Chapter 115 They Are At The Gate Part 2
As if on cue, the first Ironclaw troops broke formation and sprinted for the wall. Grappling hooks soared, catching on the frost-rimed stone. In the rush, Daisy's breath caught. For a heartbeat, the whole world paused. She noticed a flake of stone, chipped loose long ago and embedded with the faded scrawl of a child's initials, half-hidden beneath the ice. For one blink, it was just a wall—worn, human, marked by lives lived before this siege. That quiet recognition sharpened suddenly into urgency as the attackers drew closer. The stillness shattered. Daisy jammed both palms to the sigils and forced her blood to answer. The runes ignited, a strip of heat so intense it made the air shimmer. Every hook that touched the wall sizzled, melted, and fell. Two soldiers lost their hands to the burn and plummeted back into the mist.
But the second wave climbed over the bodies. One got within ten feet of the parapet before a falling stone struck him down. The defenders, a mix of kids from the old city, riverhands, and the last of Brightwater’s noble guard, held the line with desperate discipline.
Daisy didn’t know any of their faces, only the haunted look in their eyes. They had already accepted they might die. Her blood magic was the only thing keeping them on their feet. As she pressed her palm to the runes, she caught a hurried whisper behind her. "We hold because of her," muttered a young guard named Tolen, his lopsided helmet slipping over one brow as he tightened his grip on a battered pike, knuckles white with nerves. Next to him stood Mara, an older woman distinguished by a midnight-blue sash frayed at the ends, the insignia of the city’s river patrol barely visible. Mara’s gaze flickered to Daisy, her weathered face set with both worry and determination. "I don't know how much longer we can do this," she said, voice trembling, "but the wall stands as long as the chain holds. Maybe that's enough."
Their faith and fear slid into Daisy's bones, and she felt the weight of the city gather around her, every heartbeat echoing between the stones. For a moment, the knowledge of their trust pressed hard against the knot of fear inside her. She wanted to tell them she was scared too, that her hands were shaking not just from exhaustion but from the thought of failing them, of letting the last hope of Brightwater slip. Their belief in her was almost as terrifying as the enemy below, a burden and a lifeline at once. She wondered if her strength would last, or if their faith was a thread stretched too thin. But as she felt their eyes on her, Daisy forced herself to stand a little taller, grit building in her chest alongside the fear. If they needed her hope, she would find it, even if she had to remake it from pieces inside herself.
A sharp whistle sounded from the Ironclaw’s side. The masked Veilseekers stepped forward, staves pointed skyward.
“Brace yourself,” Xeris warned. “This will hurt.”
The air bent inward. Daisy’s ears popped. A thread of sound, impossibly thin, wound through her wards and pierced her right behind the eye. She screamed and nearly lost consciousness. The world flickered to white.
“Daisy!” Xeris’s voice, ragged for once.
She fought back, digging nails into the stone, channeling pain into the chain. Through the haze, she saw the silver staves churning, summoning a vortex that spun with the force of a hurricane. The null pulses ripped through the air, battering the wall at five points at once.
“Get down!” Xeris roared.
She refused. Instead, she tore open the blood ward at her chest, letting the city’s leyline surge through her like a flooding river. For a moment, she felt split apart. Her heartbeat, magic, and will unraveled until she was nothing but raw force and memory, a sharp tang of iron on the dawn air. She remembered the first time she touched the runes, when her blood and the old stones seemed to shiver together, almost as if they could dissolve into something brighter. Now, she was only energy, echoing that first moment but changed and much more dangerous. Her bones felt like the old wall, her nerves like the sigil tracks, her skull like the city itself.
The backlash nearly killed her. But it bought a second’s grace.
Above, the first glimmer of sunlight touched the city’s highest spire. The mist parted, just long enough for Daisy to spot Oliver Greenfield on the field below.
He darted between the enemy ranks, using his shadow veil to appear and disappear like a trick of memory. Each time, he landed a cut—hamstring, throat, elbow—then flickered away before anyone could react. He moved with impossible speed, but Daisy saw the blood darkening his coat and the way he winced when he turned too quickly. He was hurt. For a moment, she remembered the first time she found him, barefoot and hungry in the ash fields beyond the city, refusing help with the same stubborn pride he showed now. Oliver had always been hard to save, too used to running alone. That defiant streak made him a reckless fighter and kept Daisy worrying about him.
On his third loop, he glanced up and caught Daisy’s gaze. Their eyes locked. He flashed her a grin—cocky, terrified, alive. Then he vanished again, diving under the battering ram as it rolled toward the eastern gate.
“Time’s up,” Xeris said.
He stepped to the edge of the parapet and, in a single motion, shrugged off his borrowed skin. The transformation was instant. One moment, a man; the next, a dragon, wings slicing the air with a detonation of heat and pressure. The city wall trembled. Daisy braced herself against the shockwave, feeling the city’s fear and awe spike like lightning through the chain.
The Ironclaw soldiers broke ranks at the sight. Even the Veilseekers hesitated.
Xeris took advantage of the moment. He swept the field with fire, not the gentle orange of a woodstove, but a molten, blinding gold that turned stone to glass and men to ash. The smell was overwhelming.
Daisy struggled to her feet, holding onto the ward. She felt the toll of every spell in her bones. Her fingers were raw, her teeth loose. But the wall still stood.
Below, Oliver reappeared at the edge of the kill zone, dragging a wounded girl in a Brightwater sash. He looked up again. Daisy raised her hand in salute. He did the same.
A new line of Ironclaw soldiers advanced, some carrying shields with the daisy symbol, others holding heavy black rods. Daisy watched them closely, noticing how the shield bearers dropped into place at exact spots along the wall. She realized they were mapping out the weakest sigil points, moving clockwise from the battered north tower. The Ironclaw had learned from every failed attack. Daisy’s mind locked onto their strategy, watching for changes and guessing where the next strike would hit.
The Ironclaw had learned. Now, they only moved where the chain-breaker shields could weaken the sigils. Daisy watched as the first soldiers dropped their rods into the dirt and twisted them, sending out a wave of negative energy. The ground at their feet died, grass turned black, and moss shriveled to ash. The effect crept up the wall, dimming the runes wherever it touched.
Daisy tried to fight back, but the chain was already weak. Blood ran from her nose, and her vision filled with spots of light.
The Veilseekers picked that moment to strike again. This time, instead of a null, they unleashed a binding. Silver chains of magic spun up from the staves, snaked through the air, and latched onto Xeris mid-flight. Daisy had heard rumors about the Veilseekers—how they were rumored to serve not just the Ironclaw, but the restless spirits that haunted the old empire, determined to unmake anything that defied their order. Their bindings were more than weapons; they hungered for power, and the Veilseekers sought to claim Brightwater's strongest magic for themselves, whatever the cost. He howled in anger and pain, the force of it shaking the city to its roots. The chains tried to pin his wings, to drag him earthward.
Daisy felt the pull in her own muscles. The magic that threaded her body tightened and burned, each vein pulled taut like a length of iron wire. For a heartbeat, she could feel the echo of the chains not just in her bones, but in her flesh, as if raw metal was biting into muscle, biting deeper every time Xeris struggled. The pressure grew, links grinding and twisting beneath her skin, threatening to snap her open from the inside out. She knew without being told that if the chains won, Xeris would fall and the wall would break.
She did the only thing left.
She screamed, “Now!” and flung every last drop of life through the chain, a pulse of crimson that burned from her chest to the city’s highest tower. The blood wards ignited, every line and sigil flaring with new intensity. The raw surge sliced the binding magic clean in half.
Xeris tore free. The Veilseeker holding the chain staggered and collapsed, dead before they hit the ground.
The dragon wheeled above the wall and let loose a second firestorm, catching the Ironclaw’s center in a crucible of light.
The assault shattered.
Daisy crumpled. She landed hard on the flagstones, hands shredded, lips blue. Just before the world went black, she caught the faintest sound—a single bell chiming in the distance, its tone thin and urgent. Somewhere close, a fresh crack split the parapet beneath her cheek, a hairline fracture spidering outward. The world stuttered, then went black.
Her last memory: the shadow of Xeris, wings spread wide, blotting out the dawn.
And Oliver’s face, streaked with blood, eyes shining, looking up at her as if she was the only thing left worth saving.