The camp pulsed with restless energy beneath the dying light of the sun. Dusk painted the forest canopy in molten gold and bruised violet, but the beauty of it was lost on those below. Rows of tents sprawled like a battlefield of ambition—some weather-worn and blood-stained, others freshly raised with the uncertainty of recruits who hadn't yet seen death up close.
Smoke drifted lazily from cook fires. The clang of steel and barked commands cut through the air, discipline enforced by the mere presence of fear. Lenora's soldiers moved like threads pulled taut—stretched between awe and terror of their commander.
At the heart of it all stood Lenora.
