The dawn was a jagged wound of crimson and iron grey, bleeding light over the horizon of the lowland fields. The air hung heavy, saturated with the smell of wet earth, copper, and the lingering acrid smoke of the previous night’s guerrilla devastation. Across the churned mud, the Orestes Kingdom’s main host had managed to coalesce into a jagged, desperate formation. They were no longer the proud, golden conquerors that had crossed the border days ago; they were hollow-eyed and starving, their ranks thinned by the mechanical bows of the gorge and the silent daggers of Freya’s night raid. Yet, they still possessed the crushing weight of superior numbers, a cornered beast ready to lash out with its remaining iron claws.
In the center of the Astraian defensive line, the atmosphere was electri
