The Hollow Pass no longer held the shape of armies. What had once been ordered lines and roaring commands had dissolved into a storm with no center, no mercy, and no memory of formation. The banners that had marked discipline and pride now lay trampled in mud, soaked dark with blood, their emblems broken beyond recognition.
The air was a choking mire of smoke and ash. Fire licked at abandoned wagons and shattered siege towers. Sparks rained through the fog like falling stars, carried on a wind that stank of rot and sweat. Men could hardly see more than a spear's length before them, but they fought all the same—half-blind, half-mad, driven only by survival and fury.
It was here, in this madness, that Ryon hunted.
