The wardline is calling for you. Beneath the storm-lit sky, the ancient runes along the causeway flare to life—hot, hungry, unstable—and the ramparts shudder as something on the far end of the lane begins to push through. The road itself has become sacred and sealed: no living foot may step onto it without being hurled away, yet the creatures spilling from the breach are bound to march its path all the same, drawn toward the heart of the fortress like moths to a flame. You have only moments between surges to set defenses—raising spell-wards, bolt towers, and rune-fed engines of war—and then you must hold the line from the walls and platforms as each wave grows more vicious than the last. If too many reach the core, the runes will crack, the ramparts will fall… and whatever waits beyond the breach will have an open road into the world.