Chapter 130 Hundred and thirty five
“Open the gates,” Zane ordered, his voice slicing through the choking fog that clung to the ruins of the outer fortress.
No one moved.
His soldiers, wolves loyal by fear and desperation, shifted uneasily beside the rusted portcullis. The iron chains rattled in the wind like warning bones. The torches flickered along the wall, staining the night with dirty gold. Every man knew what breaching the Citadel meant. Every man also knew Zane was no longer the commander they once followed. He was hungrier now. Sharper. Driven by something stranger than ambition.
Renna stood slightly behind him, her cloak pulled tight, her pale hair braided back like a crown she wished she didn’t have to wait for. “They’re hesitating,” she murmured, leaning close enough for only him to hear. “Do something memorable. Men obey power.”
“They obey victory,” Zane replied, eyes fixed on the mountain path that led straight to the Citadel’s heart. His jaw clenched. “Tonight we take it.”
Renna’s smile sharpened. “Then show them why they should follow you.”
He stepped forward, lifted his arm, and with a swift slash of his hand, signaled the first line to move. “You heard me. Open the gates.”
A few braver wolves obeyed, gripping the chains and hauling them down. Metal screeched. Wood groaned. The portcullis lifted inch by inch, revealing the path beyond, dark, silent, eerie.
Zane exhaled slowly, savoring the moment. “Sienna won’t survive this,” he muttered.
Renna’s voice curled like smoke. “Nor should she. Her mercy has cost this realm everything.”
“It’s not mercy,” Zane said. “It’s weakness.”
“And weakness kills kings,” she added, stepping forward so the torchlight crowned her in gold. “Tonight, the realm learns who the true ruler is.”
A horn sounded in the distance, long, low, trembling through the teeth of the mountains.
The soldiers flinched.
Zane stiffened. “What was that?”
Renna’s eyes narrowed. “Not ours.”
The horn sounded again, closer this time.
Not a warning.
A call.
A heralding.
Dark shapes stirred along the ridge. The men raised their weapons. The moonlit snow sloped down like a silver throat, and from its crest emerged figures, dozens, then hundreds, faces hidden beneath bone masks, bodies draped in dark ritual armor.
A hush fell over the rebels.
Renna whispered, “The shadow battalion.”
Zane frowned. “I thought the rituals were only for strengthening. You didn’t tell me you brought, ”
“I didn’t,” she said quickly. “This isn’t mine.”
The masked soldiers approached with silent precision, their steps uniform, unhurried, sure. They encircled Zane’s men like a tightening noose. The rebels bristled, unease sharpening into fear.
One figure stepped forward, the tallest among them. His mask was carved with ancient sigils, the kind Renna recognized from forbidden tomes. His presence chilled the air.
“Zane Corbyn.” His voice was neither loud nor soft. It was final. “We answer your summons.”
Zane swallowed. “I didn’t summon you.”
“You used her,” the leader said. “Her rituals. Her power. The blood she spilled reached us.”
Renna stiffened but remained silent.
Zane forced a smirk. “If you’re here to pledge loyalty, you’re late. But I’ll take it.”
The masked warrior tilted his head. “We are not here to pledge.”
Zane’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you here?”
The warrior lifted one clawed hand, revealing a scroll bound in black thread.
“To deliver this,” he said. “From the old king.”
Renna’s breath stopped. “That line is extinct.”
“Nothing extinct stays buried,” the warrior replied.
Zane snatched the scroll. He unraveled it, expecting threats. Promises. Boasts.
Instead, he found a single line:
“Take the Citadel. Burn the throne. Bring me the queen.”
Zane’s heart thudded. “The old king wants her alive?”
Renna whispered sharply, “Zane, this isn’t a request. It’s a command.”
But Zane’s smile slowly widened. “Alive or dead, she ends tonight.”
He turned toward his men. “Ready yourselves. We march on the Citadel now.”
The men shouted in response, voices echoing across the cliffs.
Renna glanced at the masked battalion. “Will you fight with us?”
“We will fight,” the leader said. “But not for you.”
She stiffened. “Then for who?”
“For the prophecy,” he replied simply. “And the prophecy begins with her blood.”
Zane tightened his grip on his sword. “Fine. Just don’t get in my way.”
The masked army turned in perfect unison, heading toward the narrow path leading to the Citadel.
Zane watched them go, unsettled. “I don’t trust them.”
Renna’s voice dropped low. “Then control them.”
“Easier said than done.”
Renna stepped closer. “You wanted power. This is the cost. Borrow their strength now. Deal with them later.”
He swallowed the unease and nodded. “Fine.”
But in the pit of his stomach, something twisted, an instinctive dread, sharp and cold.
“Zane,” Renna whispered, “this is your moment.”
He straightened. “Yes. It is.”
They followed the masked battalion, their forces forming a massive, dark river flowing up the mountainside. Torches bobbed in the night. Steel glinted. Wolves snarled low as tension rippled through the ranks.
Halfway up, Zane paused.
The ground vibrated subtly beneath his boots.
Renna frowned. “What is that?”
“Earthquake?”
“No. Listen.”
The vibration grew stronger, steady, rhythmic.
Footsteps.
Many.
Zane’s stomach dropped. “That’s coming from the Citadel.”
The masked leader stopped abruptly as if sensing the same.
From the fortress walls above, faint shadows moved, figures racing along the ramparts, lowering heavy chains, igniting signal fires.
Renna tensed. “They’re ready for us.”
Zane shook his head. “No. That’s not defense.”
A massive metal clang shook the mountainside as ancient locks disengaged.
“That’s preparation,” he muttered.
The Citadel’s drawbridge began to lower, not to welcome but to release.
Torches flared.
The rebels stilled.
Renna whispered, “Zane… what is she doing?”
Zane took a step back. “No. No, she wouldn’t, ”
The drawbridge slammed down.
And from the gates poured Sienna’s elite battalion, clad in moonmetal armor, eyes glowing with the blessed mark of Lunaris, moving with terrifying unity.
Renna gasped. “She unleashed the Moon Guard.”
“Nobody unleashes the Moon Guard,” Zane snapped. “They only obey the queen.”
A voice rose from the Citadel’s entrance, clear and commanding.
Sienna.
Her power echoed across the cliffs like a vow.
“You march toward my home with stolen rituals and borrowed fear,” she said. “But tonight you learn that the Citadel doesn’t fall. It fights.”
Renna’s hand tightened around Zane’s arm. “Retreat.”
“No.”
“Zane, ”
“No!” he roared. “We stand and we take it.”
Before Renna could argue, the masked battalion surged forward, leading the charge, their masks gleaming like death. Zane’s rebels followed, shouting, clashing, firing sparks into the night.
The Moon Guard advanced down the slope, blades drawn, shields locked, every movement precise. The first collision of forces sent shockwaves through the mountain.
Steel met steel.
Magic met blood.
The sky trembled with the impact.
Renna stumbled back, eyes wide. “Zane, this is madness, ”
He grabbed her by the jaw, forcing her to face the carnage. “This is war,” he hissed. “And I will win it.”
She pulled away, cold fury burning in her eyes. “And if you don’t?”
Zane lifted his sword, watching the chaos, the screams, the smoke rising like ghosts.
“Then we burn with them.”
But even as he said it, even as he convinced himself he held the advantage, one shadow moved differently from the rest, slipping through bodies, carving through attackers, invisible but unmistakable.
Renna saw it first.
Her voice broke with dread. “Zane… he’s here.”
Zane turned sharply.
And his heart nearly stopped.
Because through fire and blood and clashing armies, a figure slid through the smoke like a phantom, moving with lethal calm, unstoppable.
Ryder.
The Ghost Alpha.
And he was heading toward Sienna.