The first thing Leo noticed… was the scale.
I can't believe this many people are in one place…
The camp stretched as far as he could see.
Rows upon rows of tents covered the land like a second city, canvas and rope instead of stone and wood. Banners of the duchy moved with the wind, their colors sharp against the gray sky.
Fires burned between the rows, smoke rose into the air.
Voices, hundreds of them, blended into a constant hum.
Armor clinked. Horses neighed. Orders were shouted.
It was chaos. Organized chaos.
Knights moved through the camp in full armor, steel catching the light. Some carried longswords at their hips, others heavier weapons, axes built to crush armor, spears taller than a man.
Infantry filled most of the space.
Men in chainmail and leather, holding shields marked with faded symbols. Long spears rested against their shoulders, forming rows like forests of iron.
Archers stood further back.
Bundles of arrows strapped across their backs, longbows in hand. Some tested their strings, others sat quietly, conserving energy.
There were even heavier soldiers. Tower shields. Thick armor.
Slow, but immovable
.
Leo's eyes shifted again.
Cavalry.
Dozens, no, hundreds, of horses lined one side of the camp. Armored riders sat tall, their presence alone enough to make the ground feel smaller.
This was an army. A real one.
And they were part of it.
Theron walked forward.
Cassian beside him.
Both silent. Both focused.
But Leo felt it.
That tension. That tightness in the chest.
They weren't afraid in the way they were before.
But they weren't calm either.
"…this is it," Cassian muttered under his breath.
Theron didn't respond. His gaze stayed forward.
A large command tent stood ahead of them. Bigger than the rest.
Guards stood outside, unmoving, their armor cleaner, sharper.
Higher rank. More dangerous.
Cassian exhaled slowly. "…never thought we'd actually be here."
A small pause.
"…you nervous?" Theron answered after a second.
"Yes." Honest, simple.
Leo felt it too, not panic, not fear.
But something heavy.
Anticipation.
They stepped closer to the tent.
Around them, knights adjusted their gears, tightening straps, checking blades, preparing in silence. Some spoke in low voices. Others just stared ahead.
Everyone knew. Once they stepped onto that battlefield.
There was no going back.
The large command tent stood at the center of the camp, tall, guarded, untouchable.
Leo's eyes lingered on it for a moment.
So that's where he is…
The Commander.
The man who could erase memories like they were nothing.
Theron didn't stop.
He turned away. Cassian followed.
They walked past it, deeper into the camp.
The tents grew smaller. Less guarded. More crowded.
This was where the real army stayed.
Where soldiers slept, ate, waited.
And prepared to die.
The atmosphere here was different.
Heavier.
Men sat outside their tents, sharpening blades in silence. Others spoke in low voices, some laughing too loudly-forcing it.
A few just stared into the fire.
Thinking.
"This way," Cassian said.
They stopped in front of a smaller tent.
Plain. No markings.
Just another one among dozens, their unit.
Cassian pushed the flap open and stepped inside.
Theron followed.
Leo looked around.
It was simple. Two bedrolls. A small lantern hanging from a hook.
A wooden crate with a few supplies.
Nothing more.
No comfort.
No warmth.
Just enough to rest.
Cassian exhaled as he sat down. "…not exactly glorious."
Theron remained standing for a moment before sitting across from him.
"It's enough."
Silence settled between them.
Outside, the camp was still alive.
Inside.
It was quiet.
Cassian leaned back slightly, staring at the tent ceiling.
"…they told us earlier."
Theron glanced at him.
Cassian continued, his voice lower now.
"Our unit won't be deployed today."
A pause. "…tomorrow."
The word hung in the air.
The reality of it. Not training. Not preparation.
Tomorrow.
They would fight.
Theron nodded once, "I know."
Cassian lay down, resting his arm over his eyes.
"Get some rest," he muttered. "We'll need it."
Theron didn't argue.
He leaned back slowly, closing his eyes.
Leo felt the body relax.
But his mind. Didn't. Tomorrow…
This time.
There would be no training. No second chances.
Only war.
They slowly fell asleep.
-------------------
Commanders Tent.
Each one carried presence.
Not just rank. power.
Armor of different designs, each marked with the symbol of their respective duchies or orders. Some wore cloaks, others remained in full plate, their weapons never far from reach.
At the head of the table stood one man.
The Supreme Commander.
His armor was darker than the rest, lined with faint gold, his presence alone enough to silence the room without effort.
A map was spread across the table. Marked. Divided.
Stained with ink, and decisions.
"…we've lost the advantage."
The voice came from one of the commanders on the left.
Older. Battle-worn.
His hand rested on the table, fingers tightening slightly.
Another spoke immediately after.
"The Montclair Duchy hasn't sent any troops."
Murmurs followed. Low. Controlled. But tense.
"That was expected," someone else said, though his tone suggested otherwise.
"It was not," another replied sharply. "They promised support."
"They promised nothing," a fourth voice cut in. "They delayed."
Silence followed.
Then.
A different voice. Colder. More direct.
"With the Sword of Dream…" he said slowly, "and the Blackthorne family switching sides…"
His eyes darkened.
"…we have lost all advantage."
The words settled heavily across the table.
No one denied it. No one could.
The balance had shifted. And not in their favor.
The Supreme Commander finally spoke.
"The Blackthorne family," he said, calm and steady, "has always been positioned near the enemy."
His gaze moved across the room.
"Losing them was not just betrayal."
A pause.
"It was inevitability."
No one interrupted. No one dared.
"That border is no longer ours," he continued. "It belongs to them now."
The implications were clear.
Supply routes. Movement. Strategy.
All compromised.
Silence filled the tent again.
Then.
A voice spoke. Smooth. Controlled.
The Commander of Ashford family.
He stood among them, relaxed as ever, as if the situation wasn't collapsing around them.
"…then we stop thinking in terms of advantage," he said lightly.
Several eyes turned toward him.
He met them without hesitation.
"We no longer have it."
Blunt. Honest.
"Instead," he continued, "we think in terms of survival."
The word shifted the mood.
Not victory. Not dominance. Survival.
The Supreme Commander watched him carefully.
"And how do you propose we do that?" he asked.
A faint smile appeared on the Commander's lips.
"The same way we always do," he said.
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"We use what we have."
No one spoke.
But everyone understood.
Outside.
Thousands of soldiers waited.
Unaware.
Inside.
The war had already begun.