The faint hum of mana lamps filled the war chamber , their golden light spilling over maps scarred by years of ink and blood.
Elian Valemont stood before the council table, back straight, eyes unwavering.
Across from him sat High Marshal Rothan Greaves, a man carved from war and discipline.
---
"Elian Valemont," the Marshal began, his tone heavy with duty.
He flipped open a black file sealed with the sigil of House Valemont.
"By order of the High Council, you are hereby promoted to Platoon Leader."
A pause.
Then — "Your unit's designation… is The Seventh Dawn."
The words fell like iron.
And the silence that followed… was heavier still.
---
"Intel and reconnaissance," Rothan continued, voice cutting through the tension.
"You'll track demonic border movements and monitor other Houses.
Operate unseen. Observe. Report. Intervene only when necessary."
He slid the folder across the table.
Inside ,seven names.
Some crossed out.
Some newly written in red ink.
Elian didn't speak.
He simply picked it up , his expression calm, unreadable.
---
As he turned to leave, whispers stirred behind him.
When the door shut, Commander Darius Morn leaned forward.
"Why him?" he asked.
"There are stronger soldiers ,men born from greater Houses.
He's barely above average in combat."
Rothan exhaled, lighting a small pipe.
The flicker of mana-flame reflected in his eyes.
"True," he admitted, smoke curling upward.
"But raw talent doesn't win wars… judgment does."
He tapped the table once ,
a single, deliberate thud.
---
"Do you remember the Battle of Hundred?" Rothan asked quietly.
"Three years ago, at the Border of Doom?"
Morn stiffened.
"The massacre… only a hundred soldiers survived against two thousand demons.
Don't tell me—"
"He led them."
Rothan's voice carried the weight of memory.
"When their commander was killed, Elian took control.
He turned collapsing trenches and mana storms into weapons.
He doesn't fight like a soldier… he thinks like a war."
The chamber fell silent.
Only the soft crackle of mana-flames filled the air.
"He sees differently," Rothan said at last.
"And we'll need that kind of vision soon."
---
That night, the rain whispered against the barracks windows.
Elian sat alone , the folder open before him.
The candlelight flickered across pages of names and notes.
Arlen Voss. Soldier. High demon-kill count. Psychological profile: unstable.
Kael Erend. Marksman. Near-perfect precision. Social interaction: minimal.
Lira D'Mont. Recon specialist. High intellect. Discipline rating: low.
*Seraphina Vale… [Name redacted]
*Cyrus Holt… [Name redacted]
He traced his finger down the list, the paper rough beneath his glove.
A faint smile broke his composure.
"Intel gathering and demon recon…"
"So that's what they're calling it."
He closed the file.
Outside, thunder rolled like an omen
the kind that warns before it destroys.
---
Morning came.
Sunlight streamed through cathedral-like windows of the War Hall,
painting pale gold across armor and stone.
Four soldiers stood at attention ,three familiar, one new.
Arlen Voss leaned against the wall, arms folded,
his gaze hollow yet alert .
Lira D'Mont sat casually beside Kael Erend,
her posture loose, teasing fingers tapping his shoulder.
Kael's eyes avoided hers .
Their laughter was soft.
The sound of people who'd already bled together.
Then the doors opened.
---
Elian Valemont entered.
The echo of his boots rippled through the hall,
his new insignia catching the light with quiet authority.
"I'm Elian Valemont," he said, his tone calm and sure.
"Your new Platoon Leader."
No one saluted.
Lira tilted her head ,smirking.
Arlen's stare was unflinching.
Kael looked away.
Behind them, Rothan Greaves cleared his throat.
"From today onward, you operate as one unit under his command.
Your mission: gather intel. Observe. Survive."
He gestured toward two empty chairs.
"You'll be joined by two specialists later today.
They're… a bit delayed."
"Delayed?" Elian asked.
Rothan smirked faintly.
"Lost, apparently. You'll meet them soon enough."
He handed Elian a silver emblem with seven wings spiraling around a single star.
"Welcome to the Seventh Dawn."
---
The soldiers exchanged quiet glances.
Arlen scoffed.
Lira grinned.
Kael sighed.
Elian turned the emblem over once in his palm
the metal cool against his skin
then slipped it into his coat.
"Understood."
The doors closed behind Rothan,
and for a brief, charged moment
the silence felt alive.
Outside, the citadel bells tolled noon.
Each strike carried weight.
Each echo felt like the start of something vast.
Unseen.
Inevitable.
And so began the story of The Seventh Dawn.