The chill of night settled heavily over the camp, cloaking the land in thick darkness.
From beyond the perimeter, the hollow rhythm of warhorses' hooves echoed through the stillness—sharp and steady. The sound grew louder as they approached, cutting through the damp air.
Moments later, the riders emerged through the main gate.
Mud caked the horses' legs, splattering beneath their pounding strides. The scent of wet earth rose sharply as they thundered past, carrying with it the lingering trace of rain-soaked soil.
When Kyren swung down from his saddle, his heavy boots struck the sodden ground with a dull thud.
"Welcome back, Commander!"
The greeting rang out at once.
Luke stood at the forefront of the assembled knights and soldiers, bowing respectfully to the grand duke. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid.
Behind Kyren, the accompanying knights and healer dismounted in swift succession, handing their reins to waiting squires before stepping into formation.
