The world had shrunk to mist and heartbeat.
Kaelen stood at the edge of the ruined docks, the river a ghostly roar beside him. The fog was so thick he could barely see the first ranks of his company, shadows shifting in the white. Beyond them, the sound of drums had ceased. That silence was worse.
Men fidgeted in their armor. Horses stamped nervously. Even the veterans kept glancing toward Kaelen, their unease plain. The younger sellswords whispered half-prayers, half-curses. They had all heard the drums. They all knew what it meant.
But Malrik’s army did not charge. Not yet.
Instead, the mist breathed around them, alive with faint noises, metal clinking, leather creaking, the indistinct shuffle of movement. Shapes loomed and vanished at the edges of sight: perhaps men, perhaps only tr
