The southern night fell thick and heavy, wrapping the border outpost in a veil of gray fog. Torches flickered along the fortress walls, their flames struggling against the damp air. Selene walked across the ramparts with a quiet determination, her cloak snapping softly behind her as the wind picked up from the east.
Everything felt too still.
A stillness that did not belong to victory but to the pause before something far worse.
Below her, soldiers moved through the camp—some cleaning weapons, others tending to the wounded. But even their movements were subdued, as if the entire outpost sensed what she did:
The battle against Corvus had been the beginning, not the end.
A lieutenant hurried toward her, breathless and pale. "Commander, scouts from the northern trail have returned."
Selene stopped. "From the ridge?"
"Yes, Commander. They saw… movement." The young man swallowed. "A large movement."
She felt the tension coil inside her. "How large?"
"Hundreds. Maybe more."
