The march began under a gray, unwelcoming sky, and most of the men were far from pleased.
Boots dragged through mud and dust, armor clinked dully with every step, and faces were set in hard, resentful lines.
They had been soldiers long enough to know better than to protest openly, but that didn't stop the low grumbling that spread through the ranks like a sickness.
Complaints were whispered when officers weren't close, curses muttered beneath breath, doubts shared in hushed tones.
Still, they marched.
Training overrode fear and resentment alike. Whatever misgivings they carried in their hearts, they kept their formation, followed their banners, and did exactly as they were told.
In the end, obedience was the one thing they could not abandon.
Days turned into a week of relentless movement.
The land grew harsher, the air heavier, as if even the world itself was warning them of what lay ahead.
Then, at last, they saw it.
