Morning light spread slowly across the plains.
The mist that had gathered throughout the night began to dissipate beneath the first rays of sunlight.
Little by little, the battlefield revealed itself once more.
The scars left behind by sixty-three days of war.
Trenches.
Turned earth.
Destroyed wagons.
Abandoned weapons.
Deep scars carved by the clashes that had transformed the plains before Arkhel.
Before the walls, thousands of soldiers remained in position.
Rows of shields.
Spears.
Archers.
Formations organized along the defensive lines.
No orders were given.
No significant movement took place.
Even so, tension lingered across the field.
In the distance, the banners of the North rose once again.
Small movements began to emerge between the lines.
Soldiers took their positions.
Knights moved between formations.
Like a sleeping creature slowly awakening for another day of war.
And above all of it—
Arkhel remained motionless.
The walls rose over the land like mountains of stone.
Indifferent.
Impenetrable.
Far above the main gates, the Watch Pavilion remained suspended over the wall.
The wind crossed through the battlements carrying the distant scent of damp earth.
There, a single figure watched the plains.
Hands resting behind his back.
Gray-silver hair moving softly beneath the morning wind.
His eyes traveled across the field below.
Calm.
Attentive.
Like someone watching a play whose final act had not yet begun.
Footsteps echoed across the stairs.
A soldier appeared at the entrance of the pavilion.
He stopped a few meters behind the figure.
Fist clenched against his chest.
"Lord Oryn."
The blue-gray eyes remained turned toward the plains.
"Speak."
"Our observers have completed the reports."
No reaction.
The wind continued passing through the walls.
"And?"
The soldier quickly checked the documents he carried.
"The North's movements match the predictions."
A brief silence.
"The redistribution has been completed."
Oryn's eyes moved toward the distant line of banners.
"And Kaizer?"
"He was not identified on any of the five fronts."
The silence remained for a few moments.
A small smile appeared on the count's face.
Subtle.
Calculated.
"It seems Alaric was correct."
The soldier remained still.
Waiting.
"Continue."
"As predicted..."
The soldier consulted the report.
"The Northern army distributed its forces as follows:"
"The eastern flank has eight thousand two hundred men."
"The third flank, eight thousand one hundred."
"The central sector, eight thousand two hundred."
A brief pause.
"The western front received ten thousand men."
"And the southern front, ten thousand three hundred and seventeen."
Silence remained for a few moments.
The wind crossed through the battlements.
Oryn's eyes remained fixed on the field below.
"Reinforce the eastern flank."
"The third flank."
"And the central sector."
The soldier nodded.
"How many men should I relocate?"
Oryn finally turned toward him.
"As many as we can sustain."
The soldier frowned slightly.
"And the other two fronts?"
Oryn turned his eyes back toward the field.
"Send double."
"Yes, Lord Oryn."
The soldier made a motion to leave.
But interrupted his own movement.
Like someone who had just remembered something important.
"There is one more thing."
Oryn waited.
"As Lord Alaric informed us, he will remain on the second wall."
A brief pause.
"But he asked me to deliver a message to you."
For the first time, a trace of interest appeared on the count's face.
"Continue."
The soldier quickly checked the notes.
"He said only this:"
A brief hesitation.
"'Monsters dance with monsters.'"
A small smile appeared at the corner of Oryn's lips.
Subtle.
Calculated.
"Of course they dance."
His fingers lightly touched the edge of the pavilion.
Thoughtful.
"And some do not even realize the music has already begun."
Silence settled between the two.
The soldier bowed.
Soon, he stepped away silently.
Footsteps echoed through the pavilion.
Blending with the wind and the distant murmur of the battlefield.
On the southern front of the Northern army—
Rows of soldiers stretched across the plains.
Banners moved beneath the morning wind.
At the center of the formation, León guided his mount through the lines.
His eyes remained fixed ahead.
Attentive.
Silent.
A few meters to his right, Sèsinmè followed the advance.
Mounted upon her white horse.
Her white garments moved softly beneath the cold morning wind.
Dark hair followed the movement of the mount.
Sèsinmè's eyes rested upon León.
For a few moments.
Studying him.
Observing something few seemed to notice.
"Lady Sèsinmè."
León's voice came out calm.
Without taking his eyes off the road.
"Do you wish to say something?"
Sèsinmè held his gaze for a few moments longer.
"I was only observing."
"Observing?"
The sound of hooves accompanied the brief silence.
"Someone walking toward a place where he should not be."
León finally turned his eyes toward her.
Sèsinmè maintained the same serenity.
"And yet still moving in that direction even while knowing it."
León watched her for a moment.
"That sounds more like a warning than an observation."
"Perhaps it is both."
Sèsinmè's eyes returned forward.
"Tell me, Lord León."
A brief pause.
"Why would someone refuse what so many would be willing to kill to possess?"
León remained silent.
The rhythmic sound of hooves continued accompanying the advance.
"You are referring to the King's Blood?"
"I am referring to the easier path."
Her eyes remained on the plains.
"I wonder..."
"If it was to leave a name behind?"
The mounts slowed their pace.
Ahead, the final rows were beginning to open.
Little by little, the rest of the formation fell behind them.
León guided his horse to the front of the southern flank.
Before them, the vast plains stretched all the way to Arkhel's lines.
León observed the rows of soldiers extending ahead.
For a few moments.
As though searching for the correct words.
"I believe you already know the answer, Lady Sèsinmè."
She did not reply.
"But know this—I do not fight to be remembered."
His voice remained calm.
Firm.
"I fight so others may have the chance to continue living."
Her eyes turned toward León.
"It is curious, don't you think..."
"Some people cross through the same darkness."
León did not respond.
"They witness the same losses."
"They bury the same dead."
A brief pause.
"And even so, arrive at completely different destinations."
The wind crossed the plains.
Moving León's blond hair.
His eyes rested upon Sèsinmè.
Silent.
Unshaken.
Then—
The sound of a war horn cut across the battlefield.
Soon after, drums answered along the lines.
The first rows of Arkhel began to advance.
Shields.
Spears.
Thousands of men moving toward the Northern army.
León shifted his eyes toward the advancing force.
"Darkness does not decide what we become."
A brief pause.
"It only reveals what we choose to carry."
A faint smile appeared on Sèsinmè's lips.
Subtle.
Almost imperceptible.
She turned her eyes toward the rows beginning to march.
"Be careful, Lord León."
A brief pause.
"When certain paths cross once again..."
The banners moved beneath the wind.
"The ground tends to disappear beneath the feet of those who walk them."
León remained silent.
Ahead, Arkhel's lines continued advancing.
Shields.
Spears.
A tide of steel slowly moving through the battlefield.
The wind crossed the banners of the North.
León raised his hand.
Immediately, the nearby officers turned their attention toward him.
"Transmit the order."
His voice remained firm.
Calm.
"Shields to the front."
"Keep the formations tight."
"Archers ready at the first signal."
The messengers departed along the lines.
Galloping between soldiers and officers.
Carrying the orders to every sector of the formation.
Little by little, the North began to move.
First one row.
Then another.
And then thousands.
Shields rose.
Spears angled forward.
The sound of footsteps began spreading across the plains.
León watched the distant walls of Arkhel.
Motionless.
Calculating.
"Advance."
The order traveled through the lines.
Like a wave crossing the army.
Drums answered.
War horns echoed.
The distance between the two armies closed with every step.
And even so—
Neither side slowed down.
The shields remained raised.
The spears pointed forward.
Thousands of men advancing like two tides destined to occupy the same space.
The sound of footsteps had already swallowed the drums.
Had already swallowed the war horns.
Only the weight of thousands of soldiers marching toward death remained.
The wind crossed the plains.
Soon, it disappeared.
As if the world itself were holding its breath.
León and Sèsinmè watched.
Motionless.
Ahead, thousands of shields grew larger with every passing instant.
Closer.
Until there was no distance left at all.
The two lines collided.
The impact crossed the plains like thunder.
Shields crushed against shields.
Spears shattered.
Men were thrown backward.
The first screams emerged.
Some men fell and never had the chance to rise again.
Others continued advancing even while carrying wounds that should have brought them down.
Cries of pain mixed with the officers' orders.
Blood stained the earth that, moments earlier, had still been untouched by morning.
For a single instant, it seemed the two armies had stopped.
Like two mountains colliding.