The land did not wait for dawn this time.
Movement came in the hour before it, when night thinned just enough to make shapes uncertain and instincts unreliable. Lyra felt it before the horns sounded, before the first shout carried across the stone.
This wasn’t a message.
This was pressure turning kinetic.
She was already moving when Tyler reached her side, armor half-fastened, blade in hand.
“They’re coming in layers,” he said. “Not a rush.”
“Yes,” Lyra replied. “They want control, not chaos.”
Torches flared along the wall. Wolves took positions without needing orders. The outpost had been tuned for this moment, wound tight by days of waiting.
Lyra climbed the rampart in one smooth motion and scanned the lowlands.
Figures moved there. Not massed. Distributed. Advancing and pausing
