The iron gates did not shatter; they folded.
Under the colossal, silent pressure of thousands of stone bodies, the ten-generation-old barrier of the Western Ridge groaned like a dying beast. The heavy iron bars, reinforced by northern smiths and blessed by ancestral shamans, curved inward until they resembled the ribs of a collapsing ship. Then, with a series of sharp, explosive reports that echoed through the high mountain peaks, the primary granite anchors tore out of the cliffside. The main gatehouse fractured, dropping tons of jagged masonry into the lower courtyard as the relentless tide of gray marble surged over the rubble.
"Hold the line! Form the wall!" Kaelen's voice tore through the screaming wind, a primordial, thunderous roar that carried the full, unyielding weight of his Alpha dominance.
