The air trembled with the low growl of engines, the distant rumble of artillery warming up, and the metallic chorus of soldiers preparing for the largest confrontation of the war.
From the ridge overlooking the field, Noah watched the horizon turn pale gold.
His reflection in the tinted glass of the Atonement command bridge looked older than the last time he'd seen it — shadows carved deeper beneath his eyes, lips pressed into a faint line that neither hope nor dread could move.
Below, the Northern Army spread out in disciplined formations: shield lines gleaming like a wall of ice, mana cannons dug into trenches, banners snapping in the wind. Every soldier stood silent, their breaths visible in the frigid air. Across the field, the Central-South coalition mirrored them — an ocean of white, their banners crowned with the insignia of the St. Eldred Church.
It would be the first true large-scale battle since Durnholde.
