Greyvale City, six months since Duskspire's founding.
The day began like any other, elite squads rotating through sparring drills, the faint scent of stew wafting from the manor kitchen.
Then the war arrived.
It began with smoke.
A dark column rising over the trees to the north, followed by the thunder of drums, deep, rhythmic, unnatural. Lumberling stood at the top of their base, cloak whipping behind him as he scanned the horizon.
A black tide crept through the forest. Banners bearing the crimson sigil of the Sengolio Empire fluttered above the treetops.
Not a scouting party.
An army. Thousands.
And they were heading straight for Greyvale City.
Lumberling moved.
"Sound the inner alarm," he ordered, already descending the stairs. "No panic. But prep the exit routes."
Skitz met him in the hall, eyes already narrowed. "Evac?"
"If they breach the city, we vanish," Lumberling said. "We don't engage, not against an army this size."
