The banners of House Ignarion blotted the horizon like a forest of flame.
Crimson standards embroidered with the sigil of the Crucible swayed against the wind, their countless numbers meant to intimidate.
Their line stretched wide, a tidal wave of men and steel arrayed in perfect formation, their gleaming plate armor catching the morning light like molten fire.
Caedrion sat tall on his warhorse, cloak billowing behind him, his eyes narrowed against the haze that blurred the distance.
Twenty thousand men marched beneath his command, levies, dragoons, and riflemen alike.
It was an army that no one in Dawnhaven's memory could have imagined rising so swiftly.
And yet, arrayed across the plains, Ignarion's host dwarfed it still.
Their sheer numbers surged like an ocean, more bodies than blades of grass on the wind-swept field.
An officer at Caedrion's side shifted uneasily, staring at the distant lines. "They seek to overwhelm us, my lord.
