The clash of swords, the cries of battle, the thundering march of soldiers—all of it seemed to fade into a haze as Asha stood at the center of the battlefield, surrounded by chaos. Her blood pounded in her ears, her hands trembling around the hilt of her sword. Victory was within reach, but so was the cost of it. Every strike, every blow, every loss brought them closer to the future they sought, but also closer to the price that must be paid.
The royal forces were faltering. The Frostkin, with their unity and their fury, were breaking through the enemy lines. But there was no denying the cost of this victory. The battle had turned into a desperate fight for survival. Every warrior lost, every fallen soldier, weighed heavy on Asha's heart. This wasn't just a battle for freedom—it was a fig
