The next day, or perhaps even later, a heavy atmosphere settled over the camp. Whispers of discontent circulated among Sevirea's subordinates. The memory of their comrades who had fallen during the skirmishes at the pre-war council still lingered. While such losses were anticipated in a conflict of this magnitude, they had nonetheless sown discord.
A group of soldiers had gathered near the training grounds, their faces marked by fatigue and anger. One of them, a lieutenant named Arvail, known for his bluntness and impulsive nature, stepped forward. Standing before Sevirea, who was stationed near a strategic board, Arvail broke the silence.
"Commander Sevirea," Arvail began, his tone laced with frustration, "I can no longer remain silent. These losses… they were unnecessary. My comrades died because your orders threw us into the enemy's hands."
Sevirea, though burdened by the crushing weight of responsibility, lifted his head, his piercing gaze fixed on Arvail.
