The First Move

The Battlefield – A War That Feels… Wrong

The frozen wasteland stretched endlessly before them, an unbroken expanse of white and gray. The air was thick with the scent of ice and iron, the distant mountains rising like jagged fangs against the sky. Snow fell in slow, lazy drifts, but there was no peace here—only the silent tension of an impending storm.

Ethan exhaled, his breath turning to mist. The Solmaran army was ready.

Thousands of armored soldiers stood in perfect formation, their steel plating gleaming even under the clouded sky. Rows upon rows of banners fluttered in the icy wind, each marked with the sigil of Solmara—the crimson phoenix, wings spread wide.

The silence was deafening.

No war cries. No taunts.

Just the rhythmic clatter of shifting armor, the tightening of grips around sword hilts, and the barely audible muttering of battlefield prayers.