The Morning That Broke
The morning had broken not gently, but like glass under the weight of war.
A pale light spilled across Ground Three, burning through the mist of gunfire and smoke. The air smelled of steel, mud, and grief.
The soldiers of Naryan stood in silence, their armor blackened, their faces empty.
They watched in disbelief as Twilight and Thomas returned not alone, but with Edwin and Rowan at their side.
Their return should have been a miracle, but no joy stirred the weary hearts of the Naryans. Too many had fallen. Too much had been lost.
Behind their silence, the whispers grew.
"The Aryans' weapons… impossible."
"Guns… faster than thunder."
"Not even our walls could stop them."
The Aryans, their sworn enemies, fought with weapons the Naryans had never seen rifles that spat death faster than breath, and engines that roared like beasts of metal.
Among the broken men stood one who did not belong Jon Snow, a foreigner in their ranks.
He knew he had no right to speak, no title among them, but his heart burned hotter than their fear.
And so, with quiet resolve, he stepped forward.
"Permission to speak," he said, standing before the Fifth Commander of Naryan.
The commander's armor was cracked; his face shadowed by exhaustion. Yet when he heard the request, he let out a low, bitter laugh.
"Look at you," he said. "Sitting there like a man who knows nothing of this war.
If this were Blackwell, we'd have already broken their lines.
They are no monsters in a castle only men, like us.
They bleed. They fall. The only difference is their machines… and their cunning."
Jon's voice rose, quiet but firm.
"I've escaped death twice, Commander. If your men cannot rise, then give me control. Let me fight shoulder to shoulder with them. Let me lead."
For a moment, silence. The commander stared at him, then slowly nodded.
Jon turned and walked back toward the shattered ranks of soldiers men who had already buried hope in the mud beneath their boots.
At the edge of the field, beneath a half-broken tree, he stopped.
His cloak fluttered in the wind, tattered and gray. His voice rang out across the ranks, clear as steel striking stone.
"Men of Naryan! I am no son of your kingdom.
I bear no banner, no crown, no right to lead you.
But I have seen your commander I've seen his courage, his heart.
And I tell you this… even if Ground Two has fallen we rise!"
The soldiers turned, one by one, faces lifting, eyes burning faintly again.
"If you will follow me," Jon cried, "then follow me to death if you must!
For today, I fight for a banner that isn't mine
I fight for the honor of Naryan,
for the hands that built this land,
for the voices that fell silent in its name!"
The men stirred. The air trembled.
One soldier young, blood-streaked, trembling lifted his rifle and shouted:
"Snow! Snow! Snow!"
The chant spread like fire.
"Snow! Snow! Snow!"
Soon, every man in Naryan's broken army was shouting,
their rifles raised to the dawn that no longer felt like death.
They marched.
Mud splashed under their boots.
Drums began to beat not from command, but from hearts awakening.
A soldier came running, carrying the old star banner of Naryan the one their commander had once borne.
He pressed it into Jon's hands.
Jon gripped the flagpole, its torn cloth catching the wind.
And as he raised it high, the army roared:
"We rise! We rise! We rise!"
The anthem of fallen Naryans returned to the battlefield
and as they marched forward into the mouth of war,
the world heard again the song of men who refused to die.
The Song of Naryan
The morning fog grew heavier with every step.
It rolled like a living sea across the plains, swallowing sunlight and shadow alike.
The world was pale, gray, endless a battlefield wrapped in silence.
Through that silence came the steady rhythm of boots.
The soldiers of Naryan marched wounded, weary, yet unbroken.
At their front, Jon Snow carried a flag that was not his own.
Its colors belonged to a kingdom he had never sworn to serve.
Yet in his hands, it fluttered like it had found its true bearer.
He thought of the small village he came from.
a place burned to ash, a name erased by war.
He had no home left to fight for.
So he marched for theirs.
Forget the past, he told himself.
Remember the future.
Beside him, the men of Naryan advanced.
Some rode on battered horses, armor clinking softly.
Others walked on foot, mud clinging to their legs, rifles slung over their shoulders.
Yet all of them moved as one.
Their voices rose through the fog slow, rough, untrained
but strong enough to shake the morning stillness.
The Song of Naryan
We must march as we march,
We must, we must just one!
We stand together before we fall,
We fall as one we are one!
We are brothers, we are one with us!
Their song echoed like a heartbeat through the mist.
Each note was a promise.
Each voice a spark of defiance against the coming storm.
Ahead, Thomas, Edwin, and Rowan ran through the fog,
their cloaks snapping like wings, their rifles glinting faintly in the dim light.
The ground trembled under their steps.
They did not look back.
Behind them, Jon Snow lifted the banner higher, his voice carrying through the ranks:
"We march! Without fear! Without home! But with honor!"
And so they moved through the fog, through the pain, through the fading light of the morning that refused to rise.
The Army of Naryan marched
not to win,
but to be remembered.