The sky had long since surrendered its grey twilight to a suffocating, pitch-black shroud. Above the lowland fields stretching before the Ironhold perimeter, the clouds finally ruptured, unleashing a torrential downpour that turned the scorched earth into a viscous, grasping swamp. This was the mud of Astraia, a cold and hungry sludge that swallowed the sound of footsteps and the light of the moon. In the distance, the massive encampment of the Orestes Kingdom glowed with a false sense of security, their thousands of torches flickering feebly against the lashing rain. They were battered by the day’s losses at the gorge, seeking solace in the warmth of their tents, unaware that the very ground beneath them had birthed a nightmare.
Freya pressed her chest into the freezing mire, the smell o
