Before the vast assembly of the Naline army, the king stood elevated upon a grand dais. His silhouette was stark against the rising sun, casting a long shadow that seemed to touch the ranks of his soldiers. The air was still, the only sound being the soft rustle of banners in the morning breeze. The king's gaze swept over his army, each warrior clad in armor that glinted with the promise of impending battle.
"Brave sons and daughters of Naline," the king's voice boomed, resonating with a power that seemed to stir the very soul. "Today, we stand on the precipice of destiny. The Natine Kingdom has long thieved from us—our honor, our peace, our very future. They have sown the seeds of treachery, and now, they shall reap the whirlwind of our vengeance."
A murmur of assent rippled through the ranks, the clanking of armor punctuating their growing fervor.
