"You know…" Heria muttered under her breath, her voice light and almost dreamy as she stretched her arms behind her head, locking her fingers together with a slow pop of her knuckles.
Her body leaned back in a lazy arch, the wooden chair beneath her creaking as it rocked gently beneath her shifting weight.
"Someday," she continued, staring absentmindedly at the canvas ceiling of the tent, "I'd like to learn how to cook."
There was a pause as she lowered her gaze to her hands, studying her fingers as if they'd already prepared countless dishes.
She twisted them this way and that, inspecting her nails with a casual grace.
Her tone softened with an exhale. "You know… like those famous recipes back in the capital. The real gourmet ones."
A slight smile curved her lips as she whispered longingly, "Like the delicious and savory Meridstal…"
*Shing!
The sound of metal sliding across whetstone cut through her daydream like a blade through soft fruit.
Enerken scoffed, his eyes focused on the blade he was meticulously sharpening.
*Shing! *Shing!
The long, steady scrape of stone against metal echoed as he flicked his wrist, tilting the blade with perfect form.
"Like anyone would eat your cooking in the first place," he said dryly, his voice as cutting as the weapon in his hands.
He didn't look up as he added with a half-smirk, "I fear for the kitchen you'd step foot in."
Heria rolled her eyes with exaggerated flair, a sarcastic chuckle escaping her lips.
"Ha-ha. You're hilarious. Really."
The tent felt almost peaceful despite the war that brewed outside—two siblings, teasing as if their entire world wasn't about to be swallowed in flames.
But that stillness cracked apart the moment the entrance flaps rustled and parted.
Their movements stilled, the lazy air around them replaced with tension in an instant.
Both of them stood upright without hesitation, posture straightening instinctively as the figure entered.
"Mother," they said in perfect unison, their voices overlapping as they stepped forward with reverence.
"My beloved children," Merilyn said, her voice full of warmth as her eyes swept over the two of them with unmistakable pride.
Her presence alone lit the space like a sun behind clouds, her expression softening at the sight of them.
"So… how did the meeting go?" Heria asked, the anticipation plain on her face. Her fingers fidgeted slightly, betraying her nerves.
But before Merilyn could speak, Enerken stepped in with his usual fervor.
"I will prove myself in this battle, Mother," he said, his voice filled with iron conviction as he raised his sword and laid it against his chest in solemn oath.
"This is one more step toward earning a named blade of my own."
Merilyn's chuckle was gentle, the sound like warm wind against stone.
She reached out, brushing her fingers through her son's hair with maternal affection.
"I look forward to that day, my son," she said fondly, pride gleaming in her eyes.
Her attention then turned to Heria, ready to respond to her question with a heavier heart.
"Both of you will be joining your father," she began, her tone shifting to something more somber, more commanding.
"You'll remain behind Merza's flame wall. There—together with exactly five hundred thousand of our soldiers—you will hold the line and maintain a constant assault against the Atroxians from afar."
She sighed, the burden of her decision visible in the way her shoulders slouched ever so slightly.
"I know the both of you wanted to be with us on the frontlines, alongsi—"
"We shall do as ordered, Battlemaster," Enerken cut in firmly, his brow furrowed as he nodded with quiet resolve.
Heria gave him a quick glance, her lips pressing together.
Then, with a softer voice, she turned to Merilyn.
"We understand, Mother," she said, her words calm yet sincere. "Sometimes you've just got to leave it to the experts."
She leaned casually against Enerken's shoulder, smirking playfully.
"Besides… there'll be plenty more battles waiting for us."
Merilyn's heart brimmed with pride as she reached out and placed a hand on both of their heads, gently pulling them close as if she were trying to remember this warmth forever.
"This mother is so proud of how far you've both come," she whispered, her voice caught between love and fear, joy and mourning.
Then, she withdrew, her expression turning resolute, her voice now edged with authority.
"Battle awaits us, soldiers of Zeraf. And we will bring this victory home for our Empire."
"Evkar in Kazar!" Heria and Enerken declared proudly, their fists striking their chests in unison as they gave a sharp, proud salute.
Merilyn took a lingering look at her children—her greatest pride, her deepest love—and as she turned toward the flap of the tent, her steps hesitated.
A part of her knew.
Somehow.
This moment might be the last.
Or perhaps it was just a feeling.
Her gaze lingered.
And then she was gone.
===
*THUD! *THUMP! *THUD! *THUMP! *THUD! *THUMP!
The drums of war pounded like a living heart, loud and thunderous, shaking the very marrow of every soldier who stood in its rhythm.
*March!! *THUD!
"Vekarn in Khal!"
Each beat sent vibrations deep into their bones—fueling them with adrenaline, kindling the dormant fire of courage that slumbered within their chests.
*March!! *THUD!
"Surah!"
With each booming thud, the flames inside them grew.
*March!! *THUD!
"DEATH!"
"DEATH!"
Motivation.
Morale.
Glory.
*March!! *THUD!
*Rumble!
"FOR THE EMPIRE!"
Across the horizon stretched the assembled might of a million soldiers—all of Zerafhon's finest.
And in the silence between each drumbeat, the truth echoed in their minds:
This wasn't just another battle.
This was the war.
The moment history would carve their names into the stars or grind them into dust.
*Rumbling!!!
"Evkar in Kazar! Evkar in Kazar!"
The chants erupted like a tidal wave, growing louder, heavier—until the very earth trembled beneath the synchronized stomps and chest-pounding pride of their unity.
At the edge of the army, facing the wall of searing fire, stood the three Battlemasters—Erenhold, Merza, and Merilyn.
Their presence alone was a symbol of power and inspiration, a trinity of might rarely seen in a single field of war.
The flames that Merza had summoned roared before them, casting long, monstrous shadows across the ground.
Soldiers behind them stared in awe, their battle fervor climbing higher just by the sight of their leaders.
Plans had been drawn.
Positions had been taken.
Weapons primed.
All that remained was the charge.
Merza studied the datapad attached to her arm, her eyes scanning lines of tactical updates before shifting her gaze to the comrades beside her.
"We shall move in thirty minutes," she said with unwavering certainty.
Merilyn and Erenhold gave silent nods in agreement, both of them locked into the gravity of the moment.
Merilyn closed her eyes for a breath—
*phew...
long, slow, deep.
She tried to steady her heart as she extended her fingers, searching for the feeling in the air.
She thought of Evaan.
Of Heria and Enerken.
She thought of House Sorellia, of their legacy.
Of the war that had brought them here—and of the sacrifice that might yet be asked.
Then her eyes opened, burning with calm determination.
"Let's get this over with quickly," she said, her voice low but iron-strong.
Erenhold said nothing,
*clink!
only crossing his arms as the chains wrapped around them clunked together like chimes of war.
.
.
.
*Exactly 29 minutes had passed and mere seconds remained before the charge.
A haunting stillness followed, filled only by the crackling of fire and distant cries of Atroxians.
.
.
.
Then, as if to signal the gods themselves, a single thunderous blast split the silence.
*BANG!!!
"Evkar en Kreatora!" roared Merza as she raised her longsword, now engulfed in raging flames, high into the air.
And with that cry,
it began.
The final battle of Chasmratt.
After countless years of bitter skirmishes, of loss and perseverance, of blood spilled and fire stoked—this was the last march.
"FORWAAAAARD!!!"
*Rumbling!!!
The ground trembled with the stampede of soldiers and the roar of war engines as Zerafhon surged forward with everything it had.
And the stars themselves seemed to hold their breath.