The Moonstone King's Smile
The night stretched deep and cold across the borderlands between Vellore and the Moonstone Kingdom. The moon hung high—silver, vast, and twin-marked in its reflection—its light tracing pale fingers across the sea of tents that sprawled for miles.
The banners of Moonstone fluttered under the wind, deep blue with the crest of twin moons carved in black ink. Torches burned along the paths, their flames whispering against the night air, casting shadows that danced along polished silver armor.
The camp was alive with movement. Soldiers sharpened blades, horses neighed restlessly, and the metallic tang of oil and steel filled the air. It wasn't chaos—it was discipline sculpted into sound. Every flicker of torchlight bounced off hundreds of helmets and breastplates, each marked with the crescent symbol of the Moonstone army.
