When Elara reached the courtyard, the air was thick and heavy.

A stream of Fateweavers pushed her forward, all with their weapons in hand and grim expressions on their faces, rushing out through the main entry portal to defend their home. The commotion had woken everyone up, and they all knew what lay in front of them. The Fateless had made their move, and against all odds, they had managed to blow through their first layer of defense with ease.

Though the collapsed wall was a mountain of rubble that was not easy to climb, next to a cliff that knew no bottom, it would still allow determined attackers to enter their courtyard, where disoriented Fateweavers were presently being carried from the scene of the explosion by their comrades. Dark stains covered their orange robes where blood was gushing from open wounds, most likely caused by ricocheting debris. Of course, there were also the ones for which all help came too late.

Elder Thornec was standing off to the side of the small staircase in front of the entry portal, shouting over the crowd and coordinating efforts to prevent the worst. A handful of Masters tried to aid him in his quest, picking up groups of students to lead them to strategically important positions behind the breach and in front of entrances to the surrounding buildings. Some of them were being let inside as well, setting up a second layer of defense should they lose control of the courtyard — Elara could only imagine what that would mean for the ones defending it out here.

For a brief moment, she wondered where Kaelen was and if he would join their ranks, but her thoughts were cut short by panicked shouts from the gatehouse tower, followed by the whirring of arrows let loose.

"They are coming!" someone screamed up above.

A split second later, Elder Thornec roared: "Archers — fire!"

His voice was bouncing off the courtyard walls with the force of a rolling boulder, and Elara could see the fierce expression on his face that made it ever so evident that this moment would determine the destiny of their entire order. In this very night, the age-old fight between Fateweavers and Fateless would come to an inevitable conclusion, and only one of them would live to tell the tale. The grimness in Thornec's eyes did not fill her with confidence that it would be them.

"Defend the breach at all costs!" Thornec yelled over the crowd of orange-robed fighters that were now swarming the courtyard. "Do not let them get inside!"

He carved through the crowd until he was among the first line of Fateweavers that had formed a circle around the pile of rubble in front of the collapsed wall and next to the cliff that now encroached on the library grounds. Most of them were Elara's age or older, while the younger students stayed back, guarding entrances or scrambling to arm themselves with bows and arrows. A group of archers was being commanded by Master Inara, whose usually so timid appearance had been replaced by a stern mask of courage, as she signaled the students to ready their weapons and shoot at her command. A few of them were shaking so hard they could barely pick up their quivers, and Elara could see the horror in their eyes. This was what they'd been trained for, and yet none of them ever expected to find themselves in a situation where they would need said training.

Elara shuddered and tried to mentally brace herself. So far, she'd just watched the movements in the courtyard, unsure how to best support the defense. Now, as the shouting of approaching soldiers outside the walls grew louder, she tightened the grip around her two poles and took a deep breath. Before leaving her room, she'd made sure to put on a protective layer of leather armor underneath her robes — she could tell she was going to need it.

Taking one last glance over her shoulder into the busy entry hall, she charged ahead to join the Fateweavers guarding the breach in the wall, falling into line a few rows behind Elder Thornec. His commanding figure stood like the first rock against the surge, solid and unyielding, with his long mace held up high, lusting for bones to break. He was asserting an aura of confidence over the surrounding Fateweavers, and Elara could tell they would stand their ground no matter what was going to come over the mountain of rubble in front of them.

And so they waited, their bodies bobbing under heavy breaths, while the tremor of hundreds of footsteps resonated through the ground and the clinking of swords and shields grew louder and louder.

"Steady!" Elder Thornec shouted and extended one of his arms to the side, as if to keep his troops from charging at the breach themselves.

Meanwhile, the archers on the remaining two towers kept shooting arrow after arrow, but they too were now under heavy fire from the enemy. Sharp projectiles appeared out of nowhere from the darkness of the night and started dropping into the courtyard like deadly rain, clinking and clanking when they hit walls and rooftops. Up above, Elara heard the gulping scream of a Fateweaver getting struck by one of them, sending them tumbling backwards until their arms hung over the battlements like a sack of grain, lifeless and twisted.

An uneasy shuffle billowed through the defenders guarding the breach, as more and more arrows sought and found their mark. A few feet next to her, a young woman was hit in the shoulder by a serrated arrow made from dark metal. It wound its way deep into the woman's flesh, and she screamed in pain as her staff fell to the ground, and she dropped onto one knee. Two of her comrades tried to pick her up, when again, Thornec shouted with the force of a rock slide.

"Steady!"

Seconds later, the first Fateless appeared atop the pile of rubble. He wore a blue robe, dimly illuminated by the fires still burning in the courtyard and spitting torches they had tossed into the breach for their archers to see. His helmet was made from shiny metal, and the sword and shield in his hands looked like they once belonged to one of Cylion's guards.

Without fear, the man scaled the rubble until he stood victoriously atop the heap of destruction. A split-second later, he was perforated by a swarm of arrows, hiding his smug smile in gushing blood.

The moment he dropped face-first onto the rubble, three more Fateless soldiers appeared behind him, then another two, another four. With their weapons raised high, they charged to the top of the pile, recklessly throwing themselves at the host of arrows that was whirring through the air to greet them.

Loud noise seemed to erupt from everywhere at once, as the first of them clashed into the line of defending Fateweavers, and everything around Elara turned into a frenzy of orange and blue. Screaming figures were throwing their weapons and bodies at each other in a struggle of life and death, and blood and dirt shot through the air like ocean spray. The impact of staves and swords sent members of both sides flying over the edge of the cliff, and their muffled death screams underlined the terrible symphony of battle.

Bodies of friends and foes alike bumped into Elara, tossing her around like a ship in a storm, as she tried to find a target for her drawn poles. Everything was spinning, her head throbbing under the mental strain of processing all that was happening around her. She stumbled backwards until a wall of human flesh was blocking her path, then looked down to the floor only to find the agonized eyes of a dying Fateweaver staring at her with primal fear. He was about her age, with a gaping flesh wound across his neck, and blood drooling out of his open mouth and onto the muddy ground.

Elara wanted to scream, but the words got stuck in her throat. Panic was creeping up on her with ice-cold limbs, crawling over her back and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Only when Thornec's bellowing voice cut through her mental shroud did she feel like she was regaining control over her racing thoughts.

"Stand your ground!" the Elder shouted, and Elara could see his whirling pole staff through the forest of fighting combatants.

He raised it briefly to emphasize his point, then brought it down onto an approaching Fateless soldier with such force that it seemed to snap the man's body in two, and he collapsed on the spot. Without pause, Thornec swung around to hit another Fateless flat in the chest, sending the woman flying into a pile of rubble where the back of her head met an unpleasant end.

Inspired by their leader, the surrounding Fateweavers pushed forward, tightening their defensive line while shouting ferocious battle cries. Even Elara got a grip on herself and charged into the commotion, raising her poles up high and screaming at the top of her lungs — partially to frighten her enemies, but also to convince her wavering resolve that this was not the time for cowardice.

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Unfazed by the strong defense, the Fateless kept streaming through the breach in the wall like the spring tide. One dark blue figure after the other descended upon them, with madness in their eyes and sharp weapons in their hands. When Elara reached the frontline, it only took a second for one of the approaching soldiers to notice her and identify her as a potentially easy target. They realized their mistake when Elara's right pole dislocated their open jaw with the force of a sledgehammer, launching the face it belonged to into a pile of bricks that covered the floor. The next Fateless to try their luck hurled a sharp pike at Elara that barely missed the seam of her robe, before she swung around and landed a double blow against the lower ribs of her opponent. The man winced in pain, but quickly retracted his lance to go for another jab — only his now-shattered kneecap wouldn't support him any longer, and he collapsed onto the floor next to his fallen comrade.

Soon, Elara lost track of how many enemies she'd fought, how many bones she'd broken, and how many cuts and bruises she'd suffered in the process. Her elbow was already covered in blood, and her thigh bone was shooting jolts of pain through her leg every time she shifted her weight. Still, she kept fighting, only a few feet away from Elder Thornec, who was felling one foe after the next, and so the pile of rubble soon turned into a pile of dead bodies, of Fateless and Fateweavers alike. It was almost poetic how they joined in their eternal slumber, finally at peace with each other — only Elara was too busy to think poetry while at the same time trying hard not to join them.

There were heavy casualties on both sides, and every time a Fateweaver was cut down next to Elara, it felt like something was breaking inside of her, too. Their weapons were meant for de-escalation, and as such, they were fulfilling their purpose as a means of defense just fine, but they couldn't match the deadly force of the weapons their opponents were carrying. And so for every deflected stab, there was an unparried cut that ran deep into some Fateweaver's flesh, severing muscles and tendons alike.

Just when the fighting seemed to shift in favor of the attackers, a large figure appeared atop the opening in the wall. The man's chest was like the trunk of a tree, his open arms clad and armor and lined with bulging muscles. Golden gloves clad his clenched fists, and his silver and black hair ran down his shoulders like a waterfall, framing the face of a madman — Malvorn, the ruler of the Fateless.

A fiendish grin played on his lips, and his eyes were glowing like the fires that still illuminated the courtyard. With a stride projecting nothing but confidence, he marched over the rubble, crushing bones and flesh under his heavy boots.

Elara had not seen Malvorn fight the first time they met, but she could tell he would be a tough challenge. Incapacitating the woman she was currently fighting, she assumed a defensive stance and braced herself. Malvorn noticed her, and his beaming eyes seemed to tear right through her soul. His belligerent smile grew even wider as he walked straight at her, banging his fists together with an ear-shattering clank. Like a ravenous animal, his tongue flicked back and forth, and she could see murder in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Elara readied herself for whatever was to come — but then at the last second, right before the first devastating blow from his golden fists could crush her rib cage, Elder Thornec pushed her aside and blocked the impact with a sweep of his mace staff. With only a few inches of crackling air between them, the two men stared at each other with biting determination. There was no joy in Thornec's expression — Malvorn, on the other hand, seemed delighted to have found a worthy match.

As Elara stumbled backwards, the Elder pushed the massive man back and readied his weapon for a follow-up blow. Fateweavers and Fateless alike stepped aside and cleared a small space right where the pile of rubble met the muddy earth, watching the two combatants with awestruck eyes.

The ruler of the Fateless inclined his head, and his hair fell over his dark eyes like a veil, then he leaped at Thornec with his arms extended to both sides. Thornec sidestepped the golden fists as they whirred past him with such force that even the air screamed in pain. Almost immediately after, the Elder went for a counterattack, bringing his mace down low to make contact with his opponent's legs. With unexpected agility, Malvorn grabbed Thornec's weapon mid-air and effortlessly brought it to a complete halt. The smug expression on his face only lasted a brief moment, as Thornec turned around and landed a crunching kick into the Fateless' abdomen. He swallowed hard and took a step backwards, grabbing the area where Thornec's metal-clad boots had struck him and letting go of the staff. The Elder didn't miss a beat and immediately flung around to hit the other man with a solid blow on the right side of his rib cage. But what should have been a fatal blow to even the strongest fighter was brushed off like summer rain, and the large man soon regained his composure.

Thornec paused and stared at his opponent, his breath heavy and raspy. Meanwhile, Malvorn straightened his posture like nothing had happened and raised his arms. A Fateweaver next to Elara gasped for air, and another one took an instinctive step backwards. Only Thornec stood still, his mace as firm as his iron resolve.

Malvorn didn't attack right away, but instead produced a horrifying smile that cut deeper than most blades.

"Are you ready to meet your maker?" he snarled with a gravely voice that sent chills down Elara's back.

The temperature around them seemed to drop, and almost everyone stopped fighting, except for the archers who kept sending deadly projectiles back and forth.

Thornec said nothing, patiently waiting for his opponent's next move while standing in front of those he sought to protect like a burgundy-robed guardian.

Malvorn snorted. "It matters not. Soon, you will be but dust in the wind, blown away and forever to be forgotten."

His last word had barely left his arrogant mouth when Thornec charged at him. Aiming a frontal blow at the man's smug face, he hurled his mace down from up above his head with unparalleled ferocity. The swing was sure to land and to crush every bone in its path, but against all that Elara thought possible, the ruler of the Fateless grabbed the handle of Thornec's approaching weapon with both hands and stopped it barely an inch before it made contact with his pale skin. The impact should've ripped every fiber in his fingers, and yet there they stood, both clinging onto the same staff with its blunt end hovering right in front of the man's face.

Again, Malvorn grinned.

Then, his arms started to bulge like a filling hose, and his golden fists ripped the wooden handle of Thornec's weapon in two. Shattering wood splinters shot through the air, cutting both their faces and leaving bloody streaks on their cheeks.

When the first drops of blood ran over Malvorn's exposed teeth, Elara couldn't help but see the face of evil itself. Then, with the speed and precision of a viper, he opened his arms and slammed his armored fists into Thornec's head from both sides. There was a vile crunching noise, and then an eerie quiet. When he retracted his hands, the Elder collapsed onto the floor with a dull noise, where he lay motionless among the dead.

Surrounded by petrified faces and horrified eyes, Malvorn flicked clots of blood off his golden gloves. When he spoke, his voice was dripping with malicious satisfaction.

"Kill all of them!" he roared over his shoulder. "Every last one of them!"

Before Elara could process the devastating loss their order had suffered, she was faced with another barrage of attacking Fateless. With newfound vigor, they threw their bodies at the defending Fateweavers, cutting and slicing with their sharp-edged weapons. Without the Elder taking the brunt of it, Elara and her fellow students were soon forced back, allowing more and more dark-robed attackers to flood through the breach. They tried their very best at fighting against the onslaught, but between the now overwhelming force of Fateless and their own mental attrition over the loss of Thornec, they were no match for the waves of enemies that streamed into the courtyard. And in the middle of it all was the tall man with the golden fists, cutting down Fateweavers left and right like they were mere children — and some of them were.

Just when Elara's arms were starting to feel heavy and her movements got sluggish, she could hear a female voice cut through the roaring of the fighting masses. It was firm and determined, but still carried clear signs of strain and exhaustion.

"Archers! Prepare for retreat!"

When Elara looked around, she saw Master Inara a few feet behind them, armed with a taut bow and gesturing at the archers in the backline with a flick of her head. Seconds later, a coordinated swarm of arrows whirred over them and leveled three rows of Fateless on their way down from the mountain of bodies and rubble.

Before Elara understood what was happening, Inara shouted: "Retreat, now! To the entrance hall!"

And with that, the men and women around her started shuffling in a desperate attempt to get away from the bloodshed, leaving behind the dead and wounded as hurdles for their enemies. Elara was sucked into the stream of retreating Fateweavers and almost tripped over her own weak feet. All around her, people were shouting and screaming, and more and more arrows hissed through the air, finding their marks in both directions.

To Elara's surprise, Malvorn let them get away. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw the smile of a maniac split his pale face, exposing shark-like teeth that were grinding in his wide jaw. Plates of thick armor were shining through his open collar, bracing his massive chest against the incoming hailstorm of arrows. Elara figured that none of the dark blood on his blue robe was his own, and that his clothes would be soaked by the end of the night.

Following the stream of orange figures, Elara rushed inside the main entrance hall. Seconds later, in the horrible chaos that had erupted, Master Inara ordered them to close the massive doors and barricade them with large beams they'd prepared the day before. Right when the gates were about to close, Elara could see that there were still a few struggling Fateweavers in the open courtyard, limping or crawling due to their injuries. She could hear their horrified screams for only a brief moment — then, the wave of black and blue rolled over them with unyielding force, swashing against the surrounding walls and felling everyone in its path.

When the doors closed, there was a moment of complete silence — as if their own funeral ceremony had begun.

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