Night fell like a shroud over the hills and plains of Carles, cloaking the town in a tense, pre-storm silence. A cold wind whispered through the grass, carrying with it the scent of smoke and blood—reminders of battles not yet over.
Night fell swiftly over the plains and the hills, wrapping Carles in a cloak of uneasy silence. Inside the secret cavern, General Marlon sat beside Odin, his arm freshly bandaged, though pain still pulsed beneath the wrappings. A map of Carles lay between them, weighed down with stones and marked with blood.
"We strike before the sun breaks the sky," Odin said, his voice like iron dragged across stone. "No siege. No waiting. No mercy. We scale the walls, take the passage beneath the kitchen. A decoy at the gate will fracture their lines. While they're distracted, we end this."
"They won't expect a counterattack so soon," Alaric added. "They'll believe we retreated for good. We should attack the manor at the same time."
