The clash did not ring out like the wars of old—no roar of blind fury, no shout of mindless loyalty. Instead, it began with hesitation. When Valerius’s warriors met our line, many struck with weapons held loosely, their eyes darting in confusion, their blows lacking the cruel intent they had been commanded to bring. Some parried and pulled back. Some locked eyes with old neighbors and froze, unable to strike. Only Valerius’s closest circle—the ones who had bound themselves willingly to the darkness—fought with cold, savage purpose, cutting down anyone who wavered on either side.
Kael moved like a storm through the fray, his blade flashing not to kill, but to disarm, to deflect, to shield. He fought his way toward Valerius, his golden eyes burning with a rage that was not for battle, but f
