The Iberian army stirred with the first light of dawn, soldiers bustling to prepare for the looming assault. Yet, within their seemingly disciplined ranks, unease festered.
Lieutenant Ignacio watched the preparations with a heavy heart. Everywhere he turned, he saw men haunted by the same restless dreams that plagued him. Whispers spread like wildfire: tales of fire, shadows, and doom. Ignacio's own nightmares had begun to feel like omens, urging him to question not only the campaign but his role in it.
In the shadow of a siege engine, Ignacio found Corporal Ruiz sharpening his blade.
"Have you been sleeping?" Ignacio asked, his voice low.
Ruiz snorted. "Nobody has. Too many damn whispers. The men are jumpy, saying the islanders have cursed us."
Ignacio crouched beside him. "Maybe they have a point. Do you feel it? The air itself is heavy with something... unnatural."
Ruiz glanced around before speaking. "You sound like a man who wants to be executed for treason, Ignacio."
"I sound like a man who doesn't want to see his comrades march to their deaths for a cause that's wrong."
Ruiz sighed, his voice barely a whisper. "Then what would you have us do? Desert? Mutiny? De Valera would kill us before we took a step out of this camp."
Ignacio said nothing, but the fire in his eyes burned brighter.
Meanwhile, Captain Esteban observed the growing tension among the soldiers. Though he dismissed the talk of curses as mere superstition, he couldn't ignore the cracks forming in the army's discipline.
He sought out General De Valera in the command tent, where the old commander pored over maps with grim focus.
"General," Esteban began, "the men are unsettled. Rumors are spreading about curses and bad omens. If we don't address it—"
De Valera cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Superstition is for fools. We march at dawn, and the city will fall by dusk. That is all they need to know."
"With respect, sir," Esteban pressed, "fear can unravel even the most disciplined ranks. Perhaps if we offered them assurances—"
De Valera slammed his fist on the table, silencing him. "You think I should coddle them, Captain? Reassure them like children? No. Fear is the leash that keeps men in line. If they fear me more than their dreams, they will fight."
Esteban clenched his jaw, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "As you say, General."
In Maynilad, the tension was no less palpable. Amaron had spent the night inspecting the defenses, speaking with his warriors, and offering words of encouragement. Yet, as the sun rose, he couldn't shake the weight pressing on his shoulders.
In the fortress courtyard, he found Callao overseeing the preparation of traps near the main gate. His younger brother worked with a grim determination, directing the laborers with a steady hand.
"Callao," Amaron called out, approaching him.
Callao straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow. "The defenses are almost ready. The Iberians will bleed if they try to breach this gate."
Amaron nodded but didn't respond immediately. Instead, he placed a hand on Callao's shoulder. "You've done well, brother. But tell me... how are the people? Are they holding up?"
Callao hesitated. "They're scared, Amaron. They believe in you, but they know what the Iberians are capable of. If we fall..."
"We won't," Amaron said firmly. "But if fear spreads, it will weaken us. We must show them our strength. Let them see that we are not just fighting for survival, but for a future worth dying for."
Callao nodded, his resolve hardening. "I'll speak to them. They'll know that we stand together."
Aling sat cross-legged in her chamber, the air around her thick with the remnants of her recent ritual. Her visions had reached the Iberian camp, but the strain of such magic was taking its toll.
As she rested, Paranan entered, his armor glinting in the light of the torches.
"You're pushing yourself too hard," he said, concern evident in his tone.
Aling opened her eyes, weary but resolute. "If I don't, we will lose. Magic can't win this war alone, but it can turn the tide."
Paranan knelt before her. "And if you collapse before the battle even begins? Who will guide us then?"
Aling managed a faint smile. "You're more than capable of leading, Paranan. But I'll endure. The Iberians are powerful, but their arrogance blinds them. I see cracks forming in their army, doubt spreading like poison. We must exploit it."
"And if it's not enough?" Paranan asked.
Aling's gaze turned distant. "Then we fight with everything we have, and pray the gods are kind."
True to his word, Callao ventured into the streets, speaking with the people of Maynilad. He reminded them of their shared struggles, of the sacrifices they had already made to reclaim their freedom.
In one corner of the city, he encountered an elderly man teaching children how to make slings from leather scraps.
"Preparing even the young ones?" Callao asked, crouching beside him.
The man nodded. "If the Iberians come, we'll all need to fight, young and old alike."
Callao smiled. "And they'll fight well, with someone like you to guide them."
As Callao moved on, the city seemed to come alive with a renewed sense of purpose. Men and women worked side by side, fortifying walls, sharpening weapons, and preparing for the battle to come.
By nightfall, the Iberian camp was a cauldron of unrest. Soldiers muttered about strange dreams and the ominous silence from the Maynilad walls.
Ignacio sat alone by the fire, his thoughts churning. The voice from his dream still echoed in his mind: "Turn away. The path you follow leads only to ruin."
He glanced around, noting the wary glances of his comrades. Something was shifting within the camp, a tension that even De Valera couldn't ignore.
In Maynilad, Amaron stood atop the battlements once more, gazing out at the Iberian encampment. The fires of their camp dotted the landscape like stars, a stark reminder of the enemy's numbers.
Aling joined him, her staff glowing faintly in the darkness.
"They're restless," she said, her voice soft. "Your people are ready, Amaron. But are you?"
Amaron didn't answer immediately. Finally, he said, "Ready or not, the time has come. If I falter, they'll lose hope. I can't let that happen."
Aling placed a hand on his arm. "Then don't falter. Lead them as you always have—with strength and heart."
Amaron nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Maynilad will stand."