The first light over the eastern plains cuts the mist into ribbons of silver.
Teinshi stands at the ridge above the Vale of Harth, armor gleaming pale in the dawn. Below, a sea of banners stirs—the human legions assembling in silence. War drums throb low and steady, like a single giant heartbeat.
"Orders from the Council," his lieutenant says, voice tight. "The orcs have crossed the western border again. We drive them back before sunrise."
Teinshi nods. The plan is precise: two phalanxes forward, archers at the flanks, mounted tamers in reserve. He should feel calm; he has trained for this since he could walk. Yet the air feels wrong—too alive, humming with a current that doesn't belong to the wind.
He calls his beasts.
A shimmer ripples through him as Aegra materializes, silver fur sparking in the light. Kaen circles overhead, wings cutting through cloud. The legion bows their heads; few tamers can hold such control at his age.
"Remember," his father's voice echoes from memory, "our strength keeps the balance. The Rule must stand."
Teinshi repeats the words under his breath, but they taste like ash. He looks west across the valley where the mountains rise—territory of the Bloodfang Dominion. Even from here, he can see fires burning along their ridges. The enemy is awake.
He senses something else too: a pulse deep in his chest, quick and sharp. The same pull that haunted him through the night, as though someone beyond those mountains had whispered his name again.
He shakes it off. "Form ranks," he orders. "We move on my signal."
The soldiers obey, shields locking, formation unfolding like a single creature made of steel and discipline. When he raises his hand, Aegra growls softly—warning or anticipation, he can't tell.
Across the vale, a low horn sounds. The orc army answers, their cry rolling through the valley like thunder. The sun finally breaks the horizon, painting everything in blood-gold light. Teinshi draws his blade.
"Advance."
The ground trembles as the human host descends toward the valley floor.