We ride two days without stopping, no fire, no camp, no rest. And when we arrive at the front, what greets us isn't a battlefield. It's the end of the world.
"Gods above…" Thadius whispers, the words barely more than a breath. His face is pale as bone.
My horse shies beneath me, hooves shifting restlessly, and I tighten the reins. But I can't take my eyes off the horizon.
Too many.
Our army numbers in thousands, and yet the Dark King's forces stretch beyond sight, a black tide consuming the plains. A scourge upon the earth. They bring no supplies. No ballistae. No trebuchets. No siege towers.
They don't even need them.
A creeping silence settles over our men, the kind that chokes. Even the Elite falter, their eyes hollow with despair. We all know it. This is a battle we cannot win. When we fall, Silvermoor will burn. Nothing will remain.
