The cold was a blade. It slipped beneath the armor, clung to the skin, gnawed at the bones. Each breath turned into white mist, a fragile proof that we were still alive in this frozen desert. The Gorge, that stone belly we had turned into a refuge, looked that morning like a snow-covered tomb.
Before me, the plain was covered in a black and red swarm, a crimson tide stretching to the horizon. More than ten thousand soldiers. Ten thousand breaths, ten thousand hungry swords. And in the front line, our monsters.
The Tyrgash.
They stood nearly three meters tall, colossal figures clad in black steel. Each step made the earth shudder, as though it refused to bear their weight. Their shields were so wide they could have served as fortress gates, and their spears resembled obsidian trunks. Their eyes shone with a red, inhuman glow.
