The Vanguard’s March

The march continued, the sound of boots in snow growing louder as they moved forward, each step carrying them closer to what awaited. The soldiers moved in silence, the only sound the crunch of the snow beneath their feet and the creak of leather armor. There was no need for words, no rallying cries. The weight of the coming battle was heavy enough without the need for further words.

Leon rode at the front, his gaze fixed on the trail ahead. His horse moved with a steady rhythm, the path winding between jagged rocks and bare trees that looked like broken skeletons reaching for the sky. The land was barren, stripped of all life, just as they had been—stripped of everything they once were. But they were still moving forward. One foot in front of the other. One battle after the next.