The Beginning

War was never won by strength alone.

It belonged to those who did not flinch when the world turned monstrous.

Andravion did not flinch.

Not when the wind shifted.

Not when the silence stretched until it clawed at the edges of sanity.

Not even now, with six hundred souls watching, their fates balanced on the edge of his breath.

The forest whispered quietly. Not gently. Not even kindly.

It was the kind of quiet that mimicked calm just long enough to kill you.

It smelled like ambush and memory.

Something is coming.

His fingers flexed around the hilt of his sword, a quiet promise.

Focus.

Listen.

Feel the wind shift.

The voice echoed—not in the air, but beneath his skin. Ancient. Feminine. Etched into every instinct he owned.

A rustle. A tremble of branches. Birds still. Leaves held their breath.

They were not alone.

"What will be your next move, young prince?"

The voice again—silk and steel—part challenge, part devotion.

Andravion didn't answer right away. He let the stillness bloom, let it grow unbearable.

Then:

"I say we feed the dogs a bone," he murmured, calm slicing through tension like a blade through frost.

A beat.

"Not bad, young prince," came the reply. "You've grown... well."

"I had a good mentor." He allowed a breath of pride to curl through his voice. "And a better guardian contractor."

"It is only natural of me," the voice said, with the smug elegance only she could carry. "Afterall, I am Ramona. Guardian Contractor of Wisdom."

Silence fell between them again—not hollow, but holy.

He didn't need to hear her speak again. He felt her—her presence like a second spine, calm, proud, eternal.

He drew a breath, steady now.

"Let's go home, Ramona."

---

The forest released him.

He stepped from the shadows into the clearing where his men—no, his family—waited. Six hundred warriors, battle-worn and bleeding history. Some were barely older than boys. Some had buried brothers on the path here. All of them were watching him.

"Alright, men," he called, voice firm, grounded, final. "Today, we meet our end—or our echo."

No one spoke. They didn't need to. The silence was reverent.

"The road we walked was long. Ugly. But every one of you made it here because you refused to bend. Today, we finish it—not for glory. Not for kings." His voice cracked like thunder. "But for each other."

He looked at them—eyes that had seen too much. Faces that remembered too many names that would never be spoken again.

"The strength of a warrior isn't in how many fall by his hand," he continued, lower now, almost intimate. "It's in how fiercely he fights when everything is already gone. We carry the dead in our shadows. Let them see us stand tall."

They roared—wounded lions, not yet slain.

Andravion closed his eyes for half a breath. Then opened them.

It's Showtime.

---

"The enemy has the advantage of ground," he said, eyes narrowing, mind already drawing blood and strategy in the same stroke. "And if we come at them straight, we'll be slaughtered. So… we don't."

His fingers skimmed the dirt as he knelt. Drew lines like scars in the earth.

"We strike at night. Five squads."

"Aaron, take the vanguard. Hit hard, make noise."

"Silphon, flank them—light and fast."

"Merric, you get inside. Cut them from the gut."

"Byron, cover every shadow. I want no surprises."

"Little J, hold the rear. Be the blade in the dark."

Then he turned, gaze darkening.

"And Elpenor… find their leader. Break him."

No one flinched. They understood what he meant. Elpenor just nodded—quiet and lethal.

Andravion stood, letting silence settle like ash.

"You all know," he added, a smirk ghosting across his face, "I always have a backup plan." It was a familiar refrain—Andravion's careful calculations, his ability to anticipate every move. It was a trait he had inherited from his father, as well as from his guardian, Ramona, whose wisdom guided him in ways that defied logic. Together, they had made a near-impossible victory a certainty.

They laughed—relieved, even now. It was the first lesson he ever learned as a leader:

If they can laugh, they can fight.

"For the backup," he said, pacing now, voice lower, heavier, "we draw them into the valley. Bottle their numbers. Close the trap. They'll think they're hunting prey… and find themselves cornered."

"The cliffs will be our cage. The shadows our sword."

He straightened.

No more words. Only war.

"Let's move out."