The night over Shamballa was painted in a strange half-light — a sky where the stars shimmered brighter than in any known world, and yet the air below was heavy with foreboding. Somewhere deep in the hidden folds of that land, Arthur sat silent, eyes half closed, feeling the tremors of the valley like a pulse beneath his feet. The enemy was not far now.
At the edge of a high ridge, Kali crouched, one knee pressed into the moss, his dagger glinting faintly as he peered down at the vast sea of tents. He had seen battles before, had slit throats in the dead of night, had faced musket fire in dusty plains — but nothing compared to this. The League’s army had arrived in full force.
Hundreds of men — all armed, uniformed, and efficient — camped in precise order. Dozens of cannons, supply wagon
