Chapter 77

That evening, in the specialized commander's tent, the air was thick with the scent of ink and aged parchment. Maps covered nearly every available surface, their edges curling under the weight of hastily scribbled notes and tactical symbols. Varek and Sylas sat comfortably, their tea steaming in delicate porcelain cups, an ironic luxury in the midst of a war camp. Outside, the muffled clamor of soldiers preparing for battle created a restless backdrop, but inside the tent, the atmosphere was one of calculated calm.