The forest never really slept.
Even before dawn, it seemed to breathe slow, patient. Its breath rolled through the trees, stirring the fog along the valley's edge.
From the ridge, Kaal could make out the faint blue shimmer of Essence lanterns scattered below like fallen stars. The Sapphirians were on the move quiet and precise, their armor dulled with soot, their steps guided more by rhythm than sound.
The Chief Commander stood beside him, arms folded behind his back. His gaze stayed locked on the mist-choked slope.
"Their camp lies in the hollow," he said softly. "Hidden under the roots of that forest. Beasts in front, men behind. The tribes think we'll come roaring through the trees."
A faint glint caught his eyes silver, like frost gathering there. "We won't."
Below, Commander Varn adjusted his gauntlet and gave a short, clipped signal. The fog bent slightly, alive with the Air Essence flowing through the soldiers' ranks.
Captain Irel moved beside him, blade strapped across his back, eyes sharp with focus.
"Two flanks," Varn murmured. "We press them between wind and steel. They won't even know we were here."
Irel nodded. "If the fog holds, we'll have the valley before sunrise."
The horn sounded once low, deep, final.
The wind shifted. The mist rolled down the ridge like a living thing, wrapping itself around the soldiers' steps. They moved as one an army of whispers and breath.
The ground below came alive.
The Sapphirians slipped between trees, blades catching no light, boots silent. Essence shimmered faintly around them — air folding, tightening, vanishing.
From above, Kaal could hardly tell where men ended and fog began.
"They're gone," he whispered.
The Chief didn't reply. "Watch."
Something stirred in the trees below. Then another.
The fog quivered and something massive moved within it.
The first beast broke through with a roar that shook the leaves. A creature like a boar, twice the size of a man, its hide plated with bone, tusks carved with tribal marks.
Behind it, shadows slipped forward lean panthers with six legs and glowing yellow eyes, their handlers beating drums that made the ground tremble.
The tribes were ready.
They rose from the earth like ghosts — bare-chested, painted in ash, weapons of bone and rusted iron gripped tight. They didn't shout. They screamed.
The valley erupted.
"Hold formation! Spiral line, now!"
Commander Varn's voice cut through the chaos like a blade through cloth.
The Sapphirians moved instantly front ranks bracing shields, rear lines exhaling Essence in sharp bursts. The air cracked. Invisible spirals rippled outward, slowing the beasts' charge, turning fury aside. The world filled with the rush of wind, metal, and flesh tearing.
Irel moved through the gaps fluid, focused.
He kicked off a rock, Essence bursting beneath his boots. Air compressed and launched him into the path of a charging beast.
He twisted midair, blade flashing.
One clean cut across the throat the roar ended in silence.
Before the body even hit the dirt, he was already moving again, breath steady, steps exact, every strike landing in rhythm.
"Rotate lines!" he shouted. "Keep the wind breathing!"
---
Kaal's knuckles went white against the rock ledge.
Below, the scene had become a storm wind, steel, and blood moving as one. The Sapphirians fought like the wind itself: unseen, relentless, impossible to stop.
Every motion was measured. Every death, a note in a grim rhythm.
The tribes answered with chaos beasts crashing through the ordered lines, drums thundering, smoke and mud rising until everything blurred.
From above, the Chief Commander's presence pressed on the air. The fog thinned near him, unwilling to hide his view.
He watched without expression.
"You see, boy," he said quietly, "discipline is our weapon. They fight with fury. We fight with air calm, invisible, endless."
Kaal's chest burned. His breath fell into rhythm with the soldiers below. He didn't notice the air around him trembling faintly responding, syncing, alive.
Below, Irel stumbled blood streaking his cheek. His Essence flickered, unstable.
Varn caught it instantly.
"Irel pull back!"
"Not yet!" Irel shouted, driving his blade into the ground and exhaling hard.
A surge of compressed wind exploded outward, throwing enemies back in a wide circle. The shockwave ripped through leaves and branches. For a heartbeat, everything stopped. The tribes faltered beasts shrieking, handlers breaking ranks.
Then silence.
Only the wind remained, carrying the sound of strained breathing and dripping blood.
The Chief narrowed his eyes. "Enough," he murmured.
He lifted a hand.
The air around the ridge stilled not by command, but by will. The wind froze. Even the fog hung motionless.
Down below, the last of the tribes broke. Their beasts fled into the trees, howling.
The Sapphirians didn't chase. They just stood among the bodies, breathing as one.
Irel knelt beside a fallen soldier, his blade half-buried in mud. His shoulders rose and fell with exhaustion. Varn placed a hand on his shoulder no words, just understanding.
The Chief turned to Kaal. His tone softened, though his face did not.
"This isn't victory," he said. "It's the price we pay."
Kaal said nothing. His throat was dry, his heart loud in his ears.
He looked at the valley at the broken trees, the still beasts, the soldiers wiping blood from their armor and felt something inside shift.
The warmth under his ribs pulsed once.
He wasn't sure if it was fear… or awakening.
The Chief turned away, eyes tracing east toward the forest's heart.
"The tribes will scatter," he said. "But the Veil doesn't forget. We move deeper at dusk."
The wind started again soft, cautious, carrying the scent of rain and iron.
And somewhere deep within the Emerald Veil, something answered that wind a low, hollow echo that didn't belong to man or beast.
Kaal felt it.
The forest was breathing back.
To be continued__