The inner courtyard of Oakhaven was wrapped in a suffocating haze of tension, woodsmoke, and terror. From beyond the forty-foot northern gatehouse, the deafening roar of three thousand Bloodthorn war-drums rattled the windowpanes of the stone cottages, accompanied by the deep, blood-chilling challenge of King Darius demanding the garrison's unconditional surrender. Up on the battlements, one hundred and fifty Ironspire archers were frantically notching phosphorus arrows, their terrified eyes pinned…
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