*crunch... *crunch... *crunch...
The sound of soldiers marching through snow echoed softly across the cold white fields, muffled by the heavy blizzard swirling above them.
Their boots crunched steadily beneath them as they moved through drifts that reached up to their knees.
Some of them took to shoveling, clearing paths and digging out sections of the camp so the rising snow wouldn't bury their supplies or smother the tents.
Others stood in clusters, speaking in low voices to pass the time, their breath turning to fog in the icy air.
There weren't many of them—no more than a small platoon.
Certainly not enough to be called an army.
But what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in strength.
Every soldier in the camp wore the mark of a seasoned warrior.
These were no common infantrymen from the Zerafhon Empire's endless ranks.
These were elite, high-ranking soldiers, veterans of brutal wars, chosen not for obedience but for skill and experience.
