The vault beneath the chapel was colder than the air outside. Stone floor. Iron door. No windows. Just the faint, constant dripping of condensation somewhere in the dark. Mira had been down there three times since sunrise. She didn't know why.
Auren Varik sat with his hands bound at the front, not the back. That had been Governor Larian's one mercy.
"I could have slit your throat when we caught you in the orchard," she said from the far side of the bars.
"You still can."
"Why didn't you surrender sooner?"
He didn't answer at first. His voice came slowly.
"Because I thought I could fix it from the other side."
"And now?"
"Now I think I was just trying to keep my hands clean."
She looked away.
"They'll come today," he said. "You know that, don't you?"
"Yes."
"You could run."
"I've lived here my whole life."
"Doesn't mean you have to die here."
Mira stepped closer to the bars.
"You talk like you know what's going to happen."
"I don't. But I know what they'll try."
She studied him. "And if we win? What then?"
He looked up, for the first time, and something behind his eyes had changed.
"Then you write the story. Not them."
Outside the chapel, the city groaned under the weight of waiting.
Citizens lined the underground stairwells, clutching what little food and water remained. Larian had ordered the chapel and the baker's vaults opened to shelter the vulnerable. Some refused, still convinced Dareth could hold. Others prayed—quietly, desperately, mouths moving without sound.
At the eastern gate, soldiers prepared boiling oil, stone drops, and fire traps. None of it would be enough.
Mira stood above them on the rampart, watching the smoke rise beyond the trees.
A scout approached.
"They're moving," he said. "Half the camp's empty. They're staging near the orchard ridge."
"How many?"
"Too many."
She nodded.
And then walked away.
Down in the vault again, she stared at Auren through the bars.
"Why are you really here?"
"I told you."
"No. The real reason."
He looked at the floor. Then back up.
"I was afraid of surviving."
"What?"
"I watched good men die. Watched worse men get promoted. And I realized… if I survived this war, I'd have to live with what I let happen."
Mira clenched her jaw.
"Then don't think this makes you good."
"It doesn't."
She turned to go.
Before she reached the steps, he spoke again.
"There's a tunnel beneath the chapel."
She stopped.
"I found it in the maps. Collapsed, but only partially. It leads under the market square. You could move people through it. If the wall falls."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because someone needs to get out. Even if it isn't me."
Outside, the drums began.
A slow, methodical beat—Volgrin's signal to advance.
Mira emerged onto the street as the first flame carts rolled into view on the distant hills. The soldiers began to chant. Not loud, but unified. It was less a war cry than a liturgy.
She saw Governor Larian standing on the far wall, expression unreadable, watching smoke curl from the mouths of the enemy's fire sleds.
"Do we give the order to fire?" someone asked.
Larian said nothing.
Then: "No."
The guard blinked. "Sir?"
"We wait."
"For what?"
Larian watched the flames.
"For proof that we were ever human."
Back in the vault, Auren closed his eyes.
He could feel the vibrations now—the dull, slow thump of firewood against gates. The crack of splintering beams. The far-off sound of screams, just beginning.
The stone ceiling trembled slightly.
He thought of Tessan. Of Ilenna. Of the forge. The knife he left behind.
He whispered something to himself. A name.
Then silence.
The wall came down at midday.