The enemy came into view at last.
Across the open ground ahead, the Thal'zar forces formed their lines—lycans standing tall in their natural shapes, others already half-shifted, muscle and bone ready to tear into something more feral at a moment's notice. Among them moved men who could become beasts, warriors who carried that transition in their posture alone, hybrid figures built for impact rather than finesse.
They were prepared for a frontal collision.
Trafalgar stood at the very front of his formation, unmoving, his presence anchoring the three hundred soldiers behind him. He did not shout or gesture, yet the effect was clear in the way their stances tightened and their breathing steadied. Seeing him there made the line feel harder to break.
Garrika remained at his side, eyes fixed on the enemy ranks.
Trafalgar glanced toward her.
"You'll be fighting people of your own race," he said calmly. "Do you feel anything about that?"
Garrika did not hesitate.
