Reclaim

The final subjugation of the fallen fortresses along the western frontier unfolded like a masterstroke of warfare under Erebus's command. With intelligence gleaned from the shadowed web of the surviving Central Alliance Guild, he orchestrated a campaign of ruthless precision. The last stronghold, once a defiant ember of resistance, crumbled beneath his onslaught. The battle was swift, a symphony of steel and fire that left most defenders as little more than echoes in the dust. The few who survived, bound and broken, were taken as prisoners—tokens of conquest, though Erebus knew well that they held little value in negotiations.

As the final signal gunshot shattered the hush of the battlefield, Lu Yin turned, his armor slick with sweat and dust, prepared to deliver the news of their victory. Yet, even as the fortress fell silent, a greater uncertainty loomed ahead.

Amanécer remained distant, veiled in the fog of war. The campaign had pushed them ever eastward, toward the fractured borders of Kemet, a land trembling on the precipice of collapse.

Erebus's forces, hardened by war, moved like ghosts across the dying land, their scouting units combing the desolation for survivors. Those they found were ragged, hollow-eyed refugees, fleeing the curse of Dabbah. Once, the Kemetian army had stood mighty in the Battle of the Three Realms; now, their banners were faded, their legions scattered to the winds in a desperate bid to shepherd their people toward sanctuary.

As Erebus's officers coordinated the influx of refugees, Jin approached, his steps swift, his expression heavy with foreboding.

"My lord... I bring dire news from the southern borders of Kemet."

Erebus exhaled, tucking his quill into his pocket, his gaze locked on the shifting sands. The desert had turned against them, its once-navigable dunes now a crucible of relentless heat and treachery.

"Is it anything new?" he asked, his voice edged with weary pragmatism.

Jin hesitated, the pause thick with unspoken gravity.

"Our scouts have reported anomalies. The land is barren, drained of life and substance. Yet, something stirs beneath its emptiness."

A shadow flickered across Erebus's expression. "The demon army?"

Jin's silence spoke louder than words. It was Lu Yin who broke the tension.

"They've laid their diversions well, deceiving both friend and foe alike."

Erebus finally turned, his gaze sweeping over the weary ranks of his soldiers, their formation reforging even as fatigue gnawed at their resolve. Supplies were dwindling, but the local refugees had led them to abandoned wells, offering a moment's respite.

Before he could speak, Alessio approached, urgency evident in his stride.

"General! A critical report from the southwestern scouts."

"Speak."

"A wyvern has been sighted, flying westward from the ruins of Wahrheit. Its trajectory is unmistakable—it is heading toward the high volcanic region to the south."

A slow, deliberate tension coiled within Erebus. Ancient omens surfaced in his mind—prophecies that spoke of beasts heralding calamity.

"Forget the volcanoes. We change course."

Alessio stiffened, alarm flashing across his face. "My Lord, if we divert toward the sea, we will lack the means to reach Amanécer. Worse yet, the Amanécerian army is entrenched along the northern Achaemenid frontier."

Erebus's decision was unwavering. "We take that route. That is my final order."

With a sharp turn, he fixed his gaze on Lu Yin. "Summon the lieutenants. We move at first light."

The men exchanged hesitant glances, but none dared question him.

The command tent pulsed with tension, voices clashing in heated debate as Erebus's lieutenants deliberated over the chosen route. Arguments overlapped, opinions contradicting one another as the weight of the decision bore down on them.

Erebus sighed, his focus on the map unwavering. Alessio turned to him expectantly. "General...?"

For a fleeting moment, Erebus saw the resemblance to Jafar, his former aide—his brother in all but blood. The memory passed as swiftly as it surfaced. The discussion awaited his command.

He studied the map once more. At last, with a decisive nod, he signaled his approval of the agreed-upon route.

The meeting adjourned, the officers dispersing with renewed purpose. Alone in the tent, Erebus retrieved a quill, scrawled a message onto a slip of parchment, then secured it with a tightly knotted cord.

"Jin."

From the shadows, his informant emerged, his form subtly altered to match his current guise.

"Yes, my lord."

Erebus handed him the letter. "Take this to the Stygian fortress in western Wahrheit. Deliver it to a man named Blake—he will know what to do."

Jin inclined his head. "As you command."

With that, he vanished into the night.

By dawn, the refugees were prepared for transfer to the rear barracks. Those capable of wielding arms were assigned ranks within the army, their fates now entwined with Erebus's campaign.

As the first light of day crested the horizon, Erebus led his forces forward. The march toward Amanécer resumed, their morale bolstered by hope, yet shadowed by the specter of war.

For two grueling weeks, they traversed the harsh terrain while following the stars guiding them, the border of northern Achaemenid finally within reach. But even as they pressed onward, the specter of death loomed ever near, an unrelenting reminder of the trials still to come.