Aron sat close to the bonfire with the other soldiers. Some offered him food, but he refused — he hadn't the mood to eat, so he simply sat there, staring into the flames.
The moon began to turn white vastly, and birds flew over the blessed horizon. Yet somewhere beyond that stillness, a destruction had entered into their destinies — either demolishing them or weakening them beyond return.
Aron thought on his mind. A buffered past came suddenly — the way everyone close to him had died, one by one, each face still vivid, still burning somewhere beneath his chest where no fire could reach. He shut it away as best he could, but the past had a habit of crawling back when the night grew quiet.
The air around the camp was low with murmurs and the crackling of wood. Men sharpened blades, others wrapped wounds, and a few laughed at something — though the laughter felt hollow, like men trying to remind themselves they were still alive. Aron remained still through all of it.
Then a voice came from behind. It was no more than Commander Keiss, walking toward Aron and exchanging brief words with the other soldiers as he moved through the camp.
He carried himself the way only a man who had seen too many wars could — unhurried, unbothered, but never truly at ease.
He sat beside Aron on the broken tree fence.
Aron gently stared into the bonfire. The air turned colder and breezy, and for a long moment neither of them spoke.
Keiss looked at him first. He asked, out of will — "Nervous, are you?"
Aron was quiet, but he had to give a reply, and so he did. "Just thinking of someone."
Keiss nodded slowly, as though the answer was one he already knew. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
"Well, I am not going to get very keen about it," he said. "But if you keep remembering your past ones, you cannot move toward the future. When you are fighting someone on the battlefield, their faces will appear before you — and it will make you look weak. That is why you never bring your past to fight something."
He paused, letting the fire breathe between his words. "A fight is never for the present — it is waged for the future. The present is merely a fleeting line, separating what has been from what is yet to come."
Aron said nothing, but he listened.
Keiss continued. "My father, Hegerath, was one of the most loyal knights to the king. He died serving him. But the real truth of it was — the king killed him. Not out of relief, but out of fear. The king believed my father would become troublesome for him in the near future. So he removed him. A loyal man, cut down by the very king he bled for."
Aron looked at him, then stared back down at the ground and grieved quietly.
"My father, Agarth Braith, died while fighting one of the heirs of darkness," Aron said at last. "My mother was burned to death by a dragon." He paused. "As for my brother and sister — I do not know if they are alive or not." But after everything, they were most likely dead.
Keiss reached over and tapped Aron's shoulder. "Rest for a while. There is a huge war tomorrow."
The soldier rushed forward, leaping off his horse and heading straight for the king's camp. He was breathless, his armor dented, one side of his face bruised and dark.
Inside the camp, the king's expression was grim. He was scared to hear what was coming — and it came quickly. At least three thousand. How rapidly their numbers had changed.
The soldier stood trembling, traumatized beyond composure. "There was a wolf commanding them," he said. "He killed the other two soldiers. He let me live." His voice dropped. "He was very strong and powerful. Like nothing I have seen before."
The king ordered the guards to summon Keiss and Ling without delay.
Both commanders arrived at the camp and heard the news swiftly. It might have all seemed manageable — until the soldier mentioned the wolf.
"Is this wolf one of the heirs of darkness?" asked Keiss, his voice carrying a questioning weight.
Ling folded his arms. "Maybe not. Maybe yes.
But the real thing is — what if he is like the rest of us? A commander. Someone leading them not by dark power, but by will."
Keiss glanced at him. "Maybe. Your prediction lies at the point where the sun and moon meet."
The king was not calmed by their exchange. He was bound by his fears, dragged deeper into them with every word. "Tell me," he said at last, "what is the best thing we can do now?"
Keiss spoke plainly. "It is simple. We still fight. We have light swords for the knights — not for everyone, but enough. We will use half of them as defense and press forward with the rest."
Ling's eyes steadied. "If we kill the wolf, their point of communication will most likely be destroyed. The army loses its voice." He paused. "But the real question is — who can kill him?"
Every pair of eyes in the room sharpened at once.
Meanwhile, Trail and Luxorious rode straight along the path. Trail could see smoke rising ahead, and large footprints — at least a thousand — pressed deep into the ground. They were close.
Their horses galloped until they finally reached the place where the army had been resting. The sun was about to rise, though it still held back behind the mountains. Trail stood at the edge of a cliff and looked out over a battlefield as vast as three kingdoms, mountains rising on every side like silent witnesses.
Luxorious's voice was furious, yet he remained calm. "Shall we go there? Or wait?"
Trail's eyes stayed on the valley below. "We cannot expose our identity. Not yet — especially not yours. Let them fight first. When the time comes, we will be there."
Lilith sat under a tree close to the camps.
There were many camps scattered across the ground, fires burning low between them.
Something was not sitting right inside — a feeling without a name, like a door left open in an empty room.
What was it? Lilith thought. I think — yeah — ahh. It was gone. Damn it.
But then the siren rang out before the thought could return.
"ALIGN WITH YOUR POSITIONS!"
The heavy voice rang everywhere.
Goosebumps spread across skin. Fear hit all at once — not the sharp kind, but the deep and settling kind that fills the lungs and stays there.
Then the darkness spoke.
Lilith stood up. The sun was rising slowly, slowly — and when its light finally struck, it landed on Lilith's face, burning there like something reflected from within.
Angry. Ready.