Inside the dimly lit tent, silence reigned, thick and suffocating like a looming storm cloud. The three leaders and the commander sat cross-legged around a flickering oil lamp, its feeble glow casting elongated shadows that danced across the fabric walls. The air was tense, laden with the weight of unspoken fears and the gravity of what was about to be revealed. Sweat trickled down their brows, not from the warmth of the lamp but from the suffocating pressure settling over them like an iron shroud.
Hung exhaled, his breath steady yet laced with the heavy burden of command. "In three days, approximately five at most, we will meet the beast tide," he announced, his voice slicing through the silence like a honed blade. Centric and Seraphina swallowed hard, the reality of the impending battle sinking in like a stone in deep water.