Silent Footsteps in the Dark

The night stretched deep and heavy, the sky a yawning void speckled with cold, distant stars. A thin crescent moon cast pale light over the jagged landscape, but it was barely enough to see by. Shadows loomed taller than men, twisting with each flicker of wind-blown grass.

The scouts moved like ghosts.

Not a single one rode their tigers. It was a deliberate choice that might have seemed reckless to those unfamiliar with their ways. But mounted scouts meant heavier footsteps, the occasional snort of a restless beast, and the unmistakable rhythm of paws pressing into the dirt—noises that could be enough to startle the Zhardal. And the last thing they wanted was to alert the creatures to their presence accidentally.

So they walked, silent and cautious, their boots rolling softly over the uneven ground.