The river ran thick with mist, and the air smelled of iron and rain. Dawn had barely broken, yet the world already trembled with the promise of blood. Selene stood at the head of her forces, her sword drawn, eyes fixed on the opposite bank where the rebel banners swayed in the wind.
Corvus had chosen his ground well. The ruins of an old fortress jutted out from the cliffs behind him, giving his soldiers height and defense. Torches flickered along the wall, their flames fighting against the heavy fog. It was a clever position—perfect for an ambush—but Selene had fought on worse fields.
"Commander," her captain murmured beside her, his armor streaked with mud. "The scouts confirm at least three hundred men across the river. We have half that."
Selene nodded once. "Numbers are a comfort for the unprepared."
The man swallowed, saying nothing more. Her calm unnerved him, but it also steadied everyone around her. That was why she had come—to bring order where fear ruled.
