The wind that carried the refugees into Orleaf tasted of ash and frozen metal.
By the time the first column reached the northern gate, the guards could no longer pretend they were looking at travelers or wandering families. These were people stripped down to the raw shape of survival. Faces gray. Eyes red. Clothes torn by frostbite or ripped by claws. Some walked barefoot on bleeding soles because their boots had frozen and shattered somewhere along the road.
And behind them—always behind them—rose the smoldering bruise of Ostoria's ruin.
Mako Shirusekai stood at the gate as if his spine were holding up the wall itself. Orleaf's mayor, the Archmage Supreme, the man whose spells once lit entire battlefields—yet even he seemed small before the incoming tide.
Lia Shinsei approached first, her cloak stiff with winter dust. Her expression was hollow in a way that left no room for argument.
"They're not stopping here," she said.
Mako blinked hard, almost offended. "We can still fortify. The inner walls, the lower district—Orleaf can hold if we—"
"No," Lia whispered. "It can't."
Her voice carried the weight of every broken line north of here. Mako followed her gaze over the crowd and spotted the familiar faces:
Yoshiya Hazeru leaning heavily on his staff, mana flickering around his fingers in pale, exhausted threads.
Omina Mizuraga walking beside him, supporting him with one arm while her other hand hovered near her blade. Her eyes scanned the rooftops out of instinct, even though she could barely stand.
Anzuyi Bizen drifting like a silent shadow along the alley edges, ready to intercept anything that moved wrong.
Kenji Katsuragi and Sekaku Enteki walking with their bows unstrung but never out of reach.
Yami Kurikage stumbling forward, eyes bloodshot from channeling too many destructive spells in too few days.
Kongo Akihiro and Kiroko Kosha tending to the wounded even as their own hands shook from mana depletion.
Hokuto with Jose supporting a half-frozen child between them.
Mireina Katsumi and Nishi Sayuri carrying crates of hastily packed alchemy supplies—everything that wasn't crushed by collapsing buildings in Reflynne.
And Mako realized something. These warriors… these heroes… were terrified. They weren't marching to save themselves. They were marching to save the ones behind them.
Lia's voice cut through the thick air.
"Defending Orleaf would mean trapping everyone in a box. The enemy force is too large. Too coordinated." She slowly turned her head north. "Ogres. Valerian heavy infantry. Dargath shock units. Three armies moving as one."
Mako's jaw trembled. "You're saying… we abandon the city?"
"No." Lia's eyes softened, though nothing about her expression felt kind. "We let the city serve its last purpose. A crossroads. A passage. A delay."
Mako felt something cold settle in his chest. A truth he had always known would come one day, but hoped would not arrive while he was still breathing.
"And what about you? What about all of you?" he asked quietly.
"Ours is the same purpose," she answered. "Buy time."
The gates opened wider. The guards stepped aside. And the river of refugees flowed straight through Orleaf—children bumping shoulders with exhausted adventurers, mothers shielding infants from falling snow, old men gripping broken weapons only because letting go meant surrendering hope.
The city swallowed them, guiding them along the main street toward the southern exit.
But no one stayed.
Not a single family slipped away toward a house.
Not a single wounded collapsed inside the chapel.
No one asked for food.
No one sought safety.
Mako had never seen fear move this efficiently.
He swallowed hard. "Then… I go with them."
Lia shook her head. "Not yet."
Mako met her eyes, and she let the truth sit between them.
Sometimes the strongest mage is the one who stands alone.
He turned toward the north. Even from here, he could feel the tremors—dozens of boots, the howl of monsters, the distant pulse of magical artillery. Frost crept across the edges of rooftops like advancing roots.
"Then I'll stall them," he murmured.
Lia placed a gloved hand on his arm. "Long enough for the children to reach the forest. No more. No less."
He nodded once.
And then he walked toward the northern street.
---
As the column moved through the main avenue, the adventurers reorganized themselves. Sekaku and Hana Hyakui climbed to the rooftops, ready to fire covering volleys. Kenji Katsuragi checked every quiver in the group, handing out spare arrows like a priest distributing blessings.
"Hit-and-run only," he muttered to Jyurei Miyata, the young archer whose hands trembled just from stringing her bow. "Don't stand still. Don't unstring unless you're sure we've put distance."
Jyurei nodded, jaw tight, eyes shining with fear.
Juweru Kasumura, the rogue, slipped between shadows, planting little traps—tripwires, mana-triggered snares, alchemical spikes—each one a hidden gift for whoever followed behind them.
Hokuto shouted to the refugees, "Stay in the center! Hold formation!" His voice cracked with desperation. He had never expected to guide an entire nation instead of guild supplies.
Seiko Nakahara, the mayor of Reflynne, was almost unrecognizable—drenched, pale, dripping water that steamed on the frozen ground. She had used her magic to thaw the frostbite of over a hundred civilians in the last three hours.
"We're holding… we're holding," she whispered to herself, palms glowing faint blue.
Yoshiya stumbled at the middle of the formation. Omina grabbed his arm instantly.
"You're pushing mana too fast," she muttered.
"If I don't, they freeze," he whispered back.
"You'll collapse."
"I can't collapse yet."
Omina didn't argue. She simply shifted her stance to support him better.
---
The noise came gradually—first a low rumble, then a rising tide of metal scraping metal, then the deep roar of something massive and hungry.
The Valerian army had arrived.
Mako Shirusekai stood alone at the northern entrance of Orleaf, staff glowing with a violent arc of brilliant light. His breath fogged in the air, turning into glittering frost crystals around his mouth.
He had chosen his battleground. He had chosen his last stand.
He raised his staff.
Mana followed.
The air itself warped.
A dome of shimmering force erupted outward, sealing the northern quarter in a sky-colored shield.
And then the Archmage Supreme unleashed everything he had.
Pillars of crackling light rained down like falling comets. The cobblestones beneath him vibrated, then shattered, forming a crater of pure mana discharge. The shockwave staggered the first wave of ogres, flipping them backward like thrown dolls.
Valerian soldiers raised shields, but the storm tore through their formation. Dargath warriors snarled, their feral eyes glowing in anticipation.
Mako didn't breathe. Didn't think.
He cast.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Walls of force bent into spirals. Shards of condensed light split the ground. The sky turned white with the intensity of his power.
But it would not last.
His legs shook.
His vision blurred.
He knew.
Everyone buying time always knew.
"Keep moving," he whispered toward the city behind him. "Keep… moving."
A final explosion shook the entire northern district—blue, white, gold all flashing at once.
And then Mako Shirusekai collapsed with a small, almost peaceful smile.
The enemy tide surged forward.
---
The echoes of Mako's final spell reached the fleeing column like distant thunder.
Lia didn't turn back. None of them did. They only marched faster, grief buried under the urgent need to survive.
When they reached the southern gate and slipped out into the forest path, the city of Orleaf was already roaring with the sound of destruction.
"Keep to the trees," Lia ordered. "Don't stop. Don't scatter. Not yet."
For hours they marched. The sky behind them darkened with fire and frost, blending into a single monstrous bruise above the treeline.
By the time the forest swallowed the last roof of Orleaf, the city was gone.
And the refugees of Ostoria marched into the wild, carrying nothing but exhaustion, loss, and the faintest thread of hope.
A thread that pulled them south—toward Eldoria, the unknown sanctuary where fate waited.
Their homeland had fallen.
But their story had not.