General Kaelen stood before the tactical map, though his eyes weren't fixed on the border lines. Beside him, General Arkon of Zylos, a man with a scar slashed across his cheek and a smile that never reached his eyes, tossed a bloodstained crest onto the table.
"Take a look at this, Kaelen," Arkon hissed, his voice low and heavy, every word cutting straight through. "Fresh troops from the Empire. These aren't your run‑of‑the‑mill soldiers. And don't tell me you actually thought they'd show up here just to do the dirty work under that filthy emperor of yours."
Kaelen's brow furrowed, his patience already razor‑thin. "Spit it out. Say what you came to say." His tone was clipped, almost expressionless, but the irritation behind it was impossible to miss.
