The first light of dawn kissed the horizon with bruised orange and violet. Fog clung low to the ground like breath on cold steel, swirling between armored boots and mounted banners. The Twelfth Pillar Army stood ready — a thousand strong, clad in black and silver, their formation stretching like a coiled blade across the stone road.
Aden stood at the front, draped in his dark cloak, the sigil of the Emperor burned into the clasp at his shoulder. The obsidian medallion caught the light, dull and ominous. Behind him, horses snorted in the cold. Siege units creaked. Standards snapped in the breeze.
Egmund adjusted his gauntlets beside him. "You sure you wanna ride in silence like some tragic warlord? We could at least play some drums or something."
Aden didn't respond at first. His eyes were locked on the distant path that stretched eastward — toward Dahaka. Toward the place he knew wouldn't just be another battlefield.
This is where it starts…
From the novel, he remembered Dahaka as cursed land — not just by monsters or dark magic, but by something older. A rot in the world's bones. It started there. The Knight Crawlers. The Ward collapse. The dead rising without names.
No one else knew yet. Not the Emperor. Not Ed. Not even Serenia, for all her brilliance. The real threat wasn't what they saw. It was what was buried — and what was waiting to wake.
Egmund nudged him. "Hey. You okay?"
Aden blinked. "Yeah."
He glanced back at his army. Hardened faces, young and old. Some bore the crest of the Vasco lineage. Others were conscripts, mercenaries, or disgraced nobles seeking redemption. But now they were his.
Twelfth Pillar. A name that didn't exist a month ago, now chanted in quiet reverence.
Aden mounted his horse in one smooth motion. The beast stirred but didn't flinch. Even it knew who he was now.
"Any last words?" Egmund asked, climbing onto his own saddle with a grin. "Y'know, before we all march into hell?"
Aden did not reply.
Egmund whistled. "Cold."
Aden raised his hand. The signal. Horns blared behind him — low and thunderous, echoing through the hills. The army began to move, the rhythm of boots and wheels thudding like war drums.
As they crossed the great gate out of the capital, citizens lined the road. Silent. Some fearful. Some in awe. Most just watched. After all, the last time someone marched east with this many men, half of them never came back.
But none of them had Aden Vasco.
And far ahead, beyond the rolling fog and cursed marshes, Dahaka stirred — something ancient pulling itself upright in the dark.
The game board was set.
Let the next move begin.