The ivory-white fabric billowed heavily above the elevations.
Marked by the colossal figure of the white dragon spread across almost the entire length of the banner.
Golden lines ran through the pale scales like ancient veins burning beneath the cold light of morning.
Behind the creature's head—
the golden circle remained motionless against the grayish sky.
The dragon's golden eyes watched the plains below.
Coldly golden.
And beneath them—
war unfolded across the vast expanse.
The walls rose in the distance like monumental scars cutting through the north.
Towers climbed above the dark stone while enormous reinforced gates guarded the open passages between the defensive structures.
Even from that distance—
it was impossible not to understand the scale of the fortress of Arkhel.
Entire lines of soldiers moved below like living currents crossing mud and blood.
Mounted formations crossed the flanks at speed while small dark points appeared and vanished beneath the distant smoke of battle.
The sound arrived late to the elevated hills.
Drums.
Metal.
Screams.
Everything fused into a single heavy mass of distant noise.
And above that sea of war—
the Northern headquarters remained spread across the elevations behind the main lines.
Hundreds of tents.
Bonfires.
Messengers crossing military corridors opened between armed divisions.
Cavalry positioned awaiting orders.
And at the center of the entire encampment—
the main banner of the white dragon remained raised above the largest war tent.
The knights of the White Order stood motionless around it like sentinels.
The ivory-white armor reflected the light in pale tones while golden details ran across the metal like ancient draconic runes engraved directly into the plates.
Long gray cloaks fell from their backs beside the symbol of the white dragon marked over every chest.
None of them spoke.
The entrance to the tent opened quickly.
The knight immediately dropped to one knee before the enormous central table.
Breathing heavy from the speed of the run.
"Commander Cassian."
The voice spread briefly through the tent.
The knight's eyes moved quickly across the interior of the military hall.
Maps covered nearly the entire surface of the enormous central table.
Marked lines.
Fortresses identified.
Metal pieces scattered across routes already consumed by war.
And around it—
the five figures remained motionless.
The old man with long disheveled white hair observed the maps in absolute silence.
The pale gray eyes remained fixed over the lines spread across the table.
The deep scars spread across his face made his skin resemble ancient stone cracked apart by war.
The light-gray armor marked by old scratches remained perfectly fitted to his body despite the exhaustion evident in his posture.
Silver details crossed the plates like ancient campaign marks forgotten by time.
Close to him—
the tall man with perfectly aligned black hair kept his arms crossed before the table.
Red eyes held the map beneath suffocating pressure while crimson lines crossed the white-gray armor fastened to his body like military symbols of execution.
The burn climbed up his neck to part of his jaw.
Farther away—
the woman with extremely long black hair remained motionless beside the table.
The ivory-white armor ornamented with matte gold made her resemble a sacred figure shaped solely for war.
Ice-blue eyes watched the entire tent as though already judging every man present inside it.
The long gray cloak behind her resembled the folded wings of a white raven.
On the opposite side—
the man with messy dark-brown hair rested both hands against the table.
The heavy poorly-trimmed beard and the small scars spread across his face made him seem less like a general—
and more like someone torn directly out of forgotten trenches.
The light-gray armor remained misaligned just enough to contrast with the other officers in the room.
Dull brown eyes traveled across the map.
And near the far edge—
the enormous veteran remained motionless inside heavy pale steel armor resting over broad shoulders like a winter wall.
The short graying hair and thick mustache reinforced the crushing presence of the man who looked more like a fortress than a commander.
Dark eyes remained fixed on the map without the slightest hesitation.
The knight's gaze finally stopped at the central end of the table.
Cassian's golden eyes slowly lifted.
Calm.
Precise.
Long black hair fell partially over his shoulders while golden veins glowed faintly beneath dark gray skin.
His posture remained perfectly straight.
Cassian held the knight's gaze for a few seconds.
"Speak."
The voice came calm.
Elegant.
Far too controlled to carry any urgency.
The knight lowered his head slightly.
"Marquis D'Lorien has initiated new movements around the western flank."
The red-eyed man released an irritated breath.
"Again…"
His fingers slowly pressed against the table.
"That bastard keeps trying to wear down our lines before the next main offensive."
A dry laugh escaped from the other side of the tent.
"No."
The dull brown eyes moved across the maps spread over the table.
"Alaric doesn't waste men like that."
The gaze slowly lifted.
"You fought beside him for far too many years to still pretend to be surprised, Lord Kaizer."
Kaizer's red eyes narrowed by only a fragment.
"And you spent far too long hiding in forests, Roven."
"You're starting to see strategy in every cavalry movement."
Roven opened his mouth to answer—
"How many more men are we going to lose…"
The heavy voice crossed the tent before the argument could continue.
Both their eyes moved toward the edge of the table.
The enormous white-haired veteran held both of them in silence.
The heavy pale-steel armor produced a low sound when he crossed his arms.
"while the two of you turn war itself into a contest of pride…"
Dark eyes slowly moved between them.
"men out there keep dying."
"The third flank lost another hundred and eighty men by this morning."
His fingers slowly tightened over his arms.
"And the wounded keep arriving."
A small pause crossed the tent.
Heavy.
"We do not have enough men..."
"to waste time trying to decide who understands Alaric better."
An elegant voice crossed the tent immediately after.
Controlled.
Far too polite.
"Naturally."
Ice-blue eyes slowly moved across the officers.
"Half of the North vanished together with the former queen."
"Awakened."
"Gold."
"Military contracts."
A small pause.
"And practically every mercenary capable of sustaining long campaigns."
The enormous man released a heavy breath through his nose.
"I don't need to be reminded of that every time I open casualty reports, Lady Selvaria."
"And we do not need the First Legion..."
"to keep pretending discipline solves lack of resources, Lord Garrick."
Before the tension could rise further—
a calm voice crossed the table.
"That's enough."
Eyes slowly turned toward the old man.
The wild white hair fell partially over the face marked by old scars.
He still kept his eyes closed.
As if listening to something distant beneath the sound of war itself.
"The problem is not the western flank movements."
The voice came low.
Tired.
"The problem is the reason they exist."
Kaizer's red eyes slowly shifted.
"What exactly did you see… Marshal Reinhardt?"
Reinhardt slowly opened his eyes.
"Alaric is looking for confirmation."
The pale gray eyes slowly moved toward Cassian.
Cassian's fingers slid one of the metal pieces across the map.
The small movement repositioned the western flank division.
Only then did he speak:
"He already understands we do not have enough men…"
Golden eyes remained over Arkhel drawn at the center of the table.
"nor enough awakened to sustain continuous large-scale pressure."
Another piece slowly moved across the outer wall lines.
"Now he's looking for openings."
The voice came calm.
Cold.
"Trying to discover which of our lines breaks first."
Selvaria observed the maps for a few seconds before lifting her eyes.
"And how do you intend to deal with that, Commander?"
Cassian remained silent for a brief instant.
Golden eyes slowly moved between the five.
"The same way we planned since the beginning of the campaign."
His fingers rested against the table.
"We will continue maintaining pressure on Arkhel…"
A small pause crossed the tent.
"until the crown prince's reinforcements arrive."
"From this moment onward…"
The voice remained perfectly controlled.
"you will go to the front lines."
For the first time since the meeting began—
no one answered immediately.
Cassian continued:
"The presence of the five of you in the main divisions..."
"will strengthen our pressure on the battlefield until the reinforcements arrive."
Garrick was the first to uncross his arms.
Dark eyes held Cassian for a few seconds.
"This should have happened already."
Kaizer slowly pushed himself away from the table.
His head lowered by only a fragment.
"Understood."
Roven released a low breath through his nose.
Almost a humorless laugh.
"Finally something beyond waiting for reports inside tents."
Selvaria merely inclined her head slightly.
Elegant.
Controlled.
"We will keep Arkhel bleeding until the prince arrives."
Cassian nodded once.
"Return to your positions."
The commanders began stepping away from the table.
Their cloaks moved heavily as they left the tent one after another.
Leaving Reinhardt alone beside the table.
The old man remained observing the maps in silence for a few seconds.
Then he spoke:
"They follow you better now."
Cassian did not answer immediately.
Golden eyes remained over the wall lines.
Reinhardt continued:
"Even those who did not accept the king's choice."
Cassian released a low breath.
"All of this only happened because I survived his blood."
Reinhardt slowly moved his eyes toward the young man.
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Calm.
Absolute.
"You survived because Vaelrion already saw you as a son long before that."
The old man began walking toward the exit.
Cassian remained silent for a brief moment.
"Thank you… Marshal Reinhardt."
Reinhardt stopped for only a fragment of a second.
But did not turn around.
"Just win."
And then he resumed walking.
And outside—
the distant sound of war continued crossing the plains.