Eastern Border of Bolt Kingdom.
Cid, Elias, and Yuri marched with the stream of students toward the southern border. The ground was churned mud from the passing of thousands.
Ahead, campfires glimmered.
The Royal Army had assembled: 10,000 Power-users standing in tight formations, their Auras pulsing faintly in the cold air and 20,000 soldiers with rifles, trench coats, and wheeled vehicles.
Old-world tanks, half-track carriers, and mounted guns lined the ridges, their barrels pointed toward the fog-choked plains beyond.
Even the King himself was there, standing on a raised platform. Around him were dukes, generals and the robed Senate.
The mood was like iron, no cheers, no speeches. Just the sound of men and women preparing for something that no one could fully picture.
As they joined the forward lines, Cid felt his chest tighten. He could hear Elias muttering low, checking his gauntlets.
