Dissuasion

The sky had darkened like a lid of lead. A grey, dull light clung to the skin, heavy and muffled like a threat not yet spoken. The wind blew in dry waves, carrying scents of rust and old blood—remnants of a front too recently deserted.

There were five of them. Five awakened from the county of Martissant, stationed at the edge of a territory that Pilaf now claimed to control.

They all breathed in silence, and even among them, some held their breath, as if speaking would be a sin.

Only the sound of boots on hardened sand, the irregular clink of armor plates. Each wore different equipment—composite armors, quilted cloaks, reinforced leather—reflections of their individuality, their roles, their scars. Nothing standard. Nothing decorative.

And Tonar walked at the front.