Chapter 4: The Unseen Enemy

The dawn arrived cold and heavy. The sky hung low with dark clouds, as though the heavens themselves were mourning something unseen. Adrian stood at the front of his war camp, watching the preparations unfold with a detached air. The clang of armor and the quiet murmurs of his soldiers were distant, like the sounds of a world that no longer felt real. Every movement felt mechanical, as if he were merely a spectator in the theater of his own life.

His thoughts lingered on the map, the glowing symbol that had imprinted itself upon his mind. It was impossible to ignore. Even now, it burned in the back of his consciousness, a constant reminder that there was something far more sinister at play. What was it? What did it want?

The whispering voice, once distant, was now a constant presence, ever in the background of his mind, nudging him toward thoughts he didn't want to entertain. It had been silent for a few moments, but its absence only made him more uneasy. The silence was like the calm before a storm, and Adrian knew all too well that storms had a way of ripping apart everything in their path.

"Lord Voss, the riders are ready," Kael's voice broke through his thoughts, steady and grounded.

Adrian turned to face his general, meeting the man's concerned gaze. For a moment, he felt the weight of Kael's stare—like Kael knew something he didn't. But then the moment passed, and Adrian nodded.

"Good. We leave in ten minutes. Gather the rest of the scouts."

"Yes, my lord," Kael replied, still watching him for a moment longer before turning away.

Adrian's fingers twitched, the tension in his chest growing. Something wasn't right. The riders had been prepared quickly, almost too quickly. They were ready for war, but it felt as though something else was waiting to unfold. A trap? A false hope?

He didn't know.

But he couldn't afford to hesitate.

As they made their way through the forest, the silence of the trees pressing in on them, Adrian's mind raced. His eyes scanned the surroundings, but there was no movement—no signs of enemy scouts, no distant banners or hidden camps. It was as if the entire world held its breath, waiting for the inevitable confrontation.

The farther they traveled, the more uneasy Adrian became. His instincts, honed over countless battles, told him that they were walking into something they couldn't see. The tension in the air was palpable, a strange, suffocating stillness that seemed to stretch the very space around them.

At the front of the column, Kael turned back, his eyes narrowing. "Something's wrong, my lord. We've crossed the eastern flank, but there's no sign of the enemy."

Adrian's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, but he made no move to draw it. "Keep moving," he said softly, though the words felt heavy. "We must reach the ridge."

Another mile passed in uneasy silence, the sound of hooves muffled by the thick undergrowth. Adrian's mind raced, the whispers now a persistent hum beneath his thoughts. His gaze shifted from one rider to another, trying to find something—anything—that could explain the tension in the air.

But there was nothing.

Not until they reached the crest of the ridge.

Adrian stopped. His eyes went wide, heart pounding. In the valley below them, the enemy camp lay in ruin. Tents were torn, fires smoldering in the distance. But there was something more—something worse.

The ground was littered with bodies. His soldiers. His scouts. All of them had been slaughtered without warning. No signs of battle, no chance for a counterattack. Just a massacre.

The realization hit Adrian like a physical blow.

It wasn't an attack. It was a message.

"Retreat!" Adrian shouted, his voice hoarse. "We're walking into a trap!"

But it was already too late.

Before he could turn, a sharp cry rang out from the rear of the column. Adrian spun to see one of his scouts fall to the ground, blood staining the dirt beneath him. The riders moved to draw their weapons, but another figure appeared from the shadows—a lone soldier, his face obscured by a hood and the darkness of the forest. His blade gleamed in the dim light, moving with the precision of someone who had already anticipated their every move.

Adrian's mind raced. Who was this man? What was happening?

His fingers twitched, reaching for his sword, but the figure was already among them, his strikes too fast, too calculated. Adrian's soldiers fell one by one, helpless against the stranger's overwhelming skill.

In the chaos, Adrian finally drew his sword and lunged forward, but the figure was already gone, slipping back into the shadows of the trees like a phantom.

"Lord Voss!" Kael's voice broke through the disarray, and Adrian turned to see the general cutting down one of the attackers, but even he seemed off-balance, caught in a fight he wasn't prepared for.

Adrian's thoughts twisted, the weight of the map and the whispers growing louder. This is no coincidence. They've known our every move.

But who? The enemy? Or someone else entirely?

As the battle raged, Adrian felt his grip on reality slipping further. The world around him seemed to warp and distort, the faces of his soldiers blurring into shadows as if they weren't real at all. He fought, but the desperation in his strikes, the frantic pace of his breath—it was all becoming… unbearable.

Something was wrong. He wasn't just losing the battle. He was losing himself.