The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting a warm glow over the rolling hills and thick forests that surrounded the ancient castle. Within the stone walls, the air was thick with tension as the people on the walls were watching nervously.
The atmosphere on the field had changed suddenly. The soldiers of Arakenys dressed in black armor just overturned the battlefield and were pushing the soldiers of the kingdom back.
The Arakeys soldiers gathered, their polished armor and gleaming weapons a stark contrast to the humble garb of the castle's defenders. At their head stood Yukagrat, a towering figure whose mere presence emanated power and authority. His dark eyes focused on Aragon, never leaving him.
Aragon tightened his grip on the sword's hilt, feeling the familiar weight and balance of the blade.
The clashes of steel on steel rent the air, the metallic clangs punctuated by cries of pain and fury.
