As dawn broke, a gentle hue of orange painted the horizon, signifying the start of a new day.
Stirrings could be heard from the camp, the clatter of dismantling equipment and the murmur of hushed voices breaking the serene silence of the early morning.
One by one, the troops roused, rubbing sleep from their eyes as they set about their tasks with a renewed sense of purpose.
As the sun continued to climb higher in the sky, the camp was broken down, with every piece of equipment packed away neatly.
The once lively site now bore no evidence of their overnight stay, leaving behind only a patch of flattened grass as a silent testimony to their presence.
They moved as a single unit, their steps synced to an unspoken rhythm, their expressions mirroring a sense of anticipation and excitement.
Their destination was clear - the Lyma Capital.
