Night fell heavy and black.
The Shadow Army waited.
Silent. Patient.
Breath held.
Aren walked along the line.
Men, women, even boys trained for months.
All loyal. All deadly.
"All ready?" he asked.
A chorus of murmured affirmation answered.
The target: Blackpine Pass.
A key supply route to Draven forces.
Every wagon. Every rider.
If disrupted, Greyhaven would falter.
"Signal?" Lysa whispered.
Aren raised a hand.
A single flare shot into the sky.
Red against black.
Arrows flew first.
From hidden cliffs.
From trees.
From ruins long abandoned.
Chaos erupted below.
Draven soldiers screamed.
Horses bolted.
Wagons overturned.
Metal clanged against stone.
Aren led the central strike.
Steel met steel.
Shouts filled the night.
Snow mixed with mud.
Blood painted the path forward.
Caelis's unit cut off the enemy retreat.
No mercy given.
Every move precise.
Every blow calculated.
Tom followed closely.
Watching. Learning.
Lysa moved like shadow.
Deadly and quiet.
By dawn, the pass was theirs.
Enemy routed.
Supplies captured.
Morale shattered.
Aren stood on a ridge.
Looking down at the remnants.
Victory tasted bitter.
"First strike," he said quietly.
"Not the last," Lysa replied.
Somewhere, in Greyhaven, news would arrive.
And panic would spread like wildfire.