Morning came, and usually this would have been announced to Aric by the chirping of birds in the sky, but there was no such thing. Here, it was far too cold for birds to fly, and even the sunlight came in a pale, gloomy glow. There was barely any warmth in its rays.
Aric had donned his armor once more and went to the water reservoir placed within the tent. He dipped both hands into it before splashing his face with the freezing cold water. Only then did he notice the stains of blood on his hands—none of it his.
It belonged to the men he had felled the previous night.
He soaked his hands in the water, scrubbing to wash away the blood, as though he might cleanse himself of their murders along with the crimson stains, but he knew better—such a sin was one that would follow him all his life.
He stood, staring at his reflection in the water for a while, until a call came from outside the tent.
"General!" one of the soldiers exclaimed. "The Northrenders' legionaries have arrived."
