The army did not announce itself.
There was no horn, no chant, no surge of killing intent that swept across the plain like a tide. One moment the land ahead of them was empty stone and warped air, the next it wasn't, as if reality had finally decided to acknowledge something it had been politely ignoring.
Lindarion felt it snap into relevance.
'There,' he thought. 'That's the consequence.'
They stood at the edge of a shallow basin where the land dipped and flattened, wide enough to swallow cities. Across it, ranks formed in perfect silence. Thousands of figures, already arranged, already aligned, already waiting.
Nysha's breath left her in a slow, controlled exhale. Her hand tightened on her blade, knuckles whitening. "Those aren't illusions."
"No," Lindarion said. "They're resolved."
Ashwing drifted closer to Lindarion's shoulder, wings twitching with restrained panic. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."
