The Edge of Chaos

The firelight flickered wildly as Xypheron and his commanders rallied the troops. The shrill sound of the horn echoed once more, this time louder and closer, a harbinger of what was to come. Soldiers rushed to their positions, eyes sharp, weapons drawn, but the eerie stillness of the night hung in the air like a warning. Something was wrong. The forest, once quiet, now seemed alive with an unseen presence.

Xypheron's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as he scanned the treeline, his every sense alert. His instincts screamed at him to move, to act before the enemy revealed itself. There was no time to waste. He had known from the moment the horn sounded that this was no ordinary attack.

"They're coming," one of his captains muttered, his voice low, fearful. "But from where?"

Xypheron's eyes narrowed. He didn't need to be told. The air itself felt heavy with the promise of violence. The enemy wasn't just coming—they were already here.

Suddenly, a sharp, guttural cry split the silence, followed by the crash of something heavy breaking through the underbrush. Xypheron drew his sword, his mind already calculating their next move.

"Prepare yourselves!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Hold your ground, fight with everything you have!"

In an instant, the calm of the camp was shattered by the emergence of dark figures from the forest. They moved like shadows, blending into the night, their features obscured by cloaks and hoods. But Xypheron's trained eyes caught their movements, recognizing the deadly precision with which they approached. These weren't mere bandits or raiders—they were soldiers, organized