The gates of Haven’s Reach were a shattered memory, torn apart by the merciless onslaught of the Crown’s Wrath. The once proud walls, reinforced and proud, now buckled under the sheer weight of siege engines and dark magic. Emmet Fischer stood at the front lines of the defense, his spear slick with blood, his body battered and bruised. Tabitha’s magic surged beside him, casting fireballs and icy shards that cleaved through their enemies, while Doramm’s dark presence carved a path of death.

  Still, the tide was turning against them.

  Haven’s Reach had been a sanctuary—a place of hope in a dark world. But now, it was just a last stand. The Crown’s Wrath came from all sides, relentless in their assault. Their soldiers poured through the breaches, their siege engines smashing into the walls with deafening force.

  “Hold the line!” Emmet’s voice was hoarse, but it rang out with unyielding resolve. “We fight here! We fight for our homes!”

  Aron, Lyra, Nia, and the rest of the defenders took up arms beside him, but even their determination was starting to wane. The outer defenses were buckling, the siege towers inching closer.

  Lyra, her bow now a blur of precision, was one of the few whose resolve never faltered. But even her arrows couldn’t stop the flood of enemy soldiers. Nia darted between the wounded, hands slick with blood as she patched up the fallen, but for every life she saved, two more were lost.

  “We can’t hold this for much longer,” Aron said between gritted teeth, his axe cleaving through a soldier’s chest. “We need to fall back to the inner keep.”

  “We hold,” Emmet barked, his eyes never leaving the field of battle. He wasn’t about to give ground, not when the very people he swore to protect were still within the walls.

  And then it came—the Golden Knight. The massive figure of shining steel, its sword crackling with radiant power, led the charge against their dwindling forces. Behind it, Marcus Azkalin watched with cold, calculating eyes, his Nemean Lion prowling at his side, a dark shadow against the light.

  “Emmet!” Tabitha’s voice broke through the din of battle. “The Golden Knight’s too much! We need to take it down together!”

  Emmet nodded, his grip tightening around his spear. “I know. Focus everything you’ve got!”

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  The serpent—Emmet’s first summon—charged forward, its massive body coiling around the Golden Knight with a speed and fury that had once been unstoppable. The knight struggled, its sword swinging, but the serpent’s strength was unmatched. The two collided in a violent dance, scales and steel clashing in a frenzy of motion.

  But then, in a single moment of brutal finality, the Golden Knight’s sword ignited with blinding light. With a slash that cut through the serpent’s coils, the knight severed the creature’s head, sending it crashing to the ground.

  Emmet froze. His breath caught in his throat as the bond between him and his first summon shattered, the serpent’s life snuffed out in an instant.

  “No…” Emmet whispered, his voice barely audible over the battle’s roar. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, staring in disbelief at the lifeless body of his serpent.

  “NO!” Tabitha screamed, her face twisted in fury. She unleashed a barrage of fireballs at the Golden Knight, but the knight emerged from the flames, its armor scorched but unbroken.

  Emmet couldn’t move. He was frozen in place, his heart pounding, his vision narrowing. He had just lost his closest companion, the one who had fought beside him from the beginning.

  Tabitha turned to Emmet, her expression one of desperation. “Emmet, we need to retreat. Now!”

  But Emmet couldn’t hear her. His mind was a haze of anger and sorrow. The Golden Knight loomed in front of him, its sword raised high, and Emmet could do nothing to stop it.

  “Emmet,” Tabitha said softly, stepping forward. “We fight together, or we die together. Your summons are here with you. But if you don’t move, we’ll lose everything.”

  Emmet’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, he saw the same pain in her eyes—the same fury. She was right. They couldn’t fight alone anymore.

  But as he tried to rise to his feet, his body betrayed him. His limbs were heavy, sluggish. Blood oozed from his many wounds, and his vision swam with dizziness.

  “Emmet!”

  He didn’t hear the cry again, only the sound of the Golden Knight’s sword descending toward him.

  Just as the blow was about to land, Doramm appeared, intercepting the strike with his dark blade. The two warriors clashed, steel against steel, and for a brief moment, the battlefield seemed to pause.

  “Tabitha, take him!” Doramm bellowed. “Now!”

  The mage acted without hesitation, her hands glowing with magic as she cast a protective barrier around Emmet. “I’ll get you out of here!”

  But before she could cast her escape spell, Marcus Azkalin stepped forward, his eyes cold and unyielding.

  “This is the end, Fischer,” he said, his voice a low growl. “You’re finished.”

  Emmet struggled to stay conscious, his body shaking with exhaustion. His spear was just out of reach. He needed to rise. He needed to fight.

  But his body had given out. His vision blurred, and the last thing he saw was Marcus’s cold, calculating gaze as the world went black.