Chapter 18: The Wall That Listened And Answers.
By the third day, Tinatus Wall no longer waited for the assault.
It expected it.
The rhythm had settled into something familiar now, a cruel pattern learned through repetition. Pressure waves at uneven intervals. False advances meant to fray nerves. Mage constructs pushed just close enough to test response times, then withdrawn before retaliation could fully commit.
Captain Edran Hale stood on the eastern parapet with his helm tucked under one arm, his other hand resting against the stone. The Wall was cold beneath his palm, but not lifeless. It thrummed faintly, carrying vibrations up through his bones.
"They're early today," Lieutenant Seris said beside him.
"Or late," Edran replied. "Depends on what they want us thinking."
Below them, Iron Host knights shifted positions with quiet efficiency. No horns. No shouted commands. Rotations happened because everyone knew when it was time. Those who had been on the Wall longest took the worst stretches without comment.
A young recruit named Tavin older brother of Thomas, adjusted his grip on his bow, eyes fixed on the fog-shrouded plains. "Sir," he said hesitantly, "is it always like this?"
Edran glanced at him. "The waiting?"
"The listening," Tavin corrected.
Seris gave a faint, tired smile. "You learn to tell the difference."
Before Tavin could ask more, the air tightened.
Not sound. Not light.
Pressure.
The outer sigils flared as a force wave struck low and wide, rolling along the base of the Wall like a hand testing a locked door. Stone groaned. Dust shook loose. Several knights stumbled, boots scraping, but no one fell.
"Hold," Edran said calmly.
They did.
The Wall absorbed the impact and returned it to stillness.
From the Spire Empire's side, movement followed almost immediately. Mage platforms drifted forward in a staggered line, runes glowing faintly as power cycled through containment arrays.
Knight-Executors advanced in disciplined bursts, shields raised, weapons ready, then halted again just beyond effective range.
"They're pacing us again," Seris muttered.
"They're not here to break stone," Edran said. "They're here to see who breaks first."
Tavin swallowed. "Sir… why don't they push harder from the southern flank? There's less interference there."
Several nearby knights and soldier glanced at him.
Not sharply.
Knowingly.
Seris answered before Edran could. "Because of the Dark Sea."
Tavin frowned. "I thought that was exaggerated."
A veteran named Corin snorted softly. "You think the sea exaggerates?"
Edran finally turned. "You'll hear stories," he said evenly. "Some true. Some embellished. But the doctrine's clear. Prolonged exposure destabilizes Aura. Judgment follows."
"And then?" Tavin asked.
Corin leaned on his shield. "Then strong minds start hearing things they think are useful. Weak ones just scream."
The fog shifted, revealing a sliver of the Dark Sea far below. Its surface swallowed light instead of reflecting it, dull and uneven, like a wound that refused to close.
Tavin looked away quickly.
"They know all this?" he asked.
"They wrote half the early reports," Seris said. "The difference is, they still think they can manage it."
Another pressure wave struck, sharper this time. The Wall flexed. Sigils burned brighter, channeling force downward and away.
A knight cried out as his footing slipped.
Hands grabbed him instantly.
"Stay with us," a woman said, gripping his arm. "Don't look south. Breathe."
He nodded, breath ragged, then steadied.
On the Spire side, frustration began to show.
Mage crews rotated faster now. No platform lingered long. Orders were barked sharply, clipped with strain. One mage overreached, forcing too much power through an unstable construct.
The backlash collapsed it inward.
The scream was brief.
"They're cycling faster," Seris observed. "They're afraid."
"They should be," Edran replied.
As the day wore on, attacks came closer together. Not stronger. More frequent. Disruption fields rippled across the ground, warping sound and sight. The Wall seemed to bend inward for a heartbeat, vision swimming.
Several younger knights winced, clutching their heads.
Medic Lysa moved among them, pressing water into shaking hands. "Don't fight it," she murmured. "Let it pass."
By late afternoon, everyone felt it.
The strain.
Not fear.
Fatigue.
"They're pushing us harder today," Seris said quietly.
"They suspect something," Edran replied.
"And if they're right?"
Edran did not answer.
Because the truth sat heavy.
If the Spire Empire confirmed what they suspected, this would not stop.
Night fell, and with it came fragmentation.
Short charges. Abrupt withdrawals. Attacks meant to catch mistakes rather than breach defenses. Each time, the Iron Host answered the same way.
Presence.
No pursuit. No escalation. Just holding.
At one point, Tavin leaned close to Corin. "Do you think the Knight King knows?"
Corin didn't look away from the plains. "He always knows when it matters."
That was not reassurance.
It was belief.
Near midnight, a low bell rang within the Wall. Not an alarm. A marker. Rotations adjusted. Fresh knights stepped forward without comment.
On the Spire side, arguments broke out.
"They should be reacting," one commander hissed.
"They are," another snapped back. "Just not panicking."
"That makes no sense."
"Neither does holding this long without a figurehead."
The fog thickened again, swallowing the plains.
Then, just before dawn, something changed.
Not outside.
Inside.
Seris felt it first, a subtle warmth that spread through the stone beneath her boots. She turned sharply toward the inner passage.
Movement.
Not hurried.
Certain.
A figure climbed the steps, cloak dusted with road grime, hair loose, catching the first light of morning. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his posture upright without stiffness.
Golden eyes lifted, calm and assessing.
Knight King Garron had returned.
Conversation died instantly.
Not from command.
From recognition.
Edran straightened, heart pounding once before settling. "My king."
Garron inclined his head. "Captain."
He surveyed the Wall, the knights, the exhausted faces, the plains beyond.
"Third day," he said quietly.
"Yes," Edran replied.
"You held."
"We all did," Edran said.
A faint smile touched Garron's face, dimples appearing briefly before his expression settled again into focus.
He stepped forward and placed his hand against the stone.
The Wall warmed.
Not blazing.
The Wall felt different the moment Garron stepped fully onto the parapet.
It was not a flare of Aura or a visible surge of power. It was the way men straightened without being told. The way breathing slowed. The way exhaustion, though still present, stopped ruling the body.
Captain Edran Hale moved aside instinctively, giving Garron space without ceremony. "Status," Garron said, his voice calm but carrying easily through the wind.
"Third day of continuous assault," Edran replied. "Pressure-based probing, escalating frequency. No full breach attempts yet. Mage platforms cycling too fast. Knight-Executors rotating unevenly."
Garron nodded once, golden eyes tracking the fog-shrouded plains. "They're testing endurance, not stone."
"Yes, my king."
Garron removed his gauntlets slowly and rested his bare hands against the Wall. Calloused palms met ancient stone. He closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Several nearby knights felt it immediately. Not heat, but alignment. Like joints settling back into place.
"Signal rotation," Garron said.
Seris blinked. "Now, my king?"
"Now," Garron repeated. "Before they expect it."
A horn did not sound. Instead, runners moved. Quiet words passed. Units shifted positions with practiced ease. Knights who had been holding for hours stepped back, replaced by fresh formations that had been held in reserve but not yet committed.
On the Spire side, movement stuttered.
"They're changing pattern," a mage called out. "No visible pressure spike."
"That's worse," another replied.
Garron opened his eyes.
"Seris," he said. "Where's the weakest pressure today?"
"Southern arc," she replied. "They're hesitant there. Dark Sea proximity."
"Good," Garron said. "They should be."
He turned to a nearby cluster of younger recruits, including Tavin. "You," he said, pointing. "What do you feel?"
Tavin swallowed. "The Wall's… steadier, my king."
Garron smiled faintly. "That's because it's listening properly now."
He raised his voice just enough to carry across the parapet. "Iron Host. You've done exactly what you were trained to do. You endured. Now we adjust."
A murmur passed through the ranks. Not excitement. Focus.
"Captain Hale," Garron said, "you keep the eastern parapet defensive. No pursuit unless I give the word."
"Yes, my king."
"Lieutenant Seris, shift disruption dampeners two degrees north. Let their constructs overextend."
Seris nodded sharply. "At once."
"And Corin," Garron added, glancing toward the veteran. "You still remember how to bait a mage?"
Corin grinned grimly. "Like they taught us to regret."
"Good," Garron said. "Do it clean."
The next Spire assault came ten minutes later.
It was heavier than before.
Disruption fields slammed into the Wall in overlapping waves, light bending violently. Mage platforms advanced further than they had dared all day, power humming dangerously high. Knight-Executors followed, shields raised, blades glowing with contained Aura.
"Hold," Garron said quietly.
The Wall held.
Then Garron lifted one hand.
"Now."
Iron Host countermeasures engaged instantly. Not an outward charge, but a tightening. Sigils flared in controlled sequence, redirecting force laterally instead of absorbing it head-on. The pressure rebounded unevenly.
Mage constructs wobbled.
One collapsed.
Another spiraled out of formation, drifting too close to the Dark Sea's influence. Its pilot screamed as Aura destabilized.
On the Spire line, panic flickered.
"They redirected it," someone shouted. "How?"
"They didn't redirect," another said. "They anticipated."
Garron stepped forward, golden eyes blazing faintly as Aura awakened fully. The warmth around him intensified, not overwhelming, but undeniable.
"Corin," he said. "Your turn."
Corin raised his shield, stepped forward just enough to be seen, and struck the Wall once with the flat of his blade. The sound carried strangely, echoing across the plains.
A provocation.
A mage reacted instantly, lashing out with a focused surge.
Garron's hand closed into a fist.
The Wall answered.
The surge bent, fractured, and dissipated harmlessly into the air.
Silence followed.
Then withdrawal.
Spire units pulled back hastily, formations uneven, orders overlapping. Mage platforms retreated farther than they had all day.
On the parapet, knights exhaled as one.
Tavin stared at Garron, awe plain on his face. "They felt it," he whispered.
"Yes," Garron said. "And so did you."
He turned to the gathered knights and soldiers. "Listen carefully. They will attack again today. Harder. Louder. They will try to force a mistake."
He met their eyes one by one.
"They will not get one."
A ripple of agreement passed through the ranks.
Not shouted.
Understood.
Garron replaced his gauntlets and looked once more toward the fog.
"They wanted to know if the Wall was being held by a king," he said quietly.
His gaze hardened.
"Now they know it's being held by everyone who stands on it."
Behind him, the Wall stood firm.
Ahead of him, the Spire Empire reconsidered everything.
And the South endured.
Steady.
Across the plains, Spire observers stiffened. Mage runes flickered erratically. Orders stalled mid-command.
Someone whispered, "He's back."
Garron looked south, toward the Dark Sea, then back to his knights.
"Good," he said calmly. "Then we finish listening."
The Wall did not cheer.
It did not need to.
It had endured.
And now, with its king returned, it was ready to answer.