing between the walls. Officers began shouting orders, chaos erupting like fire.
"To the defense posts! Everyone take cover!"
"Get the wounded to the bunker! Move, move!"
Mikel ran down the stairs behind Pablo, dodging soldiers rushing in the opposite direction. The sky was already roaring. It wasn't thunder—it was the growl of engines loaded with death.
In the courtyard, gunners rotated turrets and activated electromagnetic shields. But before the defense could fully rise, the first projectile fell.
The explosion threw up dirt, fire, and bodies.
The ground shook, windows shattered, and a collective scream tore through the base.
Pablo fell to his knees, covering himself with one arm as the smoke enveloped him. Mikel grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back.
"Your Majesty, this way!" he shouted, his voice ragged from the roar. "The cathedral bunker!"
The king nodded without argument.
Both ran through the flames, dodging the remains of a burning transport. The air smelled of molten metal and fear. The roar of enemy engines circled above like a pack of beasts.
As they advanced, a group of soldiers spotted them and joined, shielding Pablo with energy barriers that flickered under the overload.
"Move! Move!" shouted Mikel. "Protect the king!"
Another bomb hit nearby. The blast wave threw them against a wall. Pablo felt the air leave his chest, but Mikel was already over him, covering him with his body, arms outstretched.
The impact passed. Dust, smoke, silence…
For a few seconds, only their racing heartbeats could be heard.
"Are you all right?" asked Mikel, voice hoarse.
"Yes…" Pablo coughed, pulling himself up. "But we can't stay here."
They rose, half-blinded by smoke, and pressed on until they reached the underground entrance of the cathedral, where a group of officers struggled to calm the panic among civilians and the wounded.
The reinforced door opened slowly, as more soldiers descended the stairs.
The sound of bombs grew nearer, more deafening.
Mikel took the lead, helping a nurse lower an improvised stretcher.
Pablo, still covered in ash, looked up at the open sky one last time before going down.
The clouds burned.
Fortis, the invincible, was in flames.
When the bunker door closed behind them, the roar outside was drowned out.
Only heavy breathing, the moans of the wounded, and the faint flicker of emergency lights remained.
Pablo leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath.
Mikel approached, his face blackened, his hands trembling.
"Your Majesty…" he said between gasps. "If that was just the first wave… I don't know if the base will hold another."
Pablo looked at him steadily, his gray eyes reflecting the red glow of the generator.
"We'll hold. Not because we can… but because we have no choice."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Both knew what that meant.
A soldier burst in from the adjoining corridor, his face pale.
"The north tower's down! There are people trapped under the rubble! We need reinforcements!"
Mikel straightened immediately.
"I'm going with them."
Pablo extended a hand to stop him.
"No. You're not going alone."
Mikel stared at him, surprised.
"Your Majesty, with all due respect, you should stay here."
The king shook his head firmly.
"Not this time. Not while my people are out there."
And without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a flashlight from the wall and moved into the dark corridor.
Mikel followed, heart pounding, knowing that something in that decision would change everything.
The corridor was narrow and coated in dust.
Smoke leaked through the cracks in the ceiling, and the emergency lights flickered as if the air itself trembled.
Pablo and Mikel moved through the ruins, accompanied by three soldiers and a nurse barely able to hold her respirator.
The echo of explosions sounded farther away now, as if the world were about to collapse beneath their feet.
"This way," ordered Mikel, pushing aside debris with the butt of his rifle.
A weak moan made them stop.
Beneath a fallen panel, a trembling hand reached out, covered in blood and ash.
The soldiers rushed to lift the wreckage. The body of a young sub-officer appeared amid the dust; he was still breathing, barely.
"Stay with us!" shouted the nurse, trying to stop the bleeding with a strip of cloth.
Pablo knelt, holding the young man's head.
His eyes barely stayed open.
"Your Majesty…" he whispered, voice broken. "I… saw it… they were our drones… our…"
The sentence dissolved into a gasp.
Then, silence.
Mikel frowned.
"What did he mean, 'our drones'?"
Pablo didn't answer. He stood slowly, gaze fixed on the lifeless body.
Outside, a stronger roar shook the walls.
"Let's get back to the bunker," he said finally, voice low but firm. "We can't lose more people here."
As they walked back, Mikel noticed that Pablo's expression had changed.
It wasn't fear. It was something else—a suspicion.
When they finally sealed the hatch behind them, the noise outside faded again.
Inside, the emergency lights kept flickering. Several civilians cried quietly. A child sobbed in his mother's arms.
Pablo sank onto a metal bench.
Mikel, beside him, wiped the dried blood from his arm with a rag.
The silence stretched too long.
Mikel looked up, studying the king.
"I don't like that look," he muttered. "You're thinking about something."
Pablo didn't deny it.
"If that soldier was right, it means someone inside Norgalia tampered with the defense systems."
"You're saying this was internal?" Mikel asked, incredulous.
"I'm saying…" Pablo clenched his fist. "Someone's using our own weapons against us."
Mikel ran his hands through his hair, exhausted.
"That's impossible… Fortis drones are under triple encryption, linked to the central ring. No one could—"
Pablo cut him off, looking straight at him.
"Except someone with direct access to the ring's code."
Both fell silent.
Only the faint hum of the generator and the strained breaths of the wounded filled the air.
"So there's a traitor," Mikel whispered.
"Not just any traitor," Pablo replied. "Someone high up."
Mikel gritted his teeth.
For a moment, rage overtook him and he slammed his fist against the metal wall, leaving his hand dusted with gray.
"Why now, right after the reconstruction? Why when everything finally seemed…?" He stopped. Didn't finish the thought.
Pablo watched him quietly. Then he spoke, slowly:
"Because calm always comes before judgment, Mikel.
And I think ours has just begun."
The silence that followed weighed heavier than any explosion.
The king lowered his head, weary. Mikel sat beside him without a word.
Smoke still seeped through the vents in the ceiling, but for the first time all night, it felt as though the world had paused for a single breath.
Pablo inhaled deeply.
"When this is over… if it ever ends… I want you to investigate the ring's code yourself. I don't trust anyone else."
"Not even the commanders?" Mikel asked.
Pablo looked at him, eyes dim.
"Not even them."