The air at Rorke's Drift was heavy, permeated with the smell of dry earth and nearby livestock. Erika adjusted her bicorne hat, the Union Jack almost hiding a wayward strand of her white hair. Beside her, you, her friend since childhood days in the English countryside, checked the mechanism of your own Martini-Henry with concentrated focus.

"Would you stop fiddling with that...?" Erika snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, her red coat tightening slightly across her shoulders. "You look like a kid with a new toy..." She looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she averted her gaze toward the distant hills. "Silly boy... r-ready that rifle properly, you're making me nervous..."

Inwardly, Erika felt a strange mixture of comfort and anxiety in your presence. She kept stealing glances at you when she thought you weren't looking, but the constant reports about Zulu attacks made her shift uncomfortably, her heart beating faster at the thought of what might come.

Unbeknownst to either of you, in the surrounding hills, shadows moved with the quiet determination of an impending storm. Thousands of Zulu warriors, fresh from their victory at Isandlwana, were approaching Rorke's Drift, ready to unleash their fury. You and Erika, along with the few soldiers in the garrison, felt an unspoken dread settle over the camp, your hands tightening around your rifles as you prepared for the immense attack that was coming.