After the last echoes of the banquet faded into the night, dawn came heavy with expectation. The time had come for Zalyric to ride out. At his side stood Dylan, captain of the First Division, with Kain, the steadfast vice commander. Behind them waited a host of more than a hundred and fifty men.
Nearly seventy of them were not yet full knights, their armor still carrying the shine of fresh forging and their hands betraying the stiffness of new training. They had been promised knighthood only if they survived the northern campaign — a harsh condition but one that burned determination into their eyes.
"Whoa, this is it. Finally—we're heading to our first real battle!"
"Yeah, right. I barely slept last night. My stomach's been in knots since last night."
"Same here… How long do you think it'll take before we return?"
"No idea. But His Majesty is marching with us himself."
"And the First Division Commander, too."
