The sun crawled over the horizon, bleeding light across the Ironhold wall.
Steel glinted.
Men stood watch, lined across the battlements. Most were quiet. Eyes fixed on the distant fields. Fingers wrapped tight around their weapons.
One of them broke the silence with a yawn. Then he spoke.
"Why do the creatures come in waves? Wouldn't it make more sense to just send everything at once?"
Another shrugged without looking away.
"They're beasts. You think they plan this out?"
A third soldier spat over the edge.
"Tier Six beasts don't seem so mindless to me."
"Then explain the waves." the first one replied. "They could've crushed us on the first day."
Boots stepped behind them—heavy, sure.
A voice answered, calm and cold.
"They could have. But someone, or something, doesn't want it to be that simple."
The guards straightened fast. Every one of them brought their fists to their chests.
Commander Tim gave a slow nod, then walked past them toward the edge of the wall.
