Alpheo's army stood in disciplined rows across the broad, open plain—a force of 1,900 soldiers stretched in ranks, their armor and weapons catching the early light. Shields gleamed, and men formed a bristling line, poised as if part of a single, breathing creature. Behind the front line, archers positioned themselves, checking their bows and exchanging quiet words, while Alpheo's cavalry held firm on the flanks, their horses snorting and shifting with the anticipation of the charge to come.
To the far right of the battlefield lay the deserted village of Valdarr, its empty houses and abandoned fields casting a silent, haunting presence over the scene. Once a thriving settlement, Valdarr had been raided by Egil's forces a week prior; its people were now huddled within the walls of Arduronaven, anxiously awaiting the outcome of the coming clash.
