The dawn broke over the camp with a pale, watery light, casting long shadows across the trampled earth.
The Silent Guard moved with a quiet precision that belied their numbers, their armor clattering softly as they cinched straps and checked blades.
Horses snorted clouds of steam into the chill morning air, their hooves pawing the ground in restless anticipation.
Kaelen stood apart, his silhouette framed against the rising sun, his dark cloak billowing faintly in the wind. The glint of steel caught the light as he adjusted the sword at his hip, his movements deliberate, mechanical.
His face was a mask of cold determination, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon.
The march to Silverstream began as the sun crested the treeline, painting the world in hues of gold and gray.
The Silent Guard fell into step behind Kaelen stead, their movements synchronized, a dark tide flowing over the rolling hills.
