We reached the tower at last. The lower chamber was chaos. The smell of sweat, damp leather, and fear hung thick in the air. Orcish guards crowded near arrow slits, whispering in low tones, their knuckles white around their weapons. Every time lightning struck, they flinched, as if the flash might pass through stone.
And then Qapla roared from behind me.
"Cowards!" His voice shook the rafters. "You call yourselves warriors of the Confederacy?"
The guards froze. One, braver than the rest, stammered, "The wall will not hold! It is too dangerous, lightning is targeting us–"
Qapla crossed the distance in two strides and slammed his hand against the wall beside the orc's head. "Then die on your feet, not pressed against the wall like frightened dogs!"
Another soldier spoke up, his voice tremblins, "We've lost contact with the commander. Half of the watchtowers runes aren't working."
"Then light them!" Qapla snapped. His tusks gleamed as he bared his teeth, eyes burning with fury. "You think Valaris favors those who hide? You think honor waits for survivors? You shame every orc who has ever drawn breath!"
One of the younger guards, barely an adult, muttered, "…it's hopeless… why fight."
Qapla seized him by the collar and lifted him bodily from the ground. "You want hopeless?" he hissed. "Go outside the wall. See what waits there. Then tell me if dying in here makes you feel better."
The young orc's breath hitched. Qapla let him drop, disgusted, and turned away, his chest rising and falling with deep, furious breaths.
I didn't move to stop him. None of us did. Watching him, I understood that his rage wasn't for them. It was for the people in the city and for those who were not.
Nox appeared at my side, whipping rain from her face. "He's going to bite someone's head off," she muttered, "Can you go calm him down? He listens to you."
"Let him burn through it," I said quietly. "The guards deserve it."
The guards on the Tifan Wall stood until their bodies collapsed on themselves. Their will never once gave up. Comparing the sight of those guardsman, running while missing half their body just to kill one more monster, with the sight of the whelps that surrounded us now was shameful. The brave stood and died on that wall, now all that was left was the wounded and cowards. I couldn't bring myself to decide which one I was.
We left him there, pacing among the soldiers and barking orders choosing to follow Helena up a set of spiral stairs. The climb was narrow and slick, water trickling down the wall and the floor. The air grew colder with every step, the wind a steady scream through the cracks.
When we emerged onto the top platform, the storm hit us with its full weight. The wind tore into my armor, nearly dragging me backward. I had to lean into it to stay upright.
Figures stood at the far end of the battlements, their outlines the only thing between the wrath of the storm and where I stood.
Garrick was there, wrapped in soaked leather. His hands once gone, were replaced by metal that glowed with magic. Humperdink stood beside him, unmoving, rain coursing down his scaled head in gleaming trails. And next to him was Adrastos. His robes were drenched, fur plastered flat, his lips moving in a prayer I couldn't hear.
And apart from them stood Ran Zephyr. He was completely still, his dark imperial coat unmoving in the wind. A sphere of white air spun between his palms, silver veins flowing through it. When he exhaled, the air around us shifted. The howling wind fell to a low murmur.
Adrastos turned as we approached, his usual calm somehow more infuriating in the chaos.
"What in the hells were you thinking, coming up here?" I snapped.
He smiled faintly, as if the question was almost funny. "They said there was danger at the wall, and where there's danger, there will be wounded. My place is with those who need help."
"You can't help anyone if you die, priest."
He grin was infuriating. "If I die, I will meet my goddess. And if in dying I give others another day to live, then my life was not wasted."
I sighed, shaking my head. "You priests always find a way to make death sound holy."
"I'm not trying to be holy," he said with a quiet laugh. "Just being honest."
Helena's voice cut through the wind. She was standing beside Zephyr now, her cloak whipping violently around her. "How long can you keep the barrier stable?"
Zephyr didn't open his eyes. "A few more hours, maybe. Then I'll need to recover."
"It's getting closer," Helena said. "Let rain through if you must, but when the battle starts, please make sure the aftermath doesn't affect the city."
Garrick moved closer, his metal hand flexing with a faint hum of magic. "Are you sure about this, Helena? Even with a hundred expeditionaries, you weren't able to kill a Primarch. If you go out there alone—"
"Fighting is the last option," Helena interrupted. "But if it comes to that, I'll hold it. I'm not what I used to be, but I can still buy us an hour."
Lightning flashed, outlining her silhouette against the black horizon. "During that time," she added, "Zephyr will evacuate whoever he can."
Zephyr finally opened his dark crimson eyes, "I can't promise to save everyone."
"That's more than enough Zephyr. You already paid back your debt; you don't owe us anything more."
"I am not doing this out of obligation, but because it is the right thing to do." He replied.
Shouts rose from the lower levels back onto the wall, as guards rushed out to their assigned posts. Qapla was among them, fury and fire in his eyes, his voice cutting through the storm. For the first time that night, the soldiers answered him. Their blades came free. Their backs straightened.
I cast one final look at him, roaring defiance into the storm. For all his rage, he looked like a pillar holding up the world.
Then I turned east.
The horizon had turned into a living night, clouds rolling and twisting, swallowing the last light of the sun. Lightning spidered through them, too slow and deliberate for normal lightning.
The storm struck the barrier, harder than before. It rolled over the entire barrier shaking it and spreading skyward. And then suddenly, everything stopped.
The wind. The rain. The noise.
Silence.
Even the lightning froze arcing across the clouds without sound, giving light to witness his arrival.
The clouds rolled and folded in on themselves, twisting until they formed shapes. The clouds rolled and folded in on themselves, twisting to form a spine between two vast shouldering peaks that prowled from the darkness.
It was a wolf. A god made flesh.
Its fur was cloud and wind, woven from thunder and light. Each breath it took sent streaks of lightning across its flanks. The air around it shimmered, the frozen rain pushed aside by its presence alone.
It eyes opened, molten gold, vast and merciless. They met mine across the wall.
Cloudbreaker.
The name finally made sense. The myth's had attempted to place a name on this: the Living Storm, Balu's first child, the one who broke the sky when men stole from his kin. Every name I had heard through superstition, bardic songs, and old books… It was no longer a story, but the truth standing before me.
No one spoke. The orcs who had just been chanting stood frozen, lips trembling. Qapla's roar had frozen in his throat.
Helena was the first to move. She stepped forward, cloak snapping behind her. She had just caught lightning itself, she had seemed unstoppable. But now she looked small.
My crossbow felt like a toy. I understood what the orc on the wall had felt. All the courage we bolstered about just felt like a children's story.
The air thickened, pressing into my chest until it hurt to breathe.
Then the wolf lowered its head. Its muzzle passed clean through the barrier as if the magic was nothing. The world seemed to bend around him.
And then he spoke.
"Oathbreaker."