The Last Banner

Across the city, Alexander strode through the stables, his boots crunching against straw-covered floors. The knights of Thrace's cavalry stood at attention, their polished armor gleaming under the dim light. Horses snorted and pawed the ground, their tack secured and ready for war.

Alexander turned to face his men, his voice ringing with confidence. "I know what you're thinking. Goblins. Small, weak, and cowardly. And you're right—they are. But there are thousands of them. They'll come at us like a tide, and if we're not ready, they'll drown us in their chaos."

He began pacing, his sharp gaze meeting the eyes of his men. "That's why we ride. Not to hold the walls, but to break their momentum. When the time comes, we'll charge into their flanks, scatter them, and send them running back to the shadows they crawled out of."

Stopping in front of his second-in-command, he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Remember this: we fight for Thrace. For our homes. For our families. And when we ride, we'll remind them why they fear us."

The knights erupted into cheers, their fists pounding against their breastplates. Alexander smirked faintly, his confidence contagious as he moved to inspect the horses.

In the main square, Priestess Althea stood before a gathering of soldiers and civilians, her crimson and gold robes flowing as she raised her staff high. The ever-burning flame at its tip flickered in the breeze, casting dancing shadows across her composed features.

"Children of the Flame," she intoned, her voice rich and commanding. "The Eternal Flame burns within each of you. Its light is your strength, its warmth your courage. Stand firm in its glow, and know that you are never alone."

The soldiers murmured their assent, some kneeling in prayer. Althea's emerald eyes scanned the crowd, lingering for a moment on Hadrian as he passed through with his militia.

"Lord Hadrian," she called out, her tone polite but laced with curiosity.

Hadrian stopped, turning to face her. "Priestess," he said curtly.

"The Eternal Flame watches over us all," she continued, her voice warm and inviting. "Perhaps it offers you guidance in these trying times."

Hadrian's expression darkened slightly, his voice cool. "I don't place my faith in flames, Priestess. Steel and discipline are what win battles. Not prayers."

The murmurs among the soldiers quieted, a faint tension crackling in the air. Althea's lips curved into a faint smile, her eyes sharp. "Faith has its place, young lord. Without it, even the strongest steel can falter."

Hadrian didn't reply, his gaze holding hers for a long moment before he turned and walked away.

As dusk fell, a scout rode into the city, his horse lathered with sweat and his face pale. He dismounted clumsily, stumbling toward the main hall. Commander Darius intercepted him at the gates, his scarred face set in a grim expression.

"What news?" Darius demanded.

The scout panted, his words tumbling out in a rush. "The goblins... they're less than two days out. Thousands of them. A sea of green, swarming through the valleys."

Darius's jaw tightened. "Any sign of siege equipment?"

The scout shook his head. "None, but their shamans... they're working together. I saw fire and lightning. They're preparing to hit the walls hard."

Darius nodded curtly. "Good work. Rest now. We'll take it from here."

As the scout staggered away, Darius turned to the gathered soldiers, his voice booming. "Two days. That's all we have. Get back to work!"

Hadrian stood on the western wall, his matchlock militia lined up behind him. From his vantage point, he could see the rolling fields stretching out into the darkness, broken only by the faint outline of the hills. Somewhere beyond that horizon, thousands of goblins prepared to march on Thrace.

His sharp grey eyes scanned the landscape, searching for any flicker of movement, any sign of the enemy. His thoughts churned with plans, contingencies, and strategies, but beneath it all, a single, unshakable truth lingered.

This is the first real test. Not just for the militia, but for me.

He tightened his grip on the parapet, the cold stone grounding him. The matchlocks were ready. The men were trained. And yet, doubt whispered at the edges of his mind.

"Second guessing yourself?" a voice said behind him.

He turned to see Alexander approaching, his sword resting casually against his shoulder. The elder brother leaned on the wall beside him, his smirk faint but genuine.

"No," Hadrian replied, his tone even. "Just thinking."

"Good. Thinking's your job. Mine's killing." Alexander chuckled softly, though his gaze turned serious as he looked out over the fields. "You've done well, you know. The militia, the matchlocks... they're something new. Something this city hasn't seen before."

Hadrian didn't respond, but Alexander's words settled in the back of his mind.

"Just don't get so caught up in your plans that you forget to watch your back," Alexander added, his smirk returning. "You're clever, but even clever men get blindsided."

Hadrian gave a small nod. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Alexander clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to leave. "Get some rest if you can. Tomorrow's going to be bloody."

In his private chamber, Duke Leonidas sat hunched over his desk, a flickering candle the only source of light. The letter he had written to Helena lay sealed beside him, its weight far heavier than the parchment and ink it was made of.

He leaned back, his frail body trembling with the effort. His thoughts drifted to his sons, to his daughters, and to the city that had been his life's work. Thrace had stood through wars, famine, and unrest. But now, as his strength waned, he wondered if it could withstand what was to come.

"Protect them," he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. Whether the words were directed to a god or to the memory of his late wife, he did not know.

In the chapel of the Eternal Flame, Althea knelt before the altar, her hands clasped tightly around her staff. The flame at its tip burned steadily, casting her sharp features into stark relief. She murmured prayers, her voice low and reverent, but her thoughts were anything but devout.

This battle will shape the future of Thrace, she thought. If they succeed, the Duke's sons will rise in power, their influence growing beyond control. If they fail... the Eternal Flame will still burn. The Church will endure, even if the city does not.

Her emerald eyes flickered open, the firelight glinting in their depths. "Guide them," she whispered, though the words felt hollow.

the quiet safety of the manor hosted Sophia and Cassandra lay curled together in one of the smaller sitting rooms. A single lantern cast a warm glow over the space, and Cassandra clutched her makeshift wooden sword tightly.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" Sophia asked, her voice small.

Cassandra puffed out her chest, her usual bravado shining through. "Of course we will. Hadrian's smart, and Alexander's strong. They'll keep us safe."

Sophia nodded, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I hope Helena's not worried about us."

Cassandra grinned, nudging her sister. "She's probably bossing some duchess around right now, telling them how to run their court."

Sophia giggled softly, the sound a fragile comfort in the heavy silence.

As the city settled into uneasy quiet, Hadrian remained on the wall, his thoughts a swirling mix of anticipation and unease. His mind returned to his family, to Alexander's confidence, to his father's frailty, and to the innocent hope of his sisters.

His gaze lifted to the dark sky, the stars faint but steady. Somewhere deep within him, a quiet, unfamiliar thought surfaced.

"Give me the strength to protect them," he whispered, the words almost foreign to his lips. He didn't know if he was addressing a higher power or simply himself, but as the words left him, a faint sense of resolve settled in his chest.

The horizon remained dark and empty, but Hadrian knew it wouldn't stay that way for long.