He turned to the three hundred young warriors behind him, his voice calm but carrying easily across the dry air.
"Remember this place," he said. "This is what defeat looks like. Keep that image burned in your minds. We are not going to let our home become another dead wasteland."
The recruits straightened a little, their nervousness mixing with renewed resolve.
Sol turned forward again, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of the Dreadwing Blade.
"Keep moving. The enemy is coming."
The group of young Veynar warriors continued their march across the cracked, lifeless ground… three hundred souls walking straight into the heart of the trap they had prepared.
The wasteland stretched endlessly before them, silent and unforgiving.
And somewhere far beyond the horizon, the massive Coalition army was marching closer with every passing minute.
…
After walking a short distance onto the parched gravel flats, well clear of the mountain's shadow, Sol stopped and raised his hand.
