The night was utterly still. Quiet fell over the war camp, an unnatural stillness that contained within it the ominous expectation of the battle to be fought. Regis stood at the edge of the camp, his gaze on the distant shape of Ironclad Fortress on the dark horizon. A beacon of defiance. A grave for the unyielding. His breath was wrenched from him in a strained sigh, mist curling in the cold night air.
For days, the Ashen Dominion had prepared. For days, his spies, generals, and soldiers had moved in secret, gathering intelligence, refining their strategy. Weeks of preparation finally reached their height. The decisive battle loomed.
Tomorrow, the world would be changed.
The War Council's Last Meeting
Inside the command tent, the Dominion's top commanders sat around a big table, a detailed map of Ironclad Fortress spread out before them. Candlelight danced across their faces, casting long shadows upon the canvas walls.
Regis sat in the front, his golden, piercing eyes scanning the gathered masses. Kaelen, Elyndra, Varian, the Bloodforged Knights, and the finest strategists—he was all there. The air was filled with the scent of ink, parchment, and iron, a familiar combination that held the promise of war.
"The walls of the fortress are too thick to batter down with an attack. Even our siege machines would take weeks to breach," Varian began, pushing up his glasses. He gestured to the map, his finger tracing the dense outer walls. "If we attack in a traditional manner, we risk killing ourselves."
Kaelen scowled, arms crossed. "And if we don't, Vael will strengthen his hold. We have to take him now."
Elyndra slammed a dagger on the table, the metallic clang echoing in the silence. "That's why sabotage is our best option. Our agents have spotted vulnerable points in their defenses—thin supply channels, drainage systems, hidden corridors within the walls."
Regis studied the map. Every scheme, every threat, every outcome went whirling through his mind.
We attack at night," he decided. "A privileged force will penetrate from within, neutralize vital defenses, and open the gates. The main army will only move after the opportune time."
He looked around the room, their eyes locking one by one.
"There shall be no retreat."
There was silence in the room. This was it. The moment that would seal or destroy the Dominion.
Kaelen smiled. "Then let us make sure that we don't fail."
The Army Prepares
The war camp hummed with muted energy as thousands of soldiers completed their final preparations. Tents stretched in every direction, lit with the faint glows of lanterns and watchfires.
Weapons were sharpened. Armor was checked and fitted. Supplies were handed out. The darkness of war hung over the encampment like a clinging fog.
Regis passed among his soldiers, observing.
Veteran knights, the metal of their armor scratched with the marks of countless wars, sat in circles, discussing strategy and maneuvers. The less experienced recruits, their hands trembling, practiced the sword grip in the hands of their more seasoned instructors.
He passed by the Bloodforged Knights, the best soldiers of his Dominion, as they finished final sparring sessions, their movements efficient, lethal. Their loyalty was absolute.
Outside the camp, at the edge, Kaelen stood in the center of a training area open to the sun, bellowing a brutal last-minute exercise. He gave commands as warriors formed up in a precise line, shields locked, spears charging forward in synchronized motion.
Kaelen raised his head and saw Regis. A smile creased his lips. "Checking to see if I'm slacking?"
Regis laughed. "Making sure you don't break our men before we get to the fight."
Kaelen chuckled. "If they can't get through this, they won't make it through tomorrow."
Regis nodded, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers. "Then let's see to it they do."
The Night Before Battle
With the moon high in the sky, the war camp fell quiet, a strained stillness. Fires burned low. Men slept, others whispered prayers. Others simply sat in silence, waiting.
In his private tent, Regis sat at his desk, reports and maps spread out before him. His fingers sketched patterns of the battlefield, each path, each contingency, each advantage.
A soothing presence intruded—Elyndra.
Her purple eyes reflected the pale candlelight as she approached. "You must rest."
Regis did not look up. "Rest will wait."
She looked at him for a moment, then exhaled softly. "Tomorrow, we fight our greatest test. If we fail…"
Regis met her gaze. Unflinching.
"We won't fail."
A small, sly smile played at her lips. "Confidence suits you."
A moment of silence hung between them. Then, softer—
"Just try to return alive."
Regis considered her for a moment, then nodded. "You too."
Elyndra smiled, and then disappeared into shadows.
Regis gazed again at his map. For the final time.
The Final Hours
As the first glimmer of dawn began to creep onto the horizon, the war camp stirred to life.
Warriors donned armor, straps tightened, blades drawn. The air was thick with the scent of steel and oil. Horses were saddled. Siege engines were rolled into position. The Dominion Army stood poised on the brink of war.
Regis mounted his black warhorse, the beast snorting as if it, too, felt the tension in the air.
Kaelen, clad in armor, rode up beside him. "No turning back now."
Regis smiled. "Wouldn't want to."
Elyndra approached, her daggers at her hips. "The infiltration team is ready."
Regis surveyed his army. Ten thousand warriors, standing at the door of destiny.
He raised his hand, and a silence descended over the ranks.
Then his voice thundered—
"Soldiers of the Dominion!
Tonight, we move into history. We fight not for greed or desire. We fight because this world needs to change! No longer will we bow! No longer will we be fettered! Ironclad Fortress stands in the way of our rise!**
He paused, golden eyes aflame. "And tonight, we break that barrier."
A bellow, and it came from the army, shook the heavens themselves.
The Final March had begun.