The winds of war howled over Haven Point, carrying the scent of battle and the distant echoes of clashing steel. Commander Bruno sat atop his warhorse, his keen eyes scanning the vast expanse of defensive lines that stretched before him. The city's defenses had been meticulously arranged—three fortified lines of soldiers stood ready, their armor gleaming under the dim light of the overcast sky.
As he rode along the lines, inspecting the ranks, a royal guard galloped toward him, his expression urgent. Bruno pulled the reins of his horse, bringing the steed to a halt as the guard stopped before him.
"Commander Bruno," the guard announced, "a man requests your audience."
Bruno narrowed his eyes. "Who is it?"
The guard turned slightly, gesturing behind him. A second rider approached at a steady trot—a man clad in regal black attire, his posture upright and his presence commanding.
