The Hollow Pass could not hold its silence forever.
It was a silence stretched thin as glass, trembling with every heartbeat, every uneven breath of the thousands who stood locked in place. Both armies faced each other like statues carved from tension alone, their banners stiff in the wind, their lines unmoving but alive with dread. Every cough, every shuffle of boot, every clink of armor was magnified, felt by both sides like the ticking of a clock counting down toward something inevitable.
It broke with a single sound—sharp, ugly, and unmistakable.
A northern horn.
The note was ragged, shrill, a cry of desperation more than command. It tore through the pass like a crack in stone, and with it, the fragile spell that had kept death at bay collapsed.
