The ground trembled beneath thousands of marching feet. To the north, the Scythelanders moved in ruthless silence, their banners of black and crimson cutting through the morning haze. Axes glinted like shards of night, and the curved blades of their scythes swayed on their backs, death's harvesters on the move. Their voices did not sing songs of glory — they chanted oaths, each step a promise of blood spilled for family, for nation, for vengeance.
From the south, the Ellis Empire thundered forward, an endless tide of steel and banners of gold. Trumpets split the air, drums pounded like a beating heart, and the generals rode at the front with their polished armor shining like the sun itself had blessed their cause. Young soldiers cheered, hungry for battle, their pride swelling with every stride.
Two rivers of men, weapons, and will converged upon the Valley of Skulls. Once a graveyard of forgotten wars, now it awaited a fresh feast. The jagged cliffs loomed over them, silent witnesses, while the wind carried a foreboding whisper — as if the land itself remembered.
Here, at the valley, there would be no escape. Only the clash of steel, the roar of men, and the silence of the dead.
The valley lay restless under a gray sky, as if the heavens themselves mourned what was to come. Both armies had arrived, their banners planted deep in the soil like claims upon the land, but neither struck the first blow. The war was decreed to begin in seven days.
Seven days — for the Ellis Empire to sharpen its blades, polish its pride, and let its generals whisper of inevitable glory. Fires lit the camp like a thousand stars, and songs of conquest echoed through the night. The soldiers believed the days ahead were a prelude to triumph, not doom.
Seven days — for the Scythelanders to tighten their ranks, test their scythes against bone and wood, and renew the oaths that bound them as one. Their camp did not echo with laughter or wine. Instead, it thrummed with discipline, silence, and the cold certainty of wolves waiting at the edge of a hunt.
And so the Valley of Skulls became a crucible of patience, where each dawn brought the promise of slaughter closer. The air thickened with tension, the earth drank the sweat of nervous men, and the wind carried whispers of a single truth: when the seven days ended, only one banner would remain standing
The first day of war dawned bright over the valley of skulls, and the Ellis empire marched without hesitation. Drums thundered, horns split the air, and banners stretched across the horizon like rivers of flame. Not a soldier trembled. Not a noble doubted. To them, this was not war, but inevitability.
"Let the Scythelanders hide behind silence," Flint Sky declared, riding before his ranks. "We are the empire. We do not falter. We do not bow. In seven days, we will grind their bones into the dust." His voice carried like iron, and the soldiers roared their answer.
Encampments sprang up with precision, tents rising like cities overnight. Generals paced their units, sharpening spirits with promises of glory. Young recruits painted their armor with symbols of victory before the first blade was even drawn. No man spoke of defeat, for the word itself felt foreign in the empire's tongue.
Across the valley, the Scythelanders stood in grim silence. No boasts, no cheers. They drilled as one, movements sharp, disciplined, every formation tightening like the coils of a serpent. Their scythes gleamed in the sun, the whisper of whetstones their only music.
Darian and his sons did not stand among either host. Confined by royal decree, they watched from behind barred windows as history marched without them. Kael's knuckles whitened around the sill. "They call us cowards, yet they cannot see the blade at their throat."
Reid's fury boiled hotter. "Better chains than mockery."
But Darian's gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, cold and knowing. "This is not courage," he said quietly. "It is pride. And pride is the first blood of war."
As dusk settled, the Scythelanders lifted their scythes in unison, the gesture wordless but heavy. The empire answered with laughter and song, fearless in the face of shadows. Day One ended without a drop spilled, but the valley itself seemed to breathe, waiting, hungering for what was to come.