Forest Edge, Dominion Supply Route
Captain Mira crouched in undergrowth, watching the Dominion supply wagons roll past below. Five hundred rangers deployed along the route over three days. Their mission was simple: delay, disrupt, demoralize.
She raised her hand. Her team—twenty rangers, all experienced—tensed.
Waited. Wagons continued. Guards relaxed slightly, thinking themselves safe.
Hand dropped.
Arrows flew. Fire arrows struck canvas covers. Flames spread instantly across dry supplies.
Guards shouted, scrambling. But rangers were already fading into forest, discipline perfect. No prolonged engagement. Hit and vanish.
Three wagons burned. Food supplies destroyed. Equipment ruined.
Behind her, rangers melted into trees like shadows. No pursuit could catch them here.
***
Later, Ranger Camp
Mira gathered her team leaders around small, shielded fire.
"Results from all teams today. Seventeen supply wagons destroyed. Four small patrol units ambushed. Estimated one hundred fifty Dominion casualties over three days. Our losses: twelve wounded, zero killed"
A younger ranger asked. "Are we actually hurting them though? One hundred fifty soldiers from sixty thousand?"
"We are not trying to win battles against them" Mira explained patiently. "We are trying to slow them down. Every wagon burned means they need to redistribute supplies. Every ambush means they need tighter formations and slower marching. Every night raid means they cannot rest properly"
"Three days delay achieved so far. That means three more days for our forges to produce weapons, three more days for allied forces to arrive, three more days strengthening fortifications. Small cuts bleed empires"
Rangers nodded, understanding. Harassment warfare was not about glory. About patience and persistence.
"Tonight we hit their eastern flank again. Same tactics. Quick strikes, disciplined retreat. No heroics"
***
Dominion Camp, Command Tent
Captain Harren stood at attention before General Thrace. Forty-two years old, fifteen-year veteran, never questioned orders before.
Until now.
"The Emperor wants a harsh response to these guerrilla attacks" General Thrace said flatly. "We suspect that village five kilometers north is providing aid to enemy rangers. No concrete proof, but proximity suggests involvement"
Harren's stomach tightened. "What are our orders, sir?"
"Execute twenty civilians publicly as warning to others. Then burn the village completely. Scorched earth policy—deny resources to the enemy"
"Sir, if we have no proof they actually helped—"
"Proof is not required. Example is required. We show what happens to those who aid our enemies, even potentially. Terror prevents future aid"
Harren saluted mechanically. "Yes sir"
Left the tent feeling sick.
***
Village Execution, Next Morning
Harren lined up twenty villagers. Random selection—ages ranged from sixteen to sixty-three. Farmers, bakers, mothers, grandfathers. None looked like warriors. None showed signs of guerrilla activity.
They just lived near enemy rangers.
Village elder pleaded. "We did nothing! We have not helped anyone! We are just trying to survive!"
Harren's second-in-command whispered. "Captain, are we really doing this?"
He wanted to say no. Wanted to refuse. But fifteen years of military discipline, of following orders, of chain of command—it all pressed down.
"Execute them"
Crossbows fired. Twenty villagers fell.
Remaining villagers screamed, wept, fled in terror.
"Burn everything"
Soldiers set fires. Village burned. Smoke rose black against clear sky.
***
Survivors fled west. Toward Covenant territory.
Harren watched them go. Thought bitterly: *We just created more enemies. Those survivors will spread this story. Will turn neutral civilians into Covenant sympathizers. This is not order. This is terror*
*Fifteen years I served. Never questioned until now. But executing civilians for maybe helping? For just existing in wrong place?*
*What are we becoming?*
Seeds of doubt planted deep. Would not defect today. Maybe not tomorrow. But growing.
***
Forest, Night Raid Preparation
Covenant ranger team moved through darkness toward Dominion camp. Ten rangers, elite, silent as death itself.
Mission: horn sounds near camp perimeter. Create impression of large force nearby. Prevent enemy from resting properly.
They approached within two hundred meters. Could see campfire lights, hear guards talking.
Then silence fell.
Absolute silence.
Not quiet—silence. No crickets. No wind rustling leaves. No distant owl calls. Nothing.
One ranger tried speaking. "Can you hear—"
No sound came out. Lips moved. No voice.
Panic spread through team. Hand signals frantically exchanged.
*What is this?*
*Enemy magic?*
*Retreat?*
Thirty seconds. Longest thirty seconds of their lives.
Then normal returned. Crickets resumed. Wind rustled leaves. Voices worked again.
"—me? Can you hear me now?"
"What in the gods' names was that?"
Team leader made decision immediately. "Abort mission. Retreat. Now"
They withdrew quickly, thoroughly unnerved.
***
Ranger Command, Morning Report
"Unknown phenomenon encountered during night raid. Complete silence for approximately thirty seconds. No sound at all—voices, environment, everything. Then normal resumption"
Brenn frowned. "Enemy countermeasure? Some kind of magic suppression?"
"Never seen anything like it before, sir. No warning. Just sudden silence, then return to normal"
"Could it be some new Dominion weapon?"
"Possible. Recommend extreme caution when operating near their forces. Whatever it is, it is very effective at disrupting operations"
Report filed under "Enemy Capabilities—Unknown." Nobody suspected anomaly zones. Why would they? Anomalies were ancient history, not current threats.
***
Dominion Column, Malvorn's Position
Chainkeeper Captain Veros walked alongside Malvorn, monitoring control rod readings constantly.
Something was wrong. Subtle, but present.
Malvorn was responding slower to commands. Half-second delays before obeying. Not outright refusal—just hesitation.
His eyes lingered on horizon sometimes. Like he was thinking. Aware of something beyond immediate situation.
He roared more frequently too. Pain? Frustration? Attempting communication?
Veros checked control rod parameters. All within acceptable ranges. Resonance stable. Shackles holding.
But behavior was anomalous.
Two hundred years, Malvorn had been perfectly compliant. Immediate obedience. No resistance at all.
Now? Small resistances. Tiny delays. Accumulating slowly.
He approached General Thrace during evening camp.
"Sir, I need to report concerns about the Shatterlord"
"Is he breaking free?"
"No sir. Control rods are functioning within parameters. Shackles holding perfectly. But his behavior is changing. Small things—response delays, increased vocalizations, attention wandering. In two hundred years of records, this is unusual"
General Thrace considered. "Can he still fight when deployed?"
"Yes sir. But I recommend monitoring him very closely during battle. If behavior continues degrading, we might face control issues"
"Noted. Keep me informed of any significant changes"
Veros saluted, left.
What he did not know—could not know—was that each anomaly manifestation disrupted Malvorn's control rods slightly. Tiny disruptions. Individually meaningless.
Cumulatively? Weakening two hundred years of conditioning. Increasing awareness. Feeding hope.
***
Ashen Fields, Allied Force Assembly
Brenn stood on command platform, watching allied forces arrive from multiple directions.
Northern Clans came from mountain approaches—two thousand warriors singing war chants, voices carrying across plains. Fierce, disciplined, eager.
Coastal marines arrived via river boats—two thousand elite naval infantry in perfect formation. Professional, experienced, deadly.
Vendar militia marched from the south—five thousand agricultural levies bringing food supplies in carts. Determined, defending homes, loyal.
Western Highlands descended from mountain passes—five thousand elite warriors with superior equipment. Legendary fighters, highly trained.
Logistics were nightmarish. Different languages required translators assigned to every mixed unit. Different food preferences meant supply officers coordinating varied diets. Different customs meant cultural liaisons preventing misunderstandings that could cause conflict.
But they were managing. Slowly, this massive coalition was becoming unified force.
***
Then freed beast volunteers arrived.
Five hundred fifty combat-ready beasts. Walking freely. No chains. Equipped with Forged Bloom weapons. Coordinating with human soldiers as equals.
The entire camp stopped to watch.
Northern Clan warrior—grizzled veteran who had fought for thirty years—stared openly.
"I have never seen this. Beasts as equals. Not slaves. Not tools. Partners"
His companion nodded slowly. "Maybe Covenant really is different. Maybe this is worth fighting for"
Across camp, similar conversations happened. Allied soldiers seeing freed beasts, realizing this was not propaganda. This was real. Covenant actually meant what they said about freedom.
Unity was building. Not just military coordination. Shared belief. Shared purpose.
***
Evening Council, Command Tent
Brenn updated Draven and senior commanders.
"Fifty thousand eight hundred troops assembled. All allied forces converged successfully. Fortifications complete—trenches three kilometers long, earthen walls, archer platforms, artillery positioned. Medical infrastructure ready. Supply lines secured"
"Dominion status?"
"Harassment campaign achieved three-day delay. They are now nine days out instead of six. Rangers report continued success with minimal casualties on our side. Dominion responded with village burning—twenty civilians executed, scorched earth policy. This backfired. Survivors fleeing to us, spreading atrocity stories, turning neutral civilians against them"
"Malvorn?"
"Still present with main column. Chainkeeper reports suggest increasing control difficulties. Nothing critical yet, but behavioral changes noted. We maintain severance team readiness"
"Anomalies?"
Brenn consulted reports. "Rangers encountered something strange. Absolute silence phenomenon during night raid. Thirty-second duration. Unnerving enough to abort mission. Attributed to possible enemy magic weapon, but we have no confirmation"
Draven frowned. "Silence? Complete silence?"
"According to report, yes. No environmental sounds, no voices. Then sudden return to normal"
"That sounds... unnatural. Not like any magic weapon I know"
"Agreed. But we have no better explanation currently. Recommend caution when operating near Dominion forces"
Maps updated. Final defensive positions reviewed. Nine days until enemy arrived.
They were as ready as they would ever be.
***
Notes
Ranger Harassment: Three-day delay achieved through guerrilla tactics, one hundred fifty Dominion casualties versus twelve Covenant wounded, supply disruption effective.
Dominion Brutality: Twenty civilians executed without proof, village burned as warning, strategy backfires as survivors flee to Covenant and spread atrocity stories.
Captain Harren's Doubt: Fifteen-year veteran questioning orders for first time, executing civilians creates moral crisis, seeds planted for potential defection later.
Silence Anomaly: Thirty seconds of absolute silence during night raid, rangers thoroughly unnerved, mission aborted, phenomenon misattributed to enemy magic weapon.
Malvorn's Deterioration: Control weakening subtly with half-second response delays, increased vocalizations, attention wandering, Veros concerned but control rods still functional, anomalies cumulatively affecting conditioning.
Allied Convergence: Fifty thousand eight hundred troops assembled at Ashen Fields, logistical challenges overcome, cultural integration progressing, freed beasts' presence inspiring unity and belief in Covenant's cause.
Anomaly Frequency: One to two manifestations per day now, effects more noticeable, still misunderstood by all sides, foreshadowing building steadily.
💖 Enjoying the story?
👉 Support me on Patreon: patreon.com/sa2quasar