“Report the number of casualties at the eastern gate, now!” Arthuria's voice echoed sharply in the room, highlighting the tension that crept among them. She stood in front of the arcane table, her fingers gliding over the lifeless map—a flicker of hope to quell the chaos reflecting in her eyes, filled with weary shadows.

  Lysandra, bow drawn in her hands, lowered her weapon, gazing seriously. A faint aurora shimmered at her fingertips, as if hinting at the power contained within her. “Four gates have been opened, Arthuria. Five, if we include the one in the Hell Valley. The monsters strike relentlessly, like a flood that breaks the dam—this is not just an assault; it is an invasion without mercy.” She swallowed the mud of fear that had settled in her throat.

  Irithya, lost in thought by the stained glass window, felt the darkness outside ensnaring her hopes. “To the south...,” her voice trembled softly, “I witnessed the spiral energy eroding hour by hour. There’s been no reinforcements from Sanctuary. Rinoa, haven’t you heard any news from Nobuzan? Are they in danger?”

  Rinoa furrowed her brow, clutching the tattered journal that was nearly torn in her grip. Her breath caught for a moment, holding the deep-seated anxiety within her chest. “None. The main forces of Gaia lost contact since the first dawn, Arthuria. Our logistics route… it’s completely severed. We are trapped, crushed without hope.” She gazed at Arthuria’s face, her eyes brimming with worry, seeking remnants of belief in her gaze.

  Arthuria traced the map now spread out before her, marked with the defenses of Britannia, each line a bloody red, signifying the simmering tension amidst this struggle. “This isn't merely an enemy attack; it is a war designed to obliterate us. Zaahir intends to encircle us, forcing us to turn on one another before he arrives to finish the slaughter.” Her voice flowed, dissipating the tension in the room, giving a new shape to the remaining hope.

  The terrifying boom of magic and the monster's shriek crashed against the walls, adding to the weight of hidden dread. Black fog crept in through the gaps in the bricks, carrying strange whispers—perhaps broken spells or interrupted prayers, filling the room with a tense atmosphere, as if the darkness itself were drawing closer to them.

  Irithya stepped forward, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “If Zaahir truly descends onto the battlefield, none of us will survive. What is your plan, Arthuria? How can we fight against such power?” She searched for a glimmer of light amid the cacophony of nightmares surrounding them.

  “I refuse to die here like an animal trapped,” Lysandra said, her eyes glowing with determination as she stared fiercely outside, as if challenging the encroaching darkness before her. “Listen, if we retreat, this world will fall into the hands of the Gamma monsters before dawn breaks, and we will not get a second chance.”

  Arthuria took a deep breath, feeling the weight bearing down on her chest. “We will not retreat. Not tonight,” she declared, her voice trembling yet resolute. “But I need every strategy you possess—including the ones you have kept hidden, Irithya. Right now, honesty is imperative.”

  Irithya bit her lip, her face pale as if trapped in dark contemplation. “There is one possibility,” she said slowly, her gaze piercing far into the eastern field. “However… the risks are immense. If I divert the spiral power from the tower’s core to the eastern field, our defense within will be in crisis. We will only manage to hold out for a few hours before the main wall collapses.”

  Rinoa stared at Irithya, anxiety surging within her chest. “Are you certain that’s the only way? Even if we fail, there will be no retreat. All of this might end in ruin.”

  With a grim expression, Irithya gave a weak nod. “I understand. Yet the world out there has plunged into eternal darkness. All that remains is our resolve to endure.”

  Lysandra stepped toward the door, pausing for a moment to glance back with raised eyebrows. “If only Fitran were here, he would have devised a brilliant plan to turn the tide. Why did he have to vanish at this very moment…?”

  The silence felt electric, filling the space with the echoing tick of the magical clock, creating a tense atmosphere that was almost tangible. Their faces were cloaked in shadow, every second ticking away deepening the unease that hung in the air.

  Arthuria lowered her head, her fingers trembling as they gripped her own arms. “I am not Fitran. He possesses a power I will never hold. Yet, I do not wish to surrender to the fate of Gamma that has betrayed us.”

  Rinoa stepped forward, gazing deeply into Arthuria's eyes in search of trust. “You are not alone, Arthuria. Fitran once taught me a profound lesson: miracles are not merely events waiting to happen. Miracles must be forged, not merely witnessed.”

  Irithya took a deep breath, her voice trembling, reflecting the fear gnawing at her heart. “Arthuria, I... I am truly afraid. Every night, nightmares haunt me, as if everything is but an illusion. Yet, when I open my eyes, all I find is darkness and an oppressive silence.” With a pained look, she lowered her head, feeling the heavy burden of anxiety pressing upon her soul.

  Arthuria gently lifted Irithya's chin, forcing her to look up and meet her gaze. “You are not alone, Irithya. We are all here with you. None of us will face this dark night alone. Do you know why Zaahir has always failed to conquer the human world?” Her voice was sincere, slightly tilted to the side, revealing the depth of her concern.

  Irithya shook her head slowly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. “I don’t know... perhaps it’s because we are all too weak?” She replied, her tone barely audible, reflecting the deep doubts in her heart.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “No,” Arthuria asserted firmly, her eyes blazing with fervor. “Because humans always find reasons to endure, even in their darkest moments. And tonight, that reason is us.” With a resolute gaze, Arthuria glanced toward her friends one by one, emphasizing the bond that united them. She made sure their eyes met, reigniting the spark of determination that had nearly been extinguished.

  Lysandra, standing beside her, furrowed her brow, her expression tainted with bitterness. “So, what is your command, Queen? Should we press forward to confront those shadows, or retreat and admit defeat?” Her voice struck sharp, conveying skepticism while mingling with a hint of genuine respect.

  Arthuria gripped the hilt of her sword tightly, a part of her soul striving to maintain its courage despite the rumbling vibrations outside the fortress heralding a terrible threat. “Prepare yourselves, ready all magical and mechanical divisions. Lysandra, lead Aurora to the west. Rinoa, I need all healers—do not let our medical line break. Irithya, activate all defensive runes, even if it means we must burn every last crystal reserve we have.” Her voice rang out with firmness and fervor, though it was impossible to hide the slight tremor behind her leadership's tone, aware of just how high the stakes were this night.

  The citadel of Britania, once grand with its striking white towers and majestic banners flying high, now resembled a massive grave. Smoke and black mist enveloped the tops of the towers, casting a dismal shadow over the torchlight that was meant to illuminate the world. Every corridor bustled with soldiers—some praying fervently for hope, others clutching their weapons as if they were the only thing standing between them and the abyss, while some simply bowed their heads in silence, holding back the fear gnawing at their souls. Outside the walls, the shadows of colossal monsters moved slowly through the fog and flames, drawing ever closer, instilling a sense of terror that clung to every heart.

  Rinoa let out a long sigh, her voice nearly caught in the oppressive silence. "If we fail tonight," she gazed at her friends, her eyes shimmering with fear, "who will remember our names come morning? Who will safeguard our memories in this darkness?"

  Irithya offered a faint smile, yet her eyes shone with sincerity, dampened by unshed tears. "At least we fight," she said, extending her hand to clasp Rinoa's, "better to die here, amidst this brave battle, than to live without meaning, trapped beneath the cruel dominion of Zaahir." The tone of her voice carried conviction, though anxiety was unmistakably reflected in her face.

  Lysandra drew an arrow from her quiver, its tip gleaming in a shade of blue that mirrored hope's hindrance. "I was born under the rain of Aurora's arrows," she declared firmly, her hand quivering with fervor, "my fate has been sealed to die beneath that same light. Let not doubt transform me into a coward's ghost. Do not allow my name to be etched in history as a traitor, Fitran!" With her bold demeanor, her body radiated determination, every fiber of her muscles seemingly infused with the courage long buried within.

  Arthuria offered a faint smile, yet within her gaze lay a profound longing. "If I fall tonight," her voice carried a resolve that pierced my soul, "you know what you must do. Do not wait for me—lead them out. If even one soul survives, our world still has a glimmer of hope." She stood tall, though her heart trembled, weighed down by the burden of responsibility that seemed eternally etched within her spirit.

  From the main tower, the trumpet of magic wailed, its sound echoing as if challenging the silence of the night. It was a signal, a declaration that the awaited enemy assault was about to commence. The fortress walls shuddered under the pressure, and the vast shadow of a monster emerged, slowly advancing toward them, cloaking the sky in a thick darkness that suffocated the air. Dark magic swirled like a storm, each gust of wind carrying whispers of inevitable catastrophe.

  In the midst of darkness, Zaahir's voice echoed, shattering the silence within the narrow corridors, “Prepare yourselves, mortals. The dawn of your world has been extinguished. Only darkness remains, and tonight, I rewrite history in the name of Gamma." His tone was so haughty, piercing and resounding, filling the space with a dangerous aura that shook the hearts of every listener.

  Arthuria clenched her hands tightly, whispering to herself, “We will prove them wrong…” She gazed straight ahead, conviction etched deeply within her soul, “even at the brink of this ruin, humanity still has the right to dream…” Hope flickered within her, though shadows of panic attempted to creep in.

  Lysandra moved swiftly, preparing her division. "Time does not favor us; everyone must be ready!" she shouted, her voice radiating firmness and authority. Irithya rushed toward the spell control room, her breath coming in gasps, and her face showed deep concern. Rinoa led the healers to the front lines, her gaze meticulously surveying the surroundings. "Prepare our finest healing spells. They need us desperately," she declared, her spirit ablaze even as her heart trembled. Arthuria remained in the strategy room, her eyes fixed on the map now adorned in crimson—each shade depicting the fall of her comrades in battle. Yet, the fire of her determination still burned, shining brightly behind her hopeful gaze.

  Irithya stood at the threshold, stifling her sobs with a hand over her mouth, her cries barely contained. “If we do not meet again by morning, I…” her words faltered, tears streaming down her cheeks, “forgive all my mistakes, Arthuria. I want you to know, I have always believed in you.”

  Arthuria regarded her, reflecting a sincerity seldom seen upon her face. Her voice was soft, as if seeking to soothe the storm raging within Irithya. “There is nothing to forgive, Irithya. Hold on,” she whispered, underscoring the importance of hope. “This world still needs you, more than you realize.”

  Outside, the sky had never been this dark; shadows obscured the stars, and the wind whirled up dust from the battlefield. Even on the nights of battles past, it had never felt this heavy. The Gamma monster growled, its voice echoing as if it arose from the bowels of the earth, while the thundering of footsteps mingled with the sound of magic resounding across the plains. Yet within the fortress, the small flame of human resolve—love, regret, vengeance, and hope—still flickered, fueled by the relentless effort to remain alight, despite the world having been torn from their grasp.

  Rinoa turned to Arthuria before stepping away, gazing at her with intense focus. “You know, Fitran once said… ‘Darkness can only win when humanity stops holding on to one another.’” Her voice softened, seemingly drawing strength from that statement. “Don’t let me see you alone tonight, Arthuria. You must fight.”

  Arthuria nodded, her eyes burning with unwavering resolve. “I promise, Rinoa. I will not walk alone.” Her words emerged with a trembling intensity, hinting at a determination that could not be broken.

  And the night fully descended, bringing war, bringing destruction—and bringing their last resolve that refused to succumb to darkness. Each breath was filled with threat, and each footstep echoed like the battle song that would forever be etched in their memories.