It Has Begun

After an entire day had passed, Asher stood atop the ramparts, his right gloved hand resting against the cold, rough-hewn stone. His gaze lingered on the distant camp along the horizon, where orange torchlight burned like smoldering stars against the dark canvas of night.

It was nightfall once again, yet the anticipated assault from Count Wyvern never came. Dawn had passed without a single horn's cry or the beat of war drums—only a thick, unsettling silence that seemed to grow heavier with each hour.

Mist curled from Asher's lips as he exhaled, but his eyes never wavered. "Not a single movement," he murmured. "It's like they're waiting for something."

General Clegane, standing beside him with arms folded across his chest, frowned. "If we strike now, we may be able to push them back. Your forces combined with mine could tip the scale."