The clamor of war preparations filled the air. Soldiers in gleaming armor adjusted their shields and tightened their sword belts, while mercenaries checked their arrows and tested their blades. Lucan stood at the edge of the camp, watching as his father's forces prepared for the coming siege on Grafen. His heart was heavy with doubt, and though his face betrayed none of it, he felt an unease settling deep inside him.
The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the camp. The banners of House Ravalos fluttered in the evening breeze, the deep crimson fabric rippling against the sky. The scent of freshly oiled armor and horse sweat mingled with the crispness of the coming night. But as the soldiers moved with purpose, as if on the brink of victory, Lucan could only think of Clarisse and their child back home. The image of her face—her soft smile, her violet eyes—was like a distant beacon in his mind.
