The air in the war camp was thick with the scent of smoke, steel, and sweat.
The fires had burned low. The night was still, too still and Alaric felt it deep in his bones.
He was in his command tent, hunched over a map when the flap burst open.
Marcus and Carlden entered quickly, ushering in a soldier between them, a knight in Skyblade colors, dirt streaked across his armor and face.
"General," Marcus said, a note of urgency in his voice. "He says he's found something."
Alaric straightened immediately. "Speak."
The knight bowed quickly. "Your Highness, after patroling the plains as ordered, we found traces of an unfamiliar substance near the enemy's forward line. It wasn't ours."
Alaric's gaze sharpened. "Substance?"
"Yes, sir."
The man reached into the pouch strapped to his side and pulled out a small glass vial, sealed tight. Inside was a faint dust, silver–gray, much like Daphne's powder.
