Dawn in Lamping Village usually began with the melodious, rhythmic crowing of the Gallus-Aureum and the intoxicating aroma of dew soaking the Manaferum wheat fields. It was a time of rebirth, a daily reminder of the land's fertility. But this morning, that sacred silence was shattered by a sound far heavier and more ominous—the synchronized, rhythmic thud of thousands of metal-shod boots striking the earth with the weight of a mountain.
Dayat stood in the center of the village's main thoroughfare. His breath materialized in the frigid morning air, forming fleeting ghosts that vanished as quickly as they appeared. Behind him, Kancil stood with his body trembling violently. It wasn't the tremor of fear, but rather the primitive, predatory instinct dormant in his blood beginning to boil, rebelling against the restraint Dayat had placed upon him.
