The crimson dawn painted the sky in shades of blood and fire as Valen strode through the endless sea of tents, his footsteps echoing with purpose across the frost-kissed ground. Around him, soldiers scrambled through their preparations, their movements synchronized like a vast organism, their thoughts intertwined by the weight of impending war. The air itself seemed to pulse with anticipation, heavy with the metallic tang of weapons being sharpened and the acrid smell of fear barely masked by determination.
Rigor emerged from the war tent, his steps still unsteady, watching as Valen's figure cut a stark silhouette against the grasslands ahead. The ancient forest loomed in the distance, its shadows seeming to writhe with unseen threats. The morning mist clung to the ground like ghostly fingers, reluctant to release their hold on the earth.
