"THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE!" Hiro roared out inside the barracks at the border of the desert kingdom.
The barracks swallowed his voice and threw it back in echoes off wood and iron, a harsh repetition that made the room feel smaller. Heat lingered even here, desert air bleeding into every seam, mixing with the smell of sweat, old oil, and tired men. Hiro's anger arrived like a storm that refused to wait for permission.
Annoyance sat on faces like fatigue. Men who'd been awake too long, who'd heard too many declarations, didn't bother hiding how little patience they had left. Even the fake prince's expression tightened, but restraint held him still, too many eyes, too many delicate strings. The Holy Order's pressure was a constant weight in the room, forcing the Imperial Army to swallow insults they would otherwise crush.
