Lyan faced his troops. Mud, blood, fog—yet their eyes shone. "Form ranks," he ordered. Spears stamped once, rows aligning. The discipline soothed him like the steady tick of a clock.
He glanced to Wilhelmina; her pink hair caught a shaft of sun, glowing rose-gold amid gray carnage. She gave the faintest nod—strategy still layers ahead, but confidence firm. Josephine twirled her dagger, winking. Ravia and Xena wiped blades side by side, twin statues of competence. Alicia exhaled, tension easing from slight shoulders.
Lyan drew breath, voice rolling over the assembly. "Do not break the formation," he ordered calmly. "Let them scatter, let them fear us."
