Chapter 2: The Omen of War

The moment the messenger uttered those final words, his body swayed before collapsing to the ground, unconscious. Dust rose from where he fell, and the only sound that followed was the heavy silence settling over the camp. The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows on his motionless form, his face drenched in sweat, chest heaving as if he had been running for his life.

Zihan, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward, his sharp amber eyes narrowing as he crouched beside the fallen man. His fingers hovered just above the messenger's pulse before he turned his head slightly, his voice laced with confusion and suspicion.

"What could have happened that forced him to ride with such urgency....to the point of collapse?" he muttered, his usual composed demeanor breaking for just a moment.

Xiyara didn't respond immediately. She stood still, her golden eyes locked onto the unconscious figure, thoughts racing through her mind. The message had been urgent—the king had summoned her immediately—but if the messenger had ridden himself into exhaustion, then something far worse had happened.

A sinking feeling settled in her gut.

Then, without hesitation, she moved.

"We don't have the time to sit and wonder ,zihan." Xiyara's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. In an instant, she straightened, her posture rigid, her gaze carrying an unspoken urgency. Her sudden shift in stance sent a ripple through the camp as the warriors, who had been enjoying the rare peace, instantly snapped to attention.

Around her, the remnants of laughter and idle chatter died out. The warmth of victory, which had barely lasted a few hours, was now replaced by an unsettling tension.

Zihan, catching the shift in her tone, exhaled sharply before rising to his feet. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened instinctively, his usual smirk absent.

Orlun, who had remained silent until now, took a slow step forward. His piercing gaze swept over the messenger before flickering toward Xiyara. His presence was a shadow that carried weight, but his words, when spoken, were measured.

"If the king has sent for you with such urgency....it means its something important"

Xiyara didn't need to be told twice. She had already made up her mind.

Turning swiftly, she took a deep breath before raising her voice, her command slicing through the cold night air.

"Everyone, listen to me"

The warriors of the King's Fang immediately turned toward her, their expressions shifting from exhaustion to unwavering focus.

"We leave for the capital immediately!" Xiyara's voice was firm, unwavering. "No delays, no questions. Prepare yourselves for battle. We ride at once!"

There was no hesitation.

Armor was strapped on, weapons were secured, and the sound of warriors mounting their horses echoed through the clearing. The flames of the campfire flickered wildly as the warriors moved in seamless coordination, years of discipline manifesting in the way they readied themselves without question.

Eira moved swiftly, securing her daggers as she cast a glance toward Xiyara."I'll scout ahead. If anything is lurking in darkness, I'll find it "

Xiyara gave her a sharp nod before striding toward her own horse. Orlun, meanwhile, adjusted the strap of his cloak, his unreadable expression giving away nothing, yet his very stance spoke volumes—he was prepared for whatever awaited them in the capital.

Zihan swung onto his horse effortlessly before glancing toward Xiyara, his voice lower this time. "If the capital truly is under attack… what do you think we'll be walking into ?"

Xiyara exhaled, gripping the reins tightly. Her gaze flickered toward the horizon, where the capital lay.

"A battlefield"

And with that, she spurred her horse forward, leading her warriors into the night—toward the unknown, toward the capital, toward war.

As they rode through the darkened landscape, the towering walls of the capital finally came into view, standing tall and imposing against the dim light of dawn. But despite the relief of nearing their destination, an eerie silence hung over the land, unsettling even the most seasoned warriors among them.

The journey had been long—six to seven grueling hours on horseback with barely any rest. The warriors were skilled, trained for endurance, but even they were not immune to exhaustion. Dust clung to their armor, and the rhythmic pounding of hooves against the hardened ground had become a numbing backdrop to their thoughts.

Xiyara, riding at the front, surveyed the area as they approached a small village just outside the capital. Her sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in every detail. The fields, usually brimming with life, seemed oddly deserted. The distant flicker of lanterns could be seen, but there were no signs of people moving about, no sounds of early morning activities.

Her grip tightened around the reins. Something was wrong.

But before leading her soldiers into an uncertain situation, she knew they needed a moment. A moment to steady themselves before facing whatever awaited beyond those walls.

She pulled her horse to a halt, raising her hand in a swift signal for the others to do the same. Dust swirled around them as the warriors came to a stop, waiting for her command.

Her voice rang out, clear and authoritative.

"We don't know what kind of trouble awaits us ahead. It could be an ambush… or Something worse .if anyone needs water or rest,take it now Quickly. "

There was no softness in her tone—only practicality. Weakness was not an option, but neither was carelessness. If they were to enter a battle, they needed to be in their best condition.

Some warriors immediately dismounted, making their way toward a nearby well in the village to refill their waterskins. Others checked their weapons and tightened their armor straps, preparing for the worst.

Meanwhile, Xiyara turned her head toward Eira, her golden eyes sharp with intent.

"Eira , scout ahead. See if there's anything unusual near the capital's entrance . report back the moment you sense anything off"

Eira, already adjusting the daggers at her waist, gave a quick nod before slipping into the shadows, disappearing with practiced ease. Her movements were swift, silent—like a phantom moving through the dark.

Xiyara remained motionless for a moment, watching as the last traces of Eira's presence faded. Then, she exhaled, turning back toward the distant walls of the capital, her expression unreadable.

Something had happened.

And soon, she would find out exactly what.

As soon as Xiyara dismounted, the dust swirling around her boots, Orlun stepped forward, his dark eyes scanning the surroundings with an unease that sent a chill down the spines of those nearby. His voice was low, measured, but laced with tension.

"Something isn't right…" he muttered, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. His instincts had never failed him before, and now, an unmistakable sense of dread coiled in his gut.

Before he could say another word, a sharp cry cut through the stillness.

"We were right ! The capital has been attacked!"

Eira's voice was strained, breathless, as she sprinted toward them, her cloak billowing behind her. She had seen it with her own eyes—the devastation, the blood-stained streets, the lifeless bodies scattered like broken dolls. The sight had shaken even her.

The words sent a shockwave through the group.

"An attack?"

A stunned silence fell over them before chaos erupted.

Zihan, always the first to react, stepped forward, his stance rigid with urgency. His fingers curled into fists, his sharp gaze locking onto Eira. His mind raced through the possibilities, but the need for answers burned through him.

"An attack?when?how?who dare to do this?" His voice was sharp, demanding, his usual composed demeanor cracking under the weight of the news. His hands were already reaching for his weapons, ready to fight, ready to strike down whoever had dared to touch their land.

But there was no time for questions.

Eira wiped the sweat from her brow, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "We don't have time to stand here! Follow me, quickly!" she urged, urgency dripping from every word.

Xiyara didn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, she swung herself back onto her horse, her movements sharp, controlled. The weight of command settled on her shoulders like an unshakable force.

Her golden eyes blazed as she scanned her soldiers, her voice cutting through the panic like a blade.

"Move! Every single one of you,we ride now!"

Without waiting for a response, she pulled at the reins, her steed rearing up before galloping forward, leading the charge. The rest followed without question, dust kicking up behind them as they sped toward the capital—toward the unknown, toward battle.

As they rode closer, the air grew thick with the acrid stench of smoke and burning wood. Flames crackled hungrily, devouring the village in their ruthless embrace. Houses stood in ruins, their once-sturdy walls reduced to crumbling ash. The wails of the wounded and the terrified filled the air, a haunting symphony of despair.

Xiyara's horse came to an abrupt halt, its hooves skidding against the dirt as she took in the chaos before her. Her sharp eyes swept across the devastation—bodies lay scattered, some motionless, others desperately crawling for safety. Children clung to their mothers, their cries piercing through the roaring inferno.

A deep frown etched onto her face as she tightened her grip on the reins.

"What in the name of the gods happened here?" she muttered, her voice laced with disbelief and simmering rage.

Before Xiyara could process the destruction before her, a frail voice rose above the chaos.

From behind, an elderly woman stumbled forward, her steps unsteady, her face streaked with soot and tears. Desperation clung to her like a second skin as she reached out, clutching onto Xiyara's arm with trembling fingers.

"Please.....save us!" she pleaded, her voice breaking. "They took my son ...he's only sixteen! They'll kill him....please, I beg you!"

Her sobs wracked her frail body, but before another word could escape her lips, her knees buckled. A strangled gasp left her mouth as life drained from her eyes, and she collapsed onto the ground—lifeless.

For a moment, silence settled around them, thick and suffocating.

Xiyara stood still, her gaze locked onto the woman's unmoving form. Her fingers twitched against the hilt of her sword, and a storm of emotions flashed through her golden eyes—anger, frustration, and something dangerously close to fury.

She exhaled sharply, her jaw tightening.

"Zihan,orlun" she commanded, her voice sharp as steel. "Find out who did this . now"

Seeing the old woman collapse before her, a storm of emotions surged within Xiyara. Grief and rage intertwined, swirling like an unstoppable tempest. Sorrow clung to the air around her, but it was the fury within that rose like a raging inferno, demanding to be unleashed.

Steadying herself, Xiyara took a deep breath, forcing the turmoil within her to settle—at least for now. Her golden eyes burned with newfound determination as she raised her voice, sharp and unwavering.

"We move forward no hesitation, no delays. If the enemy dares to bring war to our lands ,we will answer with blood. Stay sharp--we Don't know what awaits us ahead, but whatever it is , we will crush it"

With that, she mounted her horse, gripping the reins tightly. The air around them was thick with smoke and sorrow, but there was no time to mourn. Without another word, the troupe pressed forward, their pace swift and relentless, closing the distance to the capital with every heartbeat.