Theron stood.
The ground beneath his boots was wet, thick with mud and something darker.
The air burned his lungs with every breath, filled with smoke and the metallic scent of blood.
The sky above was choked with black clouds, flickering with distant firelight.
War. Real war.
Around them, soldiers clashed in brutal chaos.
Steel rang against steel, shields shattered under heavy blows, and men shouted orders that were drowned out by screams.
Horses charged through broken lines, trampling anything in their path.
Arrows rained down in waves, cutting through the sky like a storm.
Theron moved through it instinctively, sword already in his hand, his body reacting faster than thought.
"Theron!"
Cassian's voice came from the right.
Theron turned. Cassian stood there, breathing hard, his armor already stained, his sword raised.
"We hold this line!" Cassian shouted, pointing ahead.
In front of them, a group of knights had formed a defensive position. Shields locked, spears angled forward, holding back an advancing force.
Theron stepped into place beside them without hesitation.
the unity, the tension, the unspoken understanding.
This was where they stood. This was where they fought.
For a moment, everything made sense.
Then.
Something changed. It started subtly.
The noise didn't stop, but it dulled. Like something was pulling the sound away, layer by layer. The chaos remained, but it felt distant.
And in its place.
Came something else. A presence. Cold. Sharp.
The knights around them began to notice. One by one, their movements slowed, their attention shifting toward the same direction.
Through the smoke. A figure appeared.
Walking. Not running.
Just walking. Straight toward them. Calm. Unbothered.
Leo's focus locked onto him.
Tall. Composed. A sword at his side.
For a split second. Relief spread through the line.
"Reinforcements!" someone shouted.
"They're here!"
A few soldiers actually smiled. Hope.
Even Cassian relaxed slightly, lowering his stance just a fraction.
But Leo.
Leo felt something twist inside him.
No…
There was something wrong.
The man stopped a short distance away.
His hand moved to his sword. Slow. Controlled.
The blade slid out of its sheath with a clean, quiet sound.
And then.
He disappeared.
No, he moved. Too fast to follow. One step.
And he was already in front of them.
The sword swung. There was no build-up. No dramatic motion.
Just a single, effortless strike.
Leo didn't even process it at first.
Then.
Cassian head flew by.
The knight beside him.
Split apart before he could react. The entire front line.
Collapsed in an instant. Bodies fell. Armor shattered.
Blood painted the ground.
Leo's mind froze.
What is this.
Theron staggered back, instinct finally catching up. But it didn't matter.
The man was already in front of him. Close.
Leo saw his face clearly now. Empty. No hesitation. Just certainty.
The sword moved again. All the soldiers knew. That moment before impact.
The undeniable certainty of death.
No escape. No defense. Nothing.
Theron's eyes snapped open.
He inhaled sharply, his chest rising fast as if he had been drowning.
His entire body was covered in sweat. His clothes clung to his skin, damp and uncomfortable. His breathing was uneven, his heart pounding so hard Leo could feel it echo through his chest.
For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't think. He just breathed.
Then slowly.
Reality returned. The tent. The dim light. The silence.
No battlefield. No blood. No death.
Theron sat up, running a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself.
"…what was that?"
His voice was low, uncertain.
Leo stayed completely still, observing. That wasn't normal.
Theron rarely reacted like this. Never like this.
His control was usually absolute.
But now.
His heart was still racing. His body tense. His mind unsettled.
"…the Sword of Dream…"
Theron muttered, frowning slightly.
"That doesn't make sense."
He shook his head once, trying to dismiss it. "He's on our side."
The words sounded logical. Reasonable.
But they didn't sit right.
Theron turned his head slowly. Cassian was still there.
Sleeping peacefully, completely unaware. Alive. Untouched.
Theron watched him for a few seconds.
Longer than necessary. Just to confirm.
Then he looked away, exhaling slowly.
"…just a dream."
The words barely left his mouth.
Then.
A deep, heavy sound rolled across the camp.
HOOOOOOORN.
Low. Long. Echoing.
It cut through everything.
Not loud in a chaotic way, controlled, deliberate.
A war horn. Another followed. Shorter. Sharper.
A signal.
Theron's head turned toward the tent entrance instantly.
Outside, the camp was already moving.
Voices rose. Orders were shouted. Armor clashed as men rushed to their positions.
Cassian stirred awake with a sharp breath. "…what?"
The horn sounded again.
That was enough. Both of them were on their feet within seconds.
No hesitation now. No time to think about dreams. Only action.
Cassian grabbed his sword, fastening it to his belt while pulling on the rest of his gear. "That's a call to formation," he said quickly, already moving.
Theron tightened the straps on his armor, his movements precise, practiced.
The earlier unease. Pushed aside. Buried.
They stepped out of the tent.
The camp had transformed.
What had been scattered movement before was now structured, urgent. Lines were forming. Units gathering under their banners. Officers shouted commands, directing soldiers into position.
More horns sounded in the distance, each with a different rhythm.
Signals.
Orders carried across the entire army.
The sky was gray, the sun barely visible behind thick clouds. Cold. Still.
Like the world itself was waiting.
Time skipped.
They stood on the battlefield.
The ground stretched wide and uneven, scarred by old trenches and churned into rough mud by thousands of boots. Sparse patches of dead grass clung to life between the darker soil. In the distance, a thin mist hovered low to the ground, partially hiding what lay beyond.
Opposite them.
The enemy.
Rows upon rows. A mirror of their own force.
Infantry formed the front lines-men with round shields and long spears, standing shoulder to shoulder. Behind them, archers adjusted their bows, testing strings, checking arrows with practiced movements.
Further back, cavalry units waited, horses shifting restlessly, armored riders holding their reins tight.
Banners moved above them, different colors, different symbols.
But the same purpose.
War.
Theron stood among the knights.
The Crimson Squad was positioned slightly behind the main infantry line.
Not the first to clash.
But close enough. Close enough to see everything.
Knights around him checked their weapons in silence. Some adjusted their gauntlets. Others rolled their shoulders, loosening tension before the fight.
One man beside them tapped his blade lightly against his shield, again and again, a quiet rhythm to steady himself.
Another muttered something under his breath, maybe a prayer.
No one spoke loudly. There was no shouting here.
Only quiet preparation.
Cassian stood next to Theron, his usual expression gone, replaced with focus.
"…first time," he said under his breath.
Not fear.
Not exactly. Just acknowledgment.
Theron didn't reply.
His gaze stayed forward. Across the field.
Waiting.
The wind picked up slightly. Banners snapped.
Armor shifted.
Somewhere behind them, a command was shouted.
Then.
Silence.
A strange, unnatural silence. Two armies facing each other.
Thousands of men.
And for a brief moment.
Nothing moved.
Then the horn sounded again.
Short. Sharp. Final.
And the world broke.
The silence didn't last.
Movement spread through the ranks like a ripple.
Orders were passed down quickly, sharply.
"Mount!"
Knights moved at once.
Theron grabbed the reins of a dark-coated horse brought forward by a squire. The animal was restless, its breath visible in the cold air, hooves striking against the ground with restrained energy.
He pulled himself up in one smooth motion, settling into the saddle.
Around him, the Crimson Squad did the same.
Dozens of armored riders.
Steel shifting. Leather tightening.
Horses snorting, stamping, sensing what was coming.
Cassian mounted beside him, adjusting his grip on the reins. "…stay close," he said, not looking away from the field.
Theron gave a small nod.
Ahead, the lines were still holding.
Infantry steady. Shields raised. Spears forward.
Waiting.
Then.
A figure moved forward from behind.
The Commander.
He rode out ahead of the knights, his presence immediately pulling attention. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but there was no mistaking the authority in it.
He stopped at the front. Turned slightly.
Looking over the army. He was going to speak.
You could feel it.
The kind of moment before a speech meant to ignite something, courage, resolve, whatever men needed before stepping into death.
The battlefield held its breath.
Then.
THUNK.
A sound. Sharp.
A black arrow tore through the air.
No warning. No signal.
It struck a knight at the very front.
Straight through the throat.
For a split second. No one moved.
The knight dropped from his horse, hitting the ground with a dull, heavy sound.
Silence shattered.
"ARCHERS!"
Someone shouted, but it was already too late.
A second wave followed.
Arrows rained down.
The enemy line surged forward.
The ground shook as infantry advanced, shields locking, spears driving ahead. Behind them, more movement, faster, heavier.
Cavalry. Charging.
The war had begun.
The Commander didn't hesitate. Didn't look back.
His voice cut through the chaos, sharp and absolute.
"Attack."
No speech. No buildup.
Just one word. And that was enough.
The knights moved.
Horses lunged forward as one.
The Crimson Squad surged ahead with the rest, hooves pounding against the ground, tearing through the mud as they charged toward the oncoming enemy.
Wind rushed past. Steel was drawn.
The distance closed rapidly.
Ahead, the enemy grew clearer, faces, weapons, expressions twisted with the same mix of fear and resolve.
Cassian leaned forward slightly, his grip tightening.
"Stay with me!"
Theron didn't answer. Didn't need to.
The moment was here.
The line was about to break.
And there was no turning back.