The great field outside Aethelgard's southern gate had never witnessed such a terrifying display of concentrated power. The morning air was cold, tasting of frost and the sharp tang of impending violence.
Thousands upon thousands of soldiers stretched across the plains like a living tide of steel, arranged in flawless, deadly formations.
Banners bearing the ancient sigils of a dozen noble houses snapped and cracked in the biting wind, their colors vivid against the gray sky.
At the vanguard stood the combined ranks of the Apostle network disciplined, silent, and unnerving, while behind them, the elite household forces and conscripted levies formed a vast, bristling forest of spears and pikes.
At the center of this assembled storm stood a massive wooden platform, elevated high above the sea of armor. Three figures stood atop it, silhouetted against the pale dawn, waiting for the moment the world would change.
