Fire did not rise cleanly. It screamed.
The first rockets tore themselves from their frames with a violent hiss, their trails of flame carving jagged lines through the darkening air. They did not travel with the measured certainty of cannon shot. They wavered. They shrieked. They seemed alive in a way that unsettled even those who had prepared them.
Then they fell.
Some struck the outer walls, bursting in flashes that scattered fire across stone already weakened by hours of bombardment. Others overshot, plunging into the city beyond, their explosions sending sparks and debris into narrow streets and crowded courtyards. A few veered wildly, crashing short or wide, their erratic paths adding to the sense that something uncontrolled had entered the battle.
Along the Luxenberg line, more followed.
The sky filled with their trails.
Within Turkistan, the effect was immediate.
Men who had endured the steady thunder of artillery now flinched at something different. The rockets did not announce themselves with the same deep report. They shrieked as they came, a sound that seemed to tear at the nerves before impact even came.
"What are those?" a militiaman shouted, ducking instinctively as one streaked overhead.
"Hold your position," a veteran barked back, though even he could not fully mask the unease in his voice.
Another rocket struck near the wall, bursting in a spray of fire that forced a crew to scatter momentarily from their gun. One man fell, struck by fragments, and did not rise again.
Selim Furuq saw it. "Stay on the guns," he called, moving quickly along the parapet. "They are no different. Fire answers fire."
But he knew they were different. Not in their destruction. In their effect.
The bombardment deepened.
Cannons continued their relentless work, their impacts now falling upon walls already shaken, already cracked, already strained to their limits. Each strike landed against a structure that had less strength to give.
Stone began to fail in larger pieces.
Where earlier impacts had chipped and fractured, now entire sections shifted under repeated blows. Dust no longer rose in brief bursts but poured outward in thick, choking clouds that obscured vision and stung the lungs.
Selim paused at one section, watching as a visible crack spread across the face of the wall.
"Reinforce here," he ordered immediately.
Men rushed forward with whatever materials could be found, attempting to shore up the weakening structure, but the effort felt small against the scale of what struck them.
"They will not hold this," Mahmud Pasha said quietly, stepping beside him.
Selim did not turn. "Well, they will need to hold as long as they can," he replied.
Another rocket screamed overhead, crashing somewhere deeper within the city, followed by shouts and the distant glow of fire.
The effect was immediate and brutal.
Cannon shot struck the weakened section again and again, each impact tearing more from the structure, widening the damage, deepening the fractures. Rockets joined the barrage, their erratic paths now guided toward the same target, adding bursts of fire and shock to an already failing wall.
Within Turkistan, Selim saw it. "They shift," he said.
He raised his voice. "Reinforce that section. All available men."
Officers relayed the command, pulling soldiers from nearby positions, drawing them toward the threatened point. Militiamen and veterans alike moved under fire, carrying what they could, their steps unsteady but determined.
A gun crew nearby hesitated as another rocket struck close, the explosion sending debris across their position.
Selim seized the moment. "Fire," he ordered sharply.
The gun captain snapped back to action, shouting for his crew to reload. Moments later, the cannon answered, its shot disappearing into the smoke beyond the wall.
But the pressure did not ease.
The Luxenberg artillery maintained its focus, each gun contributing to the same relentless objective. There was no pause, no slackening, only the steady application of force against a point that could not endure indefinitely.
Stone shifted. Cracks widened. Pieces fell. At first, in fragments. Then in slabs. A section of the outer face gave way under a particularly heavy impact, collapsing outward in a cascade of rubble that left the underlying structure exposed.
A murmur spread among the defenders.
"They breach," someone said.
"Not yet," Selim replied, though the word carried less certainty than before.
Mahmud Pasha watched the growing damage, his expression tightening.
"How long?" he asked again.
Selim did not answer immediately. He looked at the wall, at the men working desperately to hold it, at the fire that now burned in several places within the city.
Then he spoke. "Not long."
The rockets continued.
Their numbers were fewer than the cannons, but their presence remained constant, their unpredictable paths forcing defenders to divide their attention, to anticipate not just where destruction would land, but how.
One struck the weakened section directly, its explosion adding to the already compromised structure. Another followed. Then another. Each impact loosened more stone. Each strike weakened what remained.
On the Luxenberg line, Bertrand watched with focused intensity. "They are close," he said.
Victor stood beside him, silent. A particularly heavy volley landed, several cannon shots striking in rapid succession. The wall shuddered. Then held. For a moment.
Within Turkistan, Selim felt it. The vibration ran through the stone beneath his feet, deeper than the impacts before it.
"Back from the edge," he ordered instinctively.
Some obeyed at once. Others hesitated.
Then the next volley came.
The collapse began not as a single dramatic fall, but as a failure that spread.
A crack deepened. A section shifted.
Then the structure gave way.
Stone broke free in a cascading motion, the outer layers collapsing outward while the inner supports failed in turn. What had been a solid wall became a churning mass of falling debris, dust exploding outward as the structure could no longer sustain itself.
Men shouted. Some were caught in it, disappearing beneath the falling stone. Others stumbled back, shielding themselves from the sudden wave of dust and fragments.
When it settled, the wall was no longer whole. A breach had formed.
Silence followed for a heartbeat.
Then the reality of it spread.
"They have opened it," Mahmud said, his voice low.
Selim stared at the gap. It was not clean. Not yet wide enough for an immediate rush. But it was there. And it would widen.
"Pull back from the edge," Selim ordered. "Form secondary lines. Prepare to hold inside."
His voice carried again, firm despite everything.
"They will come through there."
Outside the walls, the Luxenberg army saw it. The breach.
Anton exhaled sharply. "It's done."
Victor nodded once. "Yes."
Henri looked at the gap, then back at the lines of infantry waiting behind the artillery. "They will assault soon."
Victor's gaze remained fixed. "Not yet," he said. "We prepare it."
The artillery did not cease. Instead, it intensified once more, focusing on widening the breach, ensuring that when the time came, it would be sufficient for the full force of the army to pass through.
Cannon shot continued to strike the edges of the gap, breaking more stone, clearing debris, shaping the opening into something that could be used.
Rockets still flew, their fire adding to the chaos within the city, preventing any organised effort to repair or block the breach.
Within Turkistan, Selim moved quickly.
"Barricades," he ordered. "Use whatever you have. Wagons. Stone. Timber."
Men rushed to obey, dragging materials toward the inner side of the breach, attempting to create a secondary defence where the wall had failed. Militiamen worked alongside veterans, fear still present but now directed into action.
"They will come," one said.
"Yes," Selim replied. "And we will be here when they do."
As the light faded further, the shape of the battle changed. The artillery still spoke, but now it prepared the ground for something else.
Behind the guns, Luxenberg infantry began to form. Columns assembled. Officers moved among them, issuing orders, aligning units, ensuring that when the moment came, there would be no confusion.
Victor turned slightly. "Prepare the assault," he said.
The breach stood open. The wall, once unbroken, now broken.
The siege had reached its turning point. And both sides knew what came next.