The wind rolled like a slow wave across the field, carrying the distant clatter of armor and the sharp tang of iron. A hundred thousand soldiers stretched across the valley—standard-bearers from the noble houses, banners fluttering like tongues of fire in the afternoon light. They stood in proud formation, polished armor gleaming beneath the overcast sky, unaware that they were already walking corpses.
Henry stood beside Aurora at the overlook, the wind ruffling his cloak. From this height, the soldiers below looked like silver ants marching toward a battle none of them could understand.
He swallowed, eyes narrowing. "This is the culmination of everything we've worked for," he said softly. "All the noble houses, unified. Ready."
Aurora said nothing at first. Her eyes scanned the army, sharp and unreadable, her hands folded behind her back. The glow of a rune-stone flickered at her wrist—a silent heartbeat.
"They're going to die, Henry."
