The city was breathing fast now.

  It wasn’t the usual rhythm of Harbinth, the hum of trade, the murmur of taverns, the calls of fishermen and market criers. That rhythm had cracked the moment the horns sounded. What replaced it was sharper, jagged, full of edges. Shouts. Feet pounding down alleyways. The city had been turned inside out.

  And still, no enemy had appeared.

  That was the worst of it.

  If the kobolds had already come screaming from the hills, the people could have pointed, fought, or fled. But the empty horizon was more terrible than fire. It meant the blow was waiting, unseen, ready to fall at any moment. The air felt stretched thin, like a string pulled until it hummed.

  Inside the old watch court, where the City Command gathered, the tension was no different.

  The hall was cramped and hot, its stone floor scattered with maps, dispatches, ink pots, and half-eaten food no one had the stomach to finish. Runners darted in and out like restless birds, ducking beneath swinging lanterns, pressing orders into hands that were already full. Every time the door slammed shut, the weight of their words seemed heavier.

  At the center of it all stood Commander Ennett.

  She was not shouting. She didn’t need to.

  At six feet tall with broad shoulders, she looked like she had been carved out of the city’s stone walls themselves. She wore no cloak, no frills of office. Her armor bore dents, her boots were worn, but her presence filled the chamber. When she moved, people shifted to make space. When she spoke, the voices of merchants, scribes, and guards fell silent.

  Her voice was steady, quiet enough to force attention but strong enough to carry to every corner.

  “We might have hours,” she said. “We might have days. Or maybe they never come at all.”

  The words lingered in the air. Some of the men and women around the table glanced at each other, hoping for answers. No one had any.

  Ennett’s gaze swept the room. “But we are past hoping for the best. From this moment forward, we prepare as if the worst is already at our gate.”

  No one argued.

  Eborin, the Guildkeeper, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, smeared ink on his fingers. His once-clean robes were flecked with dust and dirt stains, and the usual spark of wit in his eyes had dulled into something more stubborn. He looked at the maps, then at Ennett, and gave a slow nod.

  “A storm that hasn’t shown itself,” he muttered. “But yes. We act as though it’s already breaking.”

  Outside the court, the docks were alive with motion.

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  The women, children, and elderly were being shepherded toward ships by watchmen with red sashes tied tight around their waists. Some clutched small bundles of belongings. Others held nothing at all, too rushed or too frightened to gather more than the clothes on their backs.

  A child cried as he was lifted onto a deck. A woman prayed loudly, hands gripping the sides of the boat. An old man sat still on the dock, staring at the waves as if the sea might swallow him before the kobolds did.

  It wasn’t order. But it wasn’t chaos either. It was survival.

  The old sea-temple, its spire rising pale against the harbor mist, had become a place of oaths. Farmers with dirt still under their fingernails stood in a line beside gamblers, dockhands, cooks, and men who had once sworn never to hold a weapon again. The priests blessed them quickly, touching each forehead with saltwater before stepping aside.

  Ennett had made the choice clear:

  “If you can fight, you stay. If you cannot, you leave. But no one stands idle.”

  The words spread like fire. Foreigners, too, were given the same choice.

  Some slipped onto the boats without hesitation, unwilling to gamble their lives for a city not their own. Others stepped forward, uncertain but unwilling to walk away. A handful demanded to speak to Ennett herself. She didn’t refuse them.

  She met them one by one, her gaze steady. She didn’t flatter, didn’t beg. She simply said, “I believe you can help.” She said it like stone, like a promise that could not be bent. And they believed her.

  Up in the command post, Eborin moved through the chaos like a conductor. His words came fast, clipped, but always clear. He barked over scribes, tore manifests from clerks, and rerouted carts of timber as if he were trading coin at a market stall instead of securing a city.

  “The Sailors’ Guild is taking men off the boats,” he told Ennett, his hand trembling as he pushed a ledger toward her. “Every third sailor is being conscripted. The rest keep the evacuation moving. That’s the bargain I struck. Any less, and the ships don’t leave the harbor.”

  Ennett’s brow furrowed, but she nodded. “Good. They know the water better than anyone. We’ll need them.”

  “And the countryside?” she asked after a moment.

  Eborin’s mouth tightened. “We borrowed all available men from the postals. Riders were sent earlier. Five of them. South, west, and two to the northern villages. One to Darinport.” He hesitated. “No guarantees they make it back.”

  Ennett’s jaw clenched. The villages outside the city held hundreds of people, farmers, laborers, children who had never seen the inside of a fortress wall. They had to know what was coming. Whether warning reached them or not, their fate was tied to Harbinth now.

  The room went quiet for a long moment.

  Someone shifted the maps. Someone else cleared their throat. But no one dared to break the silence fully.

  Ennett finally spoke. “Every runner, every message, every call we send out from this city, remember this. We aren’t just fighting for Harbinth. We’re fighting for everyone who can’t stand behind these walls.”

  A murmur of agreement rippled around the table. It wasn’t loud. But it was enough.

  Outside, the light had begun to shift. Clouds gathered on the horizon, thick and gray, rolling low like the sea itself had decided to rise and swallow the land. The air carried a metallic tang that made tongues itch and throats dry.

  Ennett stood at the window of the court, hands clasped behind her back, her eyes fixed on the storm.

  No one said the words aloud, but the thought pressed heavy on every heart in the room.

  The city could fall.

  The walls could break.

  The streets could run red.

  But if that happened, it would not be for lack of effort.

  Not while Ennett still drew breath.