"Archers!"

  Sheng stood clad in armor of white steel, masterfully crafted by the artisans of Jinqi. The suit was light yet resilient, capable of turning blades and common arrows alike. He wore no helm; instead, a whimsical monkey-tail cap sat upon his head. Sheng was the Supreme Commander of Fort No. 3, one of the five massive bastions guarding the eastern frontier of the Yi Ti Empire.

  At his command, thousands of archers lining the ramparts of Fort No. 3 drew their bowstrings in unison. Sharp arrowheads glinted under the afternoon sun. A heavy silence descended, broken only by the rhythmic thumping of the recruits' hearts.

  "Steady, lad," an old archer muttered to a young soldier of eighteen, who had joined the corps only a month prior. This was the boy’s first taste of true combat after weeks of training.

  "Hold!" Sheng bellowed, his focus absolute as he glared toward the Land of the Shrykes. In the distance, a low vibration began to shudder through the earth. The tremors traveled up the obsidian-black walls of the fort, causing the three-hundred-meter-high structure to groan.

  The rumbling grew louder, echoing from behind small mountains—or rather, massive mounds of earth. Across the blighted land of the Shrykes, skeletons and corpses littered the ground. Among the wreckage lay human remains mixed with grotesque bones of species that did not belong to the world of men.

  Then, with a roar of sand and dust, thousands of monsters with human bodies and lion heads came screaming toward the walls. Their forms were covered in thick fur, their leonine heads grafted onto muscular human frames. Their arms were twice, thrice the size of a normal man's, and their legs—though undeniably feline—were gargantuan.

  "Loose!" Sheng snarled, drawing a silver blade. Its hilt was intricately inlaid with traditional Yi Ti patterns, and from its pommel dangled a red cord braided like a monkey's tail.

  The air hissed with the sound of arrows tearing through the wind: Vee, vee, vee. Following closely were the ear-piercing shrieks of the lion-men as the shafts buried themselves in flesh. Many fell, but they showed no fear.

  Terrifying roars continued to erupt as the army of thousands surged toward the fort, making the very ground tremble.

  "Full volley!" Sheng leaped onto the parapet, waving his sword. Thousands of archers notched their arrows and aimed skyward at a perfect angle. Pang... vish! The arrows soared high, arcing gracefully before falling like a torrential rain of steel.

  Again, thousands of arrows slammed into the horde at the base of the fort, followed by more agonized howls.

  Thud... thud... Hammer-like blows shook the entire structure. The monsters had reached the walls and were now battering the steel gates—massive portals over a meter thick, heavily reinforced.

  Inside, the soldiers watched the gates vibrate violently, their hearts racing despite the strength of the steel.

  "Pour the oil!" Sheng snatched off his monkey-tail cap, tucked it into his armor, and shoved through the ranks toward the massive, bubbling vats.

  Dozens of giant cauldrons were pushed toward funnels built into the walls. Half-naked soldiers, drenched in sweat from the blistering heat of the vats and the furnaces below, strained to turn the wooden cranks. The cauldrons tilted slowly, then emptied their boiling contents into the waiting maws. The hot oil cascaded like a flood from the murder holes, pouring down onto the monsters gathered below.

  The sound of boiling oil hitting flesh was like meat searing in a pan. Deafening, pathetic shrieks filled the air.

  Sheng leaned over the battlements. A scorched, acrid stench rose with pillars of white smoke. The monsters had suffered heavy losses and began to retreat.

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  "Cavalry, pursuit!" Sheng signaled.

  Creak... groan... The heavy iron gates ground open. Then came the thunder of hooves as over two thousand heavy cavalrymen, armored from head to toe, charged out on aggressive warhorses. They brandished broad-bladed sabers, their edges thin and razor-sharp.

  In an instant, the cavalry caught the retreating horde. They tore into the disorganized lion-men, their sabers whistling as they hacked downward. Blood sprayed like fountains; heads, limbs, and tufts of fur flew into the air with every pass of the blades.

  Some of the monsters turned to fight back. Horses shrieked in panic as the creatures lunged. One monster, standing nearly two meters tall, caught a charging rider, yanked him from his saddle, and tore the luckless soldier in half with ease. Before it could even roar in triumph, its own head was sent spinning into the air by another rider’s blade.

  The wounded horde retreated deep into the Land of the Shrykes as quickly as they had attacked.

  "Halt! Break off the pursuit!" Jiyai, the cavalry commander, raised his blade to the sky, reining in his aggressive stallion.

  The troop skidded to a stop, the clatter of gear and the angry stomping of hooves filling the air.

  "Fall back!" Jiyai signaled for the retreat. Before him, an ethereal, shimmering mist had begun to form.

  Jiyai had led the cavalry for over ten years. He was intimately familiar with these skirmishes. Even with his eyes closed, he knew exactly where to stop. One did not pursue too deeply into the Shryke lands; you never knew what waited in the dark. These lion-headed beasts were mere pawns. The experience of generations of commanders dictated one simple rule: turn back when you see the mist.

  But today, Jiyai felt something different. A sense of dread and weakness washed over him, terrifying a veteran of a hundred battles.

  A cold, biting wind blew out from the mist. It carried a taste Jiyai had never known: it was damp, piercing, and freezing. Jiyai’s heart hammered. Even his brave warhorse seemed spooked, its hooves dancing nervously as it tried to turn back toward the fort.

  The entire cavalry unit shared his unease. Ice-cold winds—winds that belonged only in the frozen North—blew from the shifting fog.

  "Retreat! Urgent retreat!" Scenting mortal danger, Jiyai screamed. The unit scrambled to turn around. With two thousand riders trying to pivot at once, chaos ensued. Horses collided, tangling with one another and worsening the panic.

  The wind grew stronger, carrying flecks of pure white snow. A few men began to weep. They knew that out here, in the Land of the Shrykes, any horror could descend upon them at any moment.

  Apost the battlements, Sheng and his men squinted into the distance at the chaotic cavalry.

  "What the hell is going on?" Sheng shouted.

  "Sound the recall!" an old soldier urged.

  The alarm bells clanged frantically. The rear of the cavalry line had already begun to flee back in terror. The bottleneck was finally breaking as the riders galloped toward the gates.

  "Fast! Faster!" Jiyai was truly terrified. He could find no clear path as thousands of his men crowded behind him.

  Suddenly, the mist began to crawl toward them. Jiyai watched it, his body trembling, his hands feeling as though they were freezing solid.

  From the walls, Sheng watched in awe as the mist slowly crested the mounds and the road. It had sat there for years—perhaps since the Five Forts were first built—but today, it was advancing. It was something he had never seen.

  "What is this?" A young soldier reached out to catch a white speck falling gently from the sky. "It's snow. Is it actually snowing?" another soldier asked, looking up as thousands of flakes drifted down onto the fort.

  Sheng had never seen snow either. He was born in Jinqi, a coastal city of the Yi Ti Empire, a land of sun, wind, and sea. This was the first time he had ever witnessed a snowfall.

  "Close the gates and light the signal fires." A soft, captivating voice spoke into Sheng’s ear. He jumped and turned.

  Soldiers were parting to let a woman through. She wore a dress as red as a roaring fire. She walked to Sheng’s side, placing a gentle hand on the cold stone of the wall while staring into the mist.

  "High Priestess Nura!" Sheng bowed.

  Nura nodded, her eyes fixed on the fog.

  "Close the gates! Light the signal towers!" Sheng roared the order.

  Moments later, a massive column of smoke billowed from the summit of the great tower of Fort No. 3. Soon, the other four forts followed suit, sending giant black plumes into the sky. It had been an age since the Five Forts last used their signal fires.

  "The darkness has returned, from the Wall in the North to the Five Forts of Yi Ti. The Dark Lord is rising. An Eternal Night will cover Westeros, Essos, Sothoryos, and Ulthos. Dragonriders shall bring the glory of the Light back and plunge Lightbringer through the heart of the dark," High Priestess Nura whispered toward the mist, which had now reached the base of the fortress walls.

  "Dragonriders? Lightbringer?" Sheng muttered her words, his eyes wandering toward the Bleeding Sea. A look of sheer terror crossed the veteran commander's face. For the first time in his life, Sheng felt as though Death was standing right next to him.