The clatter of hooves on cobblestone echoed through the narrow streets as the messenger rode into the bustling heart of Magnulia City. The great iron gates, adorned with the sigils of the kingdom, had opened before him with a groan, revealing a city alive with activity. Towering stone walls framed the entrance, the gatehouse bristling with guards who watched over the throngs below with keen eyes. The messenger, clad in the dark armor of the Maelyss, felt the weight of the missive he carried as heavily as the sword at his side.

Magnulia was a city of contrasts—ancient stone structures stood shoulder to shoulder with newer, more vibrant buildings. The streets were teeming with life. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices rising above the din, while citizens moved with purpose, tending to their daily tasks. Some paused to peruse the latest news, papers spread open on wooden stalls, while others bargained for fresh produce or the latest fabric shipments. The scent of fresh bread mingled with the sharp tang of metal from the blacksmith’s forge, and the occasional laugh from a nearby tavern added a touch of warmth to the cool morning air.

“Fresh apples! Best in the city!” cried one merchant, waving a basket of red fruit.

A young woman, carrying a child on her hip, stopped to inspect the wares. “How much for three?” she asked, her eyes bright with the prospect of a good deal.

“Two coppers each, miss. But for you, five for the price of three!” The merchant winked, his grin wide and practiced.

As the messenger wove through the crowd, he caught snippets of conversation—a man bemoaning the rising cost of bread, a group of laborers discussing the latest rumor from the palace, a barber boasting of his skills to a reluctant customer. It was a city like no other, alive and unyielding, a testament to the resilience of its people in the face of the dangers that lurked beyond its walls.

His destination loomed ahead: the grand headquarters of the Maelyss, a fortress within a fortress. The building was an imposing structure of stone and iron, its windows narrow slits that gave little away. As he approached, he was greeted by the sight of a familiar face—Garron, an old friend from his days as a young recruit. Garron’s broad frame was unmistakable, and the sight of him brought a rare smile to the messenger’s lips.

“Garron!” he called out, dismounting with a fluid motion.

The big man turned, his eyes lighting up with recognition. “By the gods, if it isn’t Aiden!” He clasped Aiden’s hand in a firm grip, pulling him into a brief embrace. “You haven’t changed a bit, you old bastard.”

Aiden laughed, clapping Garron on the shoulder. “And you’re still as ugly as ever. It’s good to see you, my friend. How long has it been?”

“Too long,” Garron replied, his grin fading slightly. “These days, we’re all spread too thin. What brings you back to the capital? Last I heard, you were stationed at Redhills.”

Aiden’s expression grew somber. “I bear a message for Commander Kaleb. The Horde Limb attack… it didn’t go well. We lost too many good men.”

Garron’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing. “I heard rumors. Damn Haltuers… every one of them is a nightmare. Are you all right?”

“Alive,” Aiden said, his voice quiet. “But we need reinforcements. Fifteen more Maelyss troops, at least. And a new captain to replace the one we lost.”

Garron nodded, his gaze heavy with understanding. “Kaleb will listen. He always does. But be careful, Aiden. These are dangerous times. We’ve all seen too many good men go to their graves too soon.”

Aiden met his friend’s gaze, a silent promise passing between them. “I’ll be careful. And when this is all over, we’ll share a drink and talk about everything we’ve missed.”

“Count on it,” Garron said, his grip on Aiden’s shoulder firm, before he stepped back, allowing Aiden to continue on his way.

The messenger took a deep breath before entering the headquarters, the familiar scent of leather and metal filling his nostrils. The corridors were quiet, the only sound the faint echo of footsteps on the stone floor. He made his way to the Commander’s office, a room that, despite its simplicity, exuded an air of authority. The walls were lined with maps, each one marked with ink and symbols that Aiden could barely comprehend. They were the Commander’s plans—strategies for every outpost, every battle, each one a testament to the man’s brilliance.

Commander Kaleb sat behind a sturdy oak desk, his attention focused on a report in front of him. He was a man of few words, but his presence alone was enough to command respect. His armor, though simple, bore the marks of countless battles, and his sharp eyes missed nothing.

“Sir,” Aiden began, standing at attention. “I bring a message from Redhills.”

Kaleb looked up, his gaze piercing. “Aiden, isn’t it? Step forward.”

Aiden obeyed, handing over the sealed letter. Kaleb broke the wax with a practiced hand, his eyes scanning the contents quickly. A heavy silence filled the room as the Commander read, his expression unreadable.

“Fifteen men lost,” Kaleb finally said, his voice low. “And more needed to hold the line.”

“Yes, Commander. The Horde Limb attack was brutal. We’re requesting reinforcements and a new captain.”

Kaleb set the letter down, his fingers steepled. “You’ll have them. Fifteen troops will be sent to Redhills immediately, along with Captain Zylar. He’s young, but he’s proven himself capable. We can’t afford to lose more ground.”

Aiden nodded, relief washing over him. “Thank you, Commander.”

Kaleb’s gaze softened, just slightly. “Before you go, make sure your dagger and briefcase are charged with Euna energy. There’s an extral sword in there, designed to conduct Euna—use it wisely. The Haltuers remain impenetrable without it.”

“I will, sir. Thank you.”

As Aiden turned to leave, the door opened, and another Maelyss soldier stepped in. “Commander, the requested supplies and resources for the west have been granted by the King. They’re ready to be sent to the Western Barracks.”

Kaleb nodded, his expression returning to its usual sternness. “Good. We can’t afford any delays. The west is our last line of defense—if it falls, so does the kingdom.”

The soldier saluted and left, leaving Aiden alone with the Commander for a final moment.

“Remember, Aiden,” Kaleb said, his tone grave. “Every decision we make, every battle we fight, it all rests on us. The Haltuers won’t stop, and neither can we.”

Aiden met his gaze, the weight of the words sinking in. “Understood, Commander. We’ll hold the line.”

With that, he turned and left the office, his heart heavy but resolute. Outside, the city continued its bustling rhythm. Aiden mounted his horse and rode out of Magnulia, the Maelyss briefcase at his side and the weight of his mission clear in his mind.

He had a duty to fulfill, and no matter the cost, he would see it through.