The drums began before dawn.
Low and slow, like the heartbeat of something ancient roused from sleep, the rhythm rolled across the capital and stirred every soldier, every noble, every watcher behind silk-draped windows.
By midmorning, the Crown Prince's estate was a flurry of controlled chaos—horses being brushed to shine, banners unfurled and sorted by lineage, scouts rechecked, blades inspected, and arrows counted by the dozen.
And then the horns blew.
One long, curving note that cut through the mist like a blade. It was time.
