The First Strike

The camp was silent as the first light of dawn began to creep across the horizon, painting the sky in shades of red and gold. The soft glow of the morning did little to quell the heavy feeling in the air. It was a quiet before the storm, a brief pause before chaos would descend upon them.

Xypheron woke to the sound of movement around the camp. The soldiers were already preparing for the battle ahead, their actions swift and methodical as they donned their armor and checked their weapons. But as he rose, there was a weight in his chest—a sense of finality that could not be ignored. The decisions made in the coming hours would shape the future of his kingdom, his people, and his very soul.

Vexaria was already awake, standing at the entrance of their tent, her eyes scanning the horizon. Her face was set in determination, but beneath the surface, Xypheron could sense her own apprehension, a quiet anxiety that mirrored his own. It was a feeling they shared, one that neither could escape, no matter how hard they tried.

"You should rest," he said softly, stepping up behind her. "We don't know how long this will last."

Vexaria turned to face him, her eyes intense but calm. "I don't need rest," she replied, her voice steady. "I need to be ready."

And ready she was. Her blade was at her side, her armor gleaming in the early light, and there was no trace of fear in her gaze. It was the calm before the storm for her too, but she wasn't about to let it break her. They had come too far, fought too hard, and built too much to back down now.

Xypheron placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring. "We will face it together," he said, his voice unwavering.

She nodded, a small but firm gesture, and they stood together for a moment longer, watching as the sun rose higher. It was the beginning of something terrible, and they both knew it.

The first wave of soldiers gathered around the central fire, where Xypheron stood, his posture regal and commanding. His eyes swept over the men and women who had pledged their lives to his cause, seeing in them a reflection of himself—a willingness to sacrifice, to fight, and to die for something greater.

"We strike now," Xypheron said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "No mercy. We take the high ground and hold it. We fight with everything we have."

The soldiers responded in unison, their voices rising in a chorus of resolve. It was a