Rashan leaned forward intently, his fingertips carefully tracing the intricate lines and markings of the detailed map spread across the sturdy table. Beside it were precise, neatly compiled scouting reports provided by Devan, Alain, and Cassia, each filled with vital observations meticulously gathered during their reconnaissance. His attention sharpened on one specific route—the southern approach known locally as the Serpent's Path.
This route was particularly challenging, a narrow and sinuous trail cutting through dense vegetation and treacherous marshlands. Its terrain was notorious for severely restricting mobility, capable of bogging down even the most disciplined forces, significantly diminishing their pace and complicating formations. Rashan found himself quietly contemplating, almost hoping, that the Dominion would indeed select this route.
The Dominion's advantages along the Serpent's Path were clear enough: Bosmer scouts and Khajiit trackers, with their innate stealth, agility, and adaptability, would thrive in the dense foliage. Such cover would greatly enhance their ability to navigate and detect potential ambushes ahead of their main force, allowing their troops to slip out of Gilane quietly and largely unnoticed.
Yet, Rashan saw tactical nuances within the limitations. Although the thick vegetation naturally minimized viable ambush locations, it also heavily restricted maneuverability, forcing the Dominion's forces into predictable, linear movements. This predictability offered Rashan a significant strategic opportunity if approached correctly.
His mind flashed to vivid, precise memories from his past life, recalling similar tactical studies with perfect clarity—battles in Earth's dense jungles and marshes where restrictive terrain had turned into a lethal double-edged sword. He remembered scenarios from Vietnam, where thick jungles and swamps forced conventional forces into narrow, predictable pathways, allowing highly disciplined guerrilla fighters to exploit predictable troop movements with devastating precision.
Rashan mentally assessed positions where he could establish observation points and chokeholds, carefully considering the angles of attack and retreat pathways. The key lay in preparation—meticulous planning and precise timing could maximize the terrain's natural difficulties, converting apparent weaknesses into decisive tactical strengths.
A faint, calculating smile briefly touched his lips. It was risky, undoubtedly, but fortune favored the prepared—and Rashan intended to exploit every available advantage.
First things first—he needed accelerant, and plenty of it.
Two days later…
A soft, persistent rain blanketed the marshlands, muffling sounds and blurring shapes into indistinct shadows. Rashan stood perfectly still, droplets gently pattering off the hood of his cloak and down his armor. Thanks to his Indomitable Stamina, fatigue barely touched him. Around him, his operatives—elite warriors every one—kept their watchful eyes trained through the steady drizzle, each having rested only briefly, yet maintaining their alertness and discipline.
In this muted, challenging environment, Rashan felt entirely at home. Memories from his past life as a SEAL stirred quietly within him, familiar instincts surfacing effortlessly. He'd once known endless hours spent exactly like this: waiting silently in difficult conditions, patient vigilance sharpened to a fine edge, every muscle poised to spring into action. The rhythm of tension and stillness, the delicate balance between patience and readiness—it was second nature, comforting in its familiarity. He felt a profound clarity in this moment, reaffirming his true place: in the silent, unseen spaces just before conflict erupted.
Ahead, Malik and Saif had seamlessly joined Cassia, Alain, and Devan, carefully scouting the path forward, maintaining constant communication through subtle signals and brief whispers. The entire team had been structured methodically into groups of four, a formation that optimized their vigilance and response capabilities. All were trained to perfection, understanding instinctively that any lapse in concentration could spell disaster.
Beside Rashan stood Adrien, calm and steady as always, his teacher's presence radiating quiet confidence that bolstered the team's morale. Gorrun was nearby, standing rigid and focused, embodying the stoic commitment Rashan had come to respect deeply. Together they watched, listening carefully to the subtle symphony of rain tapping leaves and the gentle rustle of marsh grass.
The waiting stretched on, minutes melting seamlessly into hours, each second marked only by the soft, persistent patter of raindrops. The marshlands seemed suspended in a surreal, timeless state, the drizzle forming a shimmering veil that masked movement and distorted distance. The tension was tangible, a silent weight pressing gently against them all, sharpening their senses to remarkable clarity.
Another hour passed beneath the steadily falling rain. Rashan remained motionless, patient and watchful, every sense heightened, every breath slow and controlled. This quiet intensity, he knew, was the crucial calm before action—the silent heart of his true purpose.
Cassia stood motionless, positioned alone at the foremost scouting point, several dozen paces ahead of Malik, Saif, Alain, and Devan, who operated as a cohesive scouting unit behind her. Each wore their distinct Anbu masks—Malik's stoic lion, Saif's silent viper, Alain's vigilant hawk, and Devan's grim crow.
She maintained a subtle, low-level illusion spell, designed simply to refract ambient light around her, subtly obscuring her form. In the past, even such a minor spell would gradually drain her magicka reserves, making sustained concealment challenging. But now, thanks to the mysterious potion Rashan had given both her and Jalil, maintaining illusions had become notably easier. It was difficult to describe precisely, but illusion magicka seemed to flow effortlessly, almost intuitively, from her fingertips.
Beyond this improvement in illusion, Cassia found sneaking and stealth had also become simpler, her footsteps quieter, movements more fluid, as though her body naturally understood exactly how and where to move. Her skill with the blade had similarly grown sharper and more refined. Though she had never matched Jalil or Rashan in raw martial prowess—both possessed innate, extraordinary talent—she still was no novice. Alain and Devan had both remarked that they wished they'd possessed even half her natural ability at her age.
Jalil, too, had noticeably improved since receiving Rashan's mysterious potion. His endurance and willpower seemed markedly enhanced, allowing him to sustain intense physical exertion far longer and recover more quickly afterward. Though Jalil's stamina and recovery were still nowhere near Rashan's almost supernatural levels—which she and Jalil often quietly marveled at—his improvement was clearly substantial. During their occasional sparring sessions, Cassia noticed Jalil had grown even more formidable, his movements crisper, strikes stronger, reactions quicker.
Cassia stood silently, senses alert, invisible to casual observers, perfectly positioned as the first line of detection. The quiet, damp stillness of the marshlands heightened her focus as she watched and listened, ready to alert the team instantly to any approaching danger.
Pulling her mind back to the task at hand, Rashan had instructed every Anbu member to thoroughly apply what he referred to as "anti-scent" potion. It wasn't an idle precaution; Khajiit scouts possessed notoriously acute senses of smell, capable of detecting intruders from remarkable distances.
Then there were the Bosmer, a source of particular concern for Alain and Devan. Both had specifically emphasized the danger posed by Wood Elves who had awakened their unique racial talent—the innate ability to forge powerful, empathetic bonds with local wildlife. Such Bosmer could effortlessly use animals as their eyes and ears, turning common birds, foxes, or even marshland creatures into undetectable scouts, which was incredibly troublesome for stealth operations.
Each race had their own remarkable innate talents: Altmer could rapidly regenerate magicka, giving their mages virtually limitless spellcasting stamina; Orc warriors could summon forth a fierce battle-rage, enhancing their physical might and resilience; Dunmer had their ancestral fire cloak, enveloping them defensively in protective flames; and Redguards, of course, possessed legendary stamina regeneration, allowing them to sustain relentless combat far beyond normal limits.
Rashan himself held the potential to awaken a powerful racial talent—what the Redguards quietly called the "Rush of the Ra Gada," an ancestral surge that elevated stamina, focus, and combat effectiveness to extraordinary levels. He had kept this closely guarded, rarely demonstrating it openly. Cassia had witnessed him invoke it just a few times during sparring sessions with herself and Jalil, leaving the latter intensely eager and determined to awaken it himself.
Despite all these racial gifts, Cassia considered the Bosmer bond with wildlife to be uniquely challenging. Unlike conjured entities used by Altmer mages—such as scamps, clannfear, or familiars—that stood out clearly as unnatural or otherworldly creatures, animals bonded by Bosmer blended seamlessly into their environment. This made detecting or countering them especially difficult, demanding constant vigilance and creative countermeasures.
Cassia sharpened her focus once again, scanning the dense marsh carefully. Any seemingly innocent creature could be watching them, serving as the Dominion's silent eyes.
Rashan had introduced them to a distinctly unusual technique—something unlike any traditional method known in Hammerfell or elsewhere in Tamriel. Drawing from obscure tactics he termed 'environmental blending,' he trained each member of the Anbu to become indistinguishable from the surrounding marshland.
Cassia and Jalil had quickly grown accustomed to Rashan's peculiar ideas, recognizing that his unconventional methods often held remarkable value. Their distinct Anbu masks, normally stark and striking, were now deliberately dulled with thick layers of mud, smudged carefully across the intricate carvings to erase unnatural lines and reduce reflection. Each operative's armor had been similarly treated, earthy grime smeared across surfaces once gleaming and polished, reducing visibility by absorbing rather than reflecting the sparse sunlight filtering through the trees.
Additionally, Rashan had shown them how to weave local vegetation into their gear—reeds, grasses, and marsh plants strategically attached to straps, belts, and clothing, breaking up their silhouettes and enabling them to merge seamlessly into their surroundings. It was a painstakingly meticulous process, involving precise placement of foliage to ensure natural alignment and movement.
At first, the Anbu found this practice peculiar—almost absurd—particularly when standing among each other in camp, dressed as mobile patches of wilderness. Yet, seeing one another fade almost entirely from view at mere paces away within the marsh made them swiftly respect its effectiveness. This camouflage training, foreign as it was, had granted them a tactical edge: it transformed them from armored warriors into living ghosts, concealed in plain sight, ready to strike unseen.
Cassia shifted her position slightly, feeling the damp marsh soil beneath her, moisture seeping slowly through her clothing despite her efforts. The hours dragged on, stretching endlessly, with nothing but the sound of insects and the faint rustle of wind through the thick vegetation. It was enough to drive an untrained mind into restlessness or panic—but Cassia remembered clearly how Rashan had prepared them.
"Waiting," he'd explained patiently, voice low and calm, "is about mastering your own thoughts as much as your body. Every moment you wait is a moment the enemy spends unsure, guessing, or doubting themselves. It drains their resolve and disrupts their rhythm. When the time comes, they're already off balance."
Cassia had watched him then, recognizing the natural ease in his posture, comfortable in his own quiet vigilance. Jalil had absorbed Rashan's teachings as well, though his nature inclined him more toward action and conversation rather than silent patience. For Cassia, however, stillness and vigilance came naturally. She had always been observant, able to blend comfortably into silence, even when discomfort threatened to distract her. Rashan's training had only honed her innate skill, refining her natural inclination into disciplined mastery.
Now, hidden among the dense foliage, Cassia drew another slow, deliberate breath. She settled deeper into the dampness and discomfort, her mind sharpening rather than dulling. Rashan's voice lingered clearly in her memory, a steady reminder that each second of waiting was another second of preparation. She would remain ready, silent, and patient—exactly as he'd taught her.