Liraeth's territory stretched wide, dotted with villages that stood like fragile lights against the dark tide of war.
Two days after the meeting was held, while Liraeth and her allies prepared their troops, the enemy made their own moves.
In the Sengolio camp, smoke still curled from the ruins of what used to be a peaceful village. The smell of ash and blood lingered in the air, the ground stained black where homes once stood.
Inside a large, dark tent, General Lafuente sat on a carved wooden chair. The man looked to be in his forties, broad-shouldered, his black hair tied neatly behind him. In one hand he rolled two iron balls, the quiet clinking sound filling the silence.
A nervous soldier stepped forward, kneeling. "Reporting, General Lafuente… we're running low on supplies. If we're to reach Duskwind Field, we'll need to secure food first."
