Dew gathered like cold sweat on the leaves, and from the ridge, the land below Durnholde Pass looked like the aftermath of a fever dream — smoke still rising, blackened trees bent into question marks.
Noah stood at the command deck of the Atonement, one gloved hand resting on the railing, his other tracing faint circles over the brass surface of a rune projector.
His face was expressionless, yet his thoughts moved like storm clouds.
"Projection array ready," reported Lieutenant Carrow from the lower console. "We can deploy at your signal."
Noah nodded, eyes still fixed on the map. "Deploy in Sector 9 through 12. I want the illusion of a full advance — cavalry, infantry, even supply caravans. Make it convincing.
Their scouts should pick up movement within the hour."
He said it evenly, but his pulse thrummed with quiet precision.
He wanted a strategy of misdirection, born from necessity.
With Durnholde lost and Wolf's last words still echoing through his head.
